APPEARANCE OF JUMPING BEAR—I PREVAIL ON HIM TO CARRY A LETTER TO
THE FORT—A WAR SPEECH—INTENDED TREACHERY—RESUME OUR JOURNEY
TO THE FORT—SINGULAR MEETING WITH A WHITE MAN—“HAS RICHMOND
FALLEN?”—ARRIVAL AT THE FORT—I AM FREE!
“Jumping Bear,” who rescued me from the revengeful arrow of the Indian
whose horse the chief shot, one day presented himself to me, and
reminded me of my indebtedness to him in thus preserving my life.
Trembling with fear, I listened to his avowal of more than ordinary
feeling, during which he assured me that I had no cause to fear
him—that he had always liked the white woman, and would be more than a
friend to me.
I replied, that I did not fear him; that I felt grateful to him for his
kindness and protection, but that unless he proved his friendship for
me, no persuasion could induce me to listen.
“Will you carry a letter to my people at the fort, delivering it into
the hands of the great chief there? They will reward you for your
kindness to their sister; they will give you many presents, and you
will return rich.”
“I dare not go,” he replied. “Nor could I get back before the warriors
came to our village.”
“My people will give you a fast horse,” said I, “and you may return
speedily. Go now, and prove your friendship by taking the letter, and
returning with your prizes.”
I assured him that the letter contained nothing that would harm him or
his people; that I had written of him and of his kindness, and of his
good will toward them. After many and long interviews, the women of
the lodge using their influence, I at last prevailed upon him to go,
and invoking the bright moon as a witness to my pledge of honor and
truth, he started on his journey, bearing the letter, which I believed
was to seal my fate for weal or woe. In the moonlight I watched his
retreating form, imploring Heaven to grant the safe delivery of the
little messenger, upon which so much depended.
Daring and venturesome deed! Should he prove false to me, and allow any
one outside the fort to see the letter, my doom was inevitable.
Many days of intense anxiety were passed after his departure. The
squaws, fearing that I had done wrong in sending him, were continually
asking questions, and it was with difficulty I could allay their
anxiety, and prevent them from disclosing the secret to the other women.
The contents of the letter were a warning to the “Big Chief” and the
soldiers of an intended attack on the fort and the massacre of the
garrison, using me as a ruse to enable them to get inside the fort; and
beseeching them to rescue me if possible.
The messenger reached the fort, and was received by the officer of the
day, Lieutenant Hesselberger, and conducted to the commander of the
post, Major House, and Adjutant Pell, who had been left there to treat
with the Indians on my account.[1]
[1] A written statement from Lieutenant Hesselberger, setting forth
the fact of my writing and sending the letter of warning, and that
it undoubtedly was the means of saving the garrison at Fort Sully
from massacre, is on file in the Treasury Department at Washington.
A certified copy is published in connection with this narrative.
General Sully was absent at Washington, but every necessary precaution
was taken to secure the fort.
Jumping Bear received a suit of clothes and some presents, and was sent
back with a letter for me, which I never received, as I never saw him
again. These facts I learned after my arrival at Fort Sully.
The night before our departure from the Blackfeet village, en route
for the fort, I was lying awake, and heard the chief address his
men seriously upon the subject of their wrongs at the hands of the
whites. I now understood and spoke the Indian tongue readily, and so
comprehended his speech, which, as near as I can recollect, was as
follows:
“Friends and sons, listen to my words. You are a great and powerful
band of our people. The inferior race, who have encroached on our
rights and territories, justly deserve hatred and destruction. These
intruders came among us, and we took them by the hand. We believed them
to be friends and true speakers; they have shown us how false and cruel
they can be.
“They build forts to live in and shoot from with their big guns. Our
people fall before them. Our game is chased from the hills. Our women
are taken from us, or won to forsake our lodges, and wronged and
deceived.
“It has only been four or five moons since they drove us to
desperation, killed our brothers and burned our tipis. The Indian cries
for vengeance! There is no truth nor friendship in the white man;
deceit and bitterness are in his words.
