LAST DAYS WITH THE OGALALLA SIOUX—MASSACRE OF A PARTY RETURNING
FROM IDAHO—A WOMAN’S SCALP—A SCALP DANCE—SUSPICIOUS
CIRCUMSTANCE—ARRIVAL OF BLACKFEET INDIANS—NEGOTIATIONS FOR MY
RANSOM—TREACHERY.
My last days with the Ogalalla Sioux Indians were destined to be marked
by a terrible remembrance.
On the first of October, while the savages lingered in camp about the
banks of the Yellowstone River, apparently fearing, yet almost inviting
attack by their near vicinity to the soldiers, a large Mackinaw, or
flat-boat, was seen coming down the river.
From their hiding-places in the rocks and bushes, they watched its
progress with the stealthy ferocity of the tiger waiting for his prey.
At sundown the unsuspecting travelers pushed their boat toward the
shore, and landed for the purpose of making a fire and camping for the
night.
The party consisted of about twenty persons, men, women, and children.
Suspecting no danger, they left their arms in the boat.
With a simultaneous yell, the savages dashed down upon them, dealing
death and destruction in rapid strokes.
The defenseless emigrants made an attempt to rush to the boat for arms,
but were cut off, and their bleeding bodies dashed into the river as
fast as they were slain. Then followed the torture of the women and
children.
Horrible thought! from which all will turn with sickened soul, and
shuddering, cry to Heaven, “How long, O Lord! how long shall such
inhuman atrocities go unpunished?”
Not a soul was left alive when that black day’s work was done; and the
unconscious river bore away a warm tide of human blood, and sinking
human forms.
When the warriors returned to camp, they brought their frightful
trophies of blood-stained clothes and ghastly scalps.
My heart-sick eyes beheld the dreadful fruits of carnage; and, among
the rest, I saw a woman’s scalp, with heavy chestnut hair, a golden
brown, and four feet in length, which had been secured for its beauty.
The tempting treasure lost the poor girl her life, which might have
been spared; but her glorious locks were needed to hang on the chief’s
belt.
Nearly all the flat-boats that passed down the Yellowstone River to the
Missouri, from the mining regions, during that season, were attacked,
and in some instances one or more of the occupants killed. The
approach of this boat was known, and the Indians had ample time to plan
their attack so that not a soul should escape.
That night the whole camp of braves assembled to celebrate the fearful
scalp dance; and from the door of my tent I witnessed the savage
spectacle, for I was ill, and, to my great relief, was not forced to
join in the horrid ceremony.
A number of squaws occupied the center of the ring they formed, and
the pitiless wretches held up the fresh scalps that day reaped in the
harvest of death.
Around them circled the frantic braves, flourishing torches, and
brandishing weapons, with the most ferocious barks and yells, and wild
distortions of countenance.
Some uttered boasts of bravery and prowess, and others lost their own
identity in mocking their dying victims in their agony.
Leaping first on one foot, then on the other, accompanying every
movement with wild whoops of excitement, they presented a scene never
to be forgotten.
The young brave who bore the beautiful locks as his trophy, did not
join in the dance. He sat alone, looking sad.
I approached and questioned him, and he replied that he regretted his
dead victim. He brought a blood-stained dress from his lodge, and told
me it was worn by the girl with the lovely hair, whose eyes haunted
him and made him sorry.
After being cognizant of this frightful massacre, I shrank more than
ever from my savage companions, and pursued my tasks in hopeless
despondence of ever being rescued or restored to civilized life.
One day I was astonished to notice a strange Indian, whom I had never
seen before, making signs to me of a mysterious nature.
He indicated by signs that he wanted me to run away with him to the
white people. I had become so suspicious, from having been deceived so
many times, that I turned from him and entered the chief’s tent, where,
despite his cruelty and harshness to me, I felt comparatively safe.
I afterward saw this Indian, or rather white man, or half-breed, as I
believe him to have been, though he could not, or would not speak a
word of English. His long hair hung loosely about his shoulders, and
was of a dark brown color. He had in no respect the appearance of an
Indian, but rather that of a wild, reckless frontier desperado. I had
never seen him before, though he seemed well known in the camp.
One thing that perhaps made me more suspicious and afraid to trust any
one, was a knowledge of the fact that many of the Indians who had lost
relatives in the recent battles with General Sully, were thirsting for
my blood, and would have been glad to decoy me far enough away to
wreak their vengeance, and be safe from the fury of the old chief, my
task-master.
This stranger came one day into a tent where I was, and showed me a
small pocket bible that had belonged to my husband, and was presented
to him by his now sainted mother many years before. His object was to
assure me that I might trust him; but such an instinctive horror of the
man had taken possession of me that I refused to believe him; and at
last he became enraged and threatened to kill me if I would not go with
him.
I plead with him to give me the bible, but he refused. How dear it
would have been to me from association, and what strength and comfort
I would have received from its precious promises, shut out, as I was,
from my world and all religious privileges and surrounded by heathen
savages.
Soon after the foregoing incident, the old chief and his three sisters
went away on a journey, and I was sent to live with some of his
relatives, accompanied by my little companion, Yellow Bird. We traveled
all day to reach our destination, a small Indian village. The family
I was to live with until the return of the chief and his sisters,
consisted of a very old Indian and his squaw, and a young girl.
I had a dread of going among strangers, but was thankful for the
kindness with which I was received by this old couple. I was very
tired, and so sad and depressed, that I cared not to ask for
any thing, but the old squaw, seeming to understand my feelings,
considerately placed before me meat and water, and kindly ministered to
my wants in every way their means would allow.
I was with this family nearly three weeks, and was treated with almost
affectionate kindness, not only by them, but by every member of the
little community. The children would come to see me, and manifest in
various ways their interest in me. They would say, “Wasechawea (white
woman) looks sad; I want to shake hands with her.”
I soon began to adapt myself to my new surroundings, and became more
happy and contented than I had ever yet been since my captivity began.
My time was occupied in assisting the motherly old squaw in her sewing
and other domestic work.
There was but once a cloud come between us. The old chief had given
orders that I was not to be permitted to go out among the other
villagers alone, orders of which I knew nothing. Feeling a new sense
of freedom, I had sometimes gone out, and on one occasion, having been
invited into different tipis by the squaws, staid so long that the old
Indian sent for me, and seemed angry when I returned. He said it was
good for me to stay in his tent, but bad to go out among the others. I
pacified him at last by saying I knew his home was pleasant, and I was
happy there, and that I did not know it was bad to go among the other
tents.
The old chief returned, finally, and my brief season of enjoyment
ended. He seemed to delight in torturing me, often pinching my arms
until they were black and blue. Regarding me as the cause of his
wounded arm, he was determined that I should suffer with him.
While in this village “Man-Afraid-of-His-Horses” arrived, and I was
made aware of his high standing as a chief and warrior by the feasting
and dancing which followed. He was splendidly mounted and equipped, as
also was another Indian who accompanied him.
I have since learned from my husband that the treacherous chief made
such statements of his influence with the hostile Indians as to induce
him to purchase for them both an expensive outfit, in the hope of my
release. I saw and conversed with him several times, and though he told
me that he was from the Platte, he said nothing of the real errand on
which he was sent, but returned to the fort and reported to Mr. Kelly
that the band had moved and I could not be found.
Captain Fisk had made known to General Sully the fact of my being among
the Indians, and the efforts he had made for my release; and when the
Blackfeet presented themselves before the General, asking for peace,
and avowing their weariness of hostility, anxious to purchase arms,
ammunition, and necessaries for the approaching winter, he replied:
“I want no peace with you. You hold in captivity a white woman; deliver
her up to us, and we will believe in your professions. But unless you
do, we will raise an army of soldiers as numerous as the trees on the
Missouri River and exterminate the Indians.”
The Blackfeet assured General Sully that they held no white woman in
their possession, but that I was among the Ogalallas.
“As you are friendly with them,” said the General, “go to them and
secure her, and we will then reward you for so doing.”
The Blackfeet warriors appeared openly in the village a few days
afterward, and declared their intentions, stating in council the
determination of General Sully.
The Ogalallas were not afraid, they said, and refused to let me go.
They held solemn council for two days, and at last resolved that the
Blackfeet should take me as a ruse, to enable them to enter the fort,
and a wholesale slaughter should exterminate the soldiers.
While thus deliberating as to what they thought best—part of them
willing, the other half refusing to let me go—Hunkiapa, a warrior,
came into the lodge, and ordered me out, immediately following me.
He then led me into a lodge where there were fifty warriors, painted
and armed—their bows strung and their quivers full of arrows.
From thence, the whole party, including three squaws, who, noting my
extreme fear, accompanied me, started toward a creek, where there were
five horses and warriors to attend us to the Blackfeet village.
Placing me on a horse, we were rapidly pursuing our way, when a party
of the Ogalallas, who were unwilling, came up with us, to reclaim me.
Here they parleyed for a time, and, finally, after a solemn promise on
the part of my new captors that I should be returned safely, and that I
should be cared for and kindly treated, we were allowed to proceed.
In their parleying, one of the warriors ordered me to alight from
the horse, pointing a pistol to my breast. Many of them clamored for
my life, but, finally, they settled the matter, and permitted us to
proceed on our journey.
After so many escapes from death, this last seemed miraculous; but God
willed it otherwise, and to him I owe my grateful homage.
It was a bitter trial for me to be obliged to go with this new and
stranger tribe. I was unwilling to exchange my life for an unknown one,
and especially as my companionship with the sisters of the chief had
been such as to protect me from injury or insult. A sort of security
and safety was felt in the lodge of the chief, which now the fear of my
new position made me appreciate still more.
Savages they were, and I had longed to be free from them; but now I
parted with them with regret and misgiving.
Though my new masters, for such I considered them, held out promise of
liberty and restoration to my friends, knowing the treacherous nature
of the Indians, I doubted them. True, the Ogalallas had treated me at
times with great harshness and cruelty, yet I had never suffered from
any of them the slightest personal or unchaste insult. Let me bear
testimony to this redeeming feature in their treatment of me.
At the time of my capture I became the exclusive property of Ottawa,
the head chief, a man over seventy-five years of age, and partially
blind, yet whose power over the band was absolute. Receiving a severe
wound in a melee I have already given an account of, I was compelled
to become his nurse or medicine woman; and my services as such were so
appreciated, that harsh and cruel as he might be, it was dangerous for
others to offer me insult or injury; and to this fact, doubtless, I owe
my escape from a fate worse than death.
The Blackfeet are a band of the Sioux nation; consequently, are allies
in battle. The chief dared not refuse on this account; besides, he was
an invalid, and wounded badly.
The Blackfeet left three of their best horses as a guarantee for my
safe return.
The chief of the Ogalallas had expressed the desire that, if the Great
Spirit should summon him away, that I might be killed, in order to
become his attendant to the spirit land.
It was now the commencement of November, and their way seemed to lead
to the snowy regions, where the cold might prove unendurable.
When I heard the pledge given by the Blackfeet, my fears abated; hope
sprang buoyant at the thought of again being within the reach of my own
people, and I felt confident that, once in the fort, I could frustrate
their plans by warning the officers of their intentions.
I knew what the courage and discipline of fort soldiers could
accomplish, and so hoped, not only to thwart the savage treachery, but
punish the instigators.
[Illustration: Mode of Indian Burial.]