PREPARING THE CHI-CHA-CHA, OR KILLIKINNICK—ATTACK ON CAPTAIN
FISK’S EMIGRANT TRAIN—FOURTEEN WHITES KILLED—A BIG HAUL OF
WHISKY—A DRUNKEN DEBAUCH—I WRITE A LETTER TO CAPTAIN FISK
UNDER DICTATION—POISONED INDIANS—THE TRAIN SAVED BY MY
CLERICAL STRATEGY.
One of the occupations given me, while resting in the villages between
war times, was to prepare the bark of a red willow called killikinnick,
for smoking instead of tobacco.
They discovered that I could sing, and groups of idle warriors would
gather around me before the tent, urging me to sing as I worked. A
dreary, dreary task! chanting to please my savage companions while I
rubbed and prepared the bark of willow, my heart ready to burst with
grief.
On the 5th of September they went to battle, and surprised a portion
of Captain Fisk’s men passing in escorting an emigrant train—fourteen
of whom they killed, and captured two wagons loaded with whisky,
wines, and valuable articles. There was a quantity of silver-ware and
stationery also taken by them.
Among the articles captured and brought into camp were a number of
pickles in glass jars, which the Indians tasted. The result was comical
in the extreme, for there is nothing that an Indian abhors more than
a strong acid. The faces they made can be imagined but not described.
Thinking they might be improved by cooking, they placed the jars in the
fire, when of course they exploded, very much to their disgust for the
“white man’s kettles.”
I could hear the firing plainly, and when they returned that night in
triumph, bringing with them the plundered stores, they committed every
description of extravagant demonstration. In the wild orgies which
followed, they mocked and groaned in imitation of the dying, and went
through a horrid mimicry of the butchery they had perpetrated.
They determined to go out again, and capture a quantity of horses
corralled in the neighborhood, and sweep the train and soldiers with
wholesale massacre; but they feared the white man’s cannon, and
deliberated on means of surprising by ambush, which is their only idea
of warfare.
Indians are not truly brave, though they are vain of the name of
courage. Cunning, stealth, strategy, and deceit are the weapons they
use in attack.
They endure pain, because they are taught from infancy that it is
cowardly to flinch, but they will never stand to fight if they can
strike secretly and escape.
Fearing the cannon, yet impatient for the spoil almost within view,
the Indians waited for three days for the train to move on and leave
them free to attack.
For two days I implored and begged on my knees to be allowed to go with
them, but to no avail. At last I succeeded in inducing them to allow me
to write, as they knew I understood the nature of correspondence, and
they procured for me the necessary appliances and dictated a letter to
Captain Fisk, assuring him that the Indians were weary of fighting, and
advising him to go on in peace and safety.
Knowing their malicious designs, I set myself to work to circumvent
them; and although the wily chief counted every word dictated, and
as they were marked on paper, I contrived, by joining them together,
and condensing the information I gave, to warn the officer of the
perfidious intentions of the savages, and tell him briefly of my
helpless and unhappy captivity.
The letter was carefully examined by the chief, and the number of its
apparent words recounted.
At length, appearing satisfied with its contents, he had it carried to
a hill in sight of the soldier’s camp, and stuck on a pole.
In due time the reply arrived, and again my ingenuity was tasked to
read the answer corresponding with the number of words, that would not
condemn me.
The captain’s real statement was, that he distrusted all among the
savages, and had great reason to.
On reading Captain Fisk’s words, that seemed to crush my already
awakened hopes, my emotion overcame me.
Having told the Indians that the captain doubted their friendliness,
and explained the contents of the letter as I thought best, the next
day I was entrusted with the task of writing again, to solemnly assure
the soldiers of the faith and friendship professed.
Again I managed to communicate with them, and this time begged them to
use their field-glasses, and that I would find an excuse for standing
on the hills in the afternoon, that they might see for themselves that
I was what I represented myself to be—a white woman held in bondage.
The opportunity I desired was gained, and to my great delight, I had a
chance of standing so as to be seen by the men of the soldier’s camp.
I had given my own name in every communication. As soon as the soldiers
saw that it truly was a woman of their own race, and that I was in the
power of their enemies, the excitement of their feelings became so
great that they desired immediately to rush to my rescue.
A gentleman belonging to the train generously offered eight hundred
dollars for my ransom, which was all the money he had, and the noble,
manly feeling displayed in my behalf did honor to those who felt it.
There was not a man in the train who was not willing to sacrifice all
he had for my rescue.
Captain Fisk restrained all hasty demonstrations, and even went so
far as to say that the first man who moved in the direction of the
Indian camp should be shot immediately, his experience enabling him to
know that a move of that kind would result fatally to them and to the
captive.
The Indians found a box of crackers saturated with water, and, eating
of them, sickened and died.
I afterward learned that some persons with the train who had suffered
the loss of dear relatives and friends in the massacre of Minnesota,
and who had lost their all, had poisoned the crackers with strychnine,
and left them on one of their camping-grounds without the captain’s
knowledge.
The Indians told me afterward that more had died from eating bad bread
than from bullets during the whole summer campaign.
Captain Fisk deserves great credit for his daring and courage, with his
meager supply of men, against so large an army of red men.
After assurance of my presence among them, Captain Fisk proceeded to
treat quietly with the savages on the subject of a ransom, offering to
deliver in their village three wagon loads of stores as a price for
their prisoner.
To this the deceitful creatures pretended readily to agree, and the
tortured captive, understanding their tongue, heard them making fun of
the credulity of white soldiers who believed their promises.
I had the use of a field-glass from the Indians, and with it I saw my
white friends, which almost made me wild with excited hope.
Knowing what the Indians had planned, and dreading lest the messengers
should be killed, as I knew they would be if they came to the village,
I wrote to Captain Fisk of the futility of ransoming me in that way,
and warned him of the treachery intended against his messengers.[1]
[1] The original letters written by me to Captain Fisk are now on file
in the War Department at Washington. Officially certified extracts from
the correspondence are published elsewhere in this work.
No tongue can tell or pen describe those terrible days, when, seemingly
lost to hope and surrounded by drunken Indians, my life was in constant
danger.
Nights of horrible revelry passed, when, forlorn and despairing, I
lay listening, only half consciously, to the savage mirth and wild
exultation.
To no overtures would the Indians listen, declaring I could not
be purchased at any price—they were determined not to part with
me. Captain Fisk and his companions were sadly disappointed in not
obtaining my release, and, after a hopeless attempt, he made known the
fact of my being a prisoner, spreading the news far and wide.
His expeditions across the plains had always been successful, and the
Indians, knowing him to be very brave, gave him the name of the “Great
Chief, who knows no fear,” and he richly deserves the appellation, for
the expeditions were attended with great danger. The reports of his
various expeditious have been published by Government, and are very
interesting, giving a description of the country.
In September the rains were very frequent, sometimes continuing for
days.
This may not seem serious to those who have always been accustomed to
a dwelling and a good bed, but to me, who had no shelter and whose
shrinking form was exposed to the pitiless storm, and nought but the
cold ground to lie upon, bringing the pains and distress of rheumatism,
it was a calamity hard to bear, and I often prayed fervently to God to
give me sweet release in a flight to the land where there are no storms.
Soon the winter would be upon us, and the cold, and sleet, and stormy
weather would be more difficult to bear. Would I be so fortunate,
would Heaven be so gracious as to place me in circumstances where the
wintry winds could not chill or make me suffer! My heart seemed faint
at the thought of what was before me, for hope was lessening as winter
approached!