“Meet them with equal cunning. Show them no mercy. They are but few, we
are many. Whet your knives and string your bows; sharpen the tomahawk
and load the rifle.
“Let the wretches die, who have stolen our lands, and we will be free
to roam over the soil that was our fathers’. We will come home bravely
from battle. Our songs shall rise among the hills, and every tipi
shall be hung with the scalp-locks of our foes.”
This declaration of hostilities was received with grunts of approval;
and silently the war preparations went on, that I might not know the
evil design hidden beneath the mask of friendship.
That night, as if in preparation for the work he had planned, the
gracious chief beat his poor tired squaw unmercifully, because she
murmured at her never-ending labor and heavy tasks.
His deportment to me was as courteous as though he had been educated in
civilized life; indeed, had he not betrayed so much ignorance of the
extent and power of the American nation, in his address to his band, I
should have thought him an educated Indian, who had traveled among the
whites. Yet in his brutal treatment of his squaw, his savage nature
asserted itself, and reminded me that, although better served than
formerly, I was still among savages.
When morning came to my sleepless night, I arose, still dreading lest
some terrible intervention should come between me and the longed-for
journey to the abodes of white men.
The day before leaving the Blackfeet village, I gave all my Indian
trinkets to a little girl who had been my constant companion, and by
her gentle and affectionate interest in the captive white woman, had
created within me a feeling akin to love. She was half white, and was
grand-daughter of a chief called Wichunkiapa, who also treated me with
kindness.
The morning after the chief’s address to his warriors, the savages were
all ready for the road, and, mounting in haste, set up their farewell
chant as they wound in a long column out of the village.
I have frequently been asked, since my restoration to civilization,
how I dressed while with the Indians, and whether I was clothed as the
squaws were. A description of my appearance as I rode out of the Indian
village that morning, will satisfy curiosity on this point.
My dress consisted of a narrow white cotton gown, composed of only two
breadths, reaching below the knee, and fastened at the waist with a red
scarf; moccasins, embroidered with beads and porcupine quills, covered
my feet, and a robe over my shoulders completed my wardrobe.
While with the Ogalallas, I wore on my arms great brass rings that had
been forced on me, some of them fitting so tight that they lacerated my
arms severely, leaving scars that I shall ever retain as mementos of my
experience in Indian ornamentation. I was also painted as the squaws
were, but never voluntarily applied the article.
It was winter, and the ground was covered with snow, but so cold was
the air that its surface bore the horses’ feet on its hard, glittering
breast, only breaking through occasionally in the deep gullies.
It was two hundred miles from the Blackfeet village to Fort Sully, in
the middle of winter, and the weather intensely cold, from the effects
of which my ill-clad body suffered severely. I was forced to walk a
great part of the way, to keep from freezing. Hoping for deliverance,
yet dreading lest the treacherous plans of the Indians for the capture
of the fort and massacre of its garrison might prove successful, and my
return to captivity inevitable, I struggled on, striving to bear with
patience the mental and bodily ills from which I suffered. My great
fear was that my letter had not fallen into the right hands.
On our journey we came in sight of a few lodges, and in among the
timber we camped for the night. While in one of the lodges, to my
surprise, a gentlemanly figure approached me, dressed in modern style.
It astonished me to meet this gentlemanly-looking, well-mannered
gentleman under such peculiar circumstances. He drew near and addressed
me courteously.
“This is cold weather for traveling. Do you not find it so?” he
inquired.
“Not when I find myself going in the right direction,” I replied.
I asked him if he lived in that vicinity, supposing, of course, from
the presence of a white man in our camp, that we must be near some
fort, trading-post, or white settlement.
He smiled and said, “I am a dweller in the hills, and confess that
civilized life has no charms for me. I find in freedom and nature all
the elements requisite for happiness.”
Having been separated from the knowledge and interests of national
affairs just when the struggle agitating our country was at its height,
I asked the question:
“Has Richmond been taken?”
“No, nor never will be,” was the reply.
Further conversation on national affairs convinced me that he was a
rank rebel.
We held a long conversation, on various topics. He informed me he had
lived with the Indians fourteen years; was born in St. Louis, had an
Indian wife, and several children, of whom he was very proud; and he
seemed to be perfectly satisfied with his mode of living.
I was very cautious in my words with him, lest he might prove a
traitor; but in our conversation some Indian words escaped my lips,
which, being overheard, rumor construed into mischief. What I had said
was carried from lodge to lodge, increasing rather than diminishing,
until it returned to the lodge where I was. The Indians, losing
confidence in me, sent the young men, at midnight, to the camp of the
white man, to ascertain what had been said by me, and my feelings
toward them.
He assured the messengers that I was perfectly friendly, had breathed
nothing but kindliness for them, and was thoroughly contented; had so
expressed myself, and there was no cause to imagine evil.
This man trafficked and traded with the Indians, disposing of his goods
in St. Louis and in eastern cities, and was then on his way to his
home, near the mouth of the Yellowstone River.
Early in the forenoon of the last day’s travel, my eager and anxious
eyes beheld us nearing the fort. The Indians paused and dismounted
to arrange their dress and see to the condition of their arms. Their
blankets and furs were adjusted; bows were strung, and the guns
examined by them, carefully. They then divided into squads of fifties,
several of these squads remaining in ambush among the hills, for the
purpose of intercepting any who might escape the anticipated massacre
at the fort; the others then rode on toward the fort, bearing me with
them.
A painfully startling sight (the last I was destined to see), here met
my gaze. One of the warriors, in passing, thrust out his hand to salute
me. It was covered by one of my husband’s gloves, and the sight of such
a memento filled me with inexpressible dread as to his fate. Nothing
in the least way connected with him had transpired to throw any light
upon his whereabouts, or whether living or dead, since we had been so
suddenly and cruelly separated. All was darkness and doubt concerning
him.
Mr. Kelly had been a Union soldier, and happening to have his discharge
papers with me at the time of my capture, I had been able to secrete
them ever since, treasuring them merely because they had once belonged
to him and contained his name.
Now, as we approached the place where his fate would be revealed to
me, and, if he lived, we would meet once more, the appearance of that
glove, on the savage hand, was like a touch that awakened many chords,
some to thrill with hope, some to jar painfully with fear.
In appearance I had suffered from my long estrangement from home life.
I had been obliged to paint daily, like the rest of my companions, and
narrowly escaped tattooing, by pretending to faint away every time the
implements for the marring operation were applied.
During the journey, whenever an opportunity offered, I would use a
handful of snow to cleanse my cheeks from savage adornment; and now,
as we drew nearer the fort, and I could see the chiefs arranging
themselves for effect, my heart beat high, and anticipation became so
intense as to be painful.
Eight chiefs rode in advance, one leading my horse by the bridle, and
the warriors rode in the rear. The cavalcade was imposing. As we
neared the fort they raised the war song, loud and wild, on the still,
wintry air; and, as if in answer to its notes, the glorious flag of our
country was run up, and floated bravely forth on the breeze from the
tall flag-staff within the fort.
[Illustration: My Arrival at Fort Sully.]
My eyes caught the glad sight, and my heart gave a wild bound of joy;
something seemed to rise in my throat and choke my breathing. Every
thing was changed; the torture of suspense, the agony of fear, and
dread of evil to come, all seemed to melt away like mist before the
morning sunshine, when I beheld the precious emblem of liberty. How
insignificant and contemptible in comparison were the flaunting Indian
flags that had so long been displayed to me; and how my heart thrilled
with a sense of safety and protection as I saw the roofs of the
buildings within the fort covered by the brave men who composed that
little garrison.
The precious emblem of liberty, whose beloved stripes and stars floated
proudly out, seemed to beckon me to freedom and security; and as the
fresh breeze stirred its folds, shining in the morning light, and
caused them to wave lightly to and fro, they came like the smile of
love and the voice of affection, all combined, to welcome me to home
and happiness once more.
An Indian hanger-on of the fort had sauntered carelessly forