FIRST INTIMATION OF MY LITTLE MARY’S FATE—DESPAIR AND
DELIRIUM—A SHOWER OF GRASSHOPPERS—A FEAST AND A FIGHT—AN
ENRAGED SQUAW—THE CHIEF WOUNDED.
One day, as I was pursuing what seemed to me an endless journey, an
Indian rode up beside me, whom I did not remember to have seen before.
At his saddle hung a bright and well-known little shawl, and from the
other side was suspended a child’s scalp of long, fair hair.
As my eyes rested on the frightful sight, I trembled in my saddle and
grasped the air for support. A blood-red cloud seemed to come between
me and the outer world, and I realized that innocent victim’s dying
agonies.
The torture was too great to be endured—a merciful insensibility
interposed between me and madness.
I dropped from the saddle as if dead, and rolled upon the ground at the
horse’s feet.
When I recovered, I was clinging to a squaw, who, with looks of
astonishment and alarm, was vainly endeavoring to extricate herself
from my clutches.
With returning consciousness, I raised my eyes to the fearful sight
that had almost deprived me of reason; it was gone.
The Indian had suspected the cause of my emotion, and removed it out of
sight.
They placed me in the saddle once more, and not being able to control
the horrible misery I felt, I protested wildly against their touch,
imploring them to kill me, and frantically inviting the death I had
before feared and avoided.
When they camped, I had not the power or reason to seek my own tent,
but fell down in the sun, where the chief found me lying. He had been
out at the head of a scouting party, and knew nothing of my sufferings.
Instantly approaching me, he inquired who had misused me. I replied,
“No one. I want to see my dear mother, my poor mother, who loves me,
and pines for her unhappy child.”
I had found, by experience, that the only grief with which this red
nation had any sympathy was the sorrow one might feel for a separation
from a mother, and even the chief seemed to recognize the propriety of
such emotion.
On this account I feigned to be grieving solely for my dear widowed
mother, and was treated with more consideration than I had dared to
expect.
Leaving me for a few moments, he returned, bringing me some ripe wild
plums, which were deliciously cooling to my fever-parched lips.
Hunger and thirst, sorrow and fear, with unusual fatigue and labor,
had weakened me in mind and body, so that, after trying to realize the
frightful vision that had almost deprived me of my senses, I began to
waver in my knowledge of it, and half determined that it was a hideous
phantom, like many another that had tortured my lonely hours.
I tried to dismiss the awful dream from remembrance, particularly as
the days that followed found me ill and delirious, and it was some time
before I was able to recall events clearly.
About this time there was another battle; and many having already sank
under the united misery of hunger and fatigue, the camp was gloomy and
hopeless in the extreme.
The Indians discovered my skill in dressing wounds, and I was called
immediately to the relief of the wounded brought into camp.
The fight had lasted three days, and, from the immoderate lamentations,
I supposed many had fallen, but could form no idea of the loss.
Except when encamped for rest, the tribe pursued their wanderings
constantly; sometimes flying before the enemy, at others endeavoring to
elude them.
I kept the record of time, as it passed with the savages, as well as I
was able, and, with the exception of a few days lost, during temporary
delirium and fever at two separate times, and which I endeavored to
supply by careful inquiry, I missed no count of the rising or setting
sun, and knew dates almost as well as if I had been in the heart of
civilization.
One very hot day, a dark cloud seemed suddenly to pass before the sun
and threaten a great storm. The wind rose, and the cloud became still
darker, until the light of day was almost obscured.
A few drops sprinkled the earth, and, then, in a heavy, blinding,
and apparently inexhaustible shower, fell a countless swarm of
grasshoppers, covering every thing and rendering the air almost black
by their descent.
It is impossible to convey an idea of their extent; they seemed to
rival Pharaoh’s locusts in number, and no doubt would have done damage
to the food of the savages had they not fallen victims themselves to
their keen appetites.
To catch them, large holes are dug in the ground, which are heated by
fires. Into these apertures the insects are then driven, and, the fires
having been removed, the heated earth bakes them.
They are considered good food, and were greedily devoured by the
famishing Sioux. Although the grasshoppers only remained two days, and
went as suddenly as they had come, the Indians seemed refreshed by
feasting on such small game, and continued to move forward.
Halting one day to rest beside good water, I busily engaged myself in
the chief’s tipi, or lodge. I had grown so weak that motion of any kind
was exhausting to me, and I could scarcely walk. I felt that I must
soon die of starvation and sorrow, and life had ceased to be dear to me.
Mechanically I tried to fulfill my tasks, so as to secure the continued
protection of the old squaw, who, when not incensed by passion, was not
devoid of kindness.
My strength failed me, and I could not carry out my wishes, and almost
fell as I tried to move around.
This met with disapprobation, and, better fed than myself, she could
not sympathize with my want of strength. She became cross, and left the
lodge, threatening me with her vengeance.
Presently an Indian woman, who pitied me, ran into the tipi in great
haste, saying that her husband had got some deer meat, and she had
cooked it for a feast, and begged me to share it. As she spoke, she
drew me toward her tent, and, hungry and fainting, I readily followed.
The chief saw us go, and, not disdaining a good dinner, he followed.
The old squaw came flying into the lodge like an enraged fury,
flourishing her knife, and vowing she would kill me.
I arose immediately and fled, the squaw pursuing me. The chief
attempted to interfere, but her rage was too great, and he struck her,
at which she sprang like an infuriated tiger upon him, stabbing him in
several places.
Her brother, who at a short distance beheld the fray, and deeming me
the cause, fired six shots, determining to kill me. One of these shots
lodged in the arm of the chief, breaking it near the shoulder. I then
ran until I reached the outskirts of the village, where I was captured
by a party who saw me running, but who knew not the cause.
Thinking that I was endeavoring to escape, they dragged me in the tent,
brandishing their tomahawks and threatening vengeance.
After the lapse of half an hour some squaws came and took me back to
the lodge of the chief, who was waiting for me, before his wounds could
be dressed. He was very weak from loss of blood.
I never saw the wife of the chief afterward.
Indian surgery is coarse and rude in its details. A doctor of the tribe
had pierced the arm of the chief with a long knife, probing in search
of the ball it had received, and the wound thus enlarged had to be
healed.
As soon as I was able to stand, I was required to go and wait on the
disabled chief. I found his three sisters with him, and with these I
continued to live in companionship.
One of them had been married, at the fort, to a white man, whom she had
left at Laramie when his prior wife arrived.
She told me that they were esteemed friendly, and had often received
supplies from the fort, although at heart they were always the enemy of
the white man.
“But will they not suspect you?” asked I. “They may discover your
deceit and punish you some day.”
She laughed derisively. “Our prisoners don’t escape to tell tales,” she
replied. “Dead people don’t talk. We claim friendship, and they can not
prove that we don’t feel it. Besides, all white soldiers are cowards.”
Shudderingly I turned away from this enemy of my race, and prepared to
wait on my captor, whose superstitious belief in the healing power of a
white woman’s touch led him to desire her services.
The wounds of the chief were severe, and the suppuration profuse. It
was my task to bathe and dress them, and prepare his food.
Hunting and fishing being now out of the question for him, he had sent
his wives to work for themselves, keeping the sisters and myself to
attend him.
War with our soldiers seemed to have decreased the power of the chief
to a great extent.
As he lay ill, he evidently meditated on some plan of strengthening
his forces, and finally concluded to send an offer of marriage to the
daughter of a war-chief of another band.
As General Sully’s destructive attack had deprived him all ready
offerings, he availed himself of my shoes, which happened to be
particularly good, and, reducing me to moccasins, sent them as a gift
to the expected bride.
She evidently received them graciously, for she came to his lodge
almost every day to visit him, and sat chatting at his side, to his
apparent satisfaction.
The pleasure of this new matrimonial acquisition on the part of the
chief was very trying to me, on account of my limited wardrobe, for as
the betrothed continued in favor, the chief evinced it by giving her
articles of my clothing.
An Indian woman had given me a red silk sash, such as officers wear.
The chief unceremoniously cut it in half, leaving me one half, while
the coquettish squaw received the rest.
An Indian husband’s power is absolute, even to death.
No woman can have more than one husband, but an Indian can have as many
wives as he chooses.
The marriage of the chief was to be celebrated with all due ceremony
when his arm got well.
But his arm never recovered. Mr. Clemens, the interpreter, tells me (in
my late interview with him), that he still remains crippled, and unable
to carry out his murderous intentions, or any of his anticipated wicked
designs.
He is now living in the forts along the Missouri River, gladly claiming
support from the Government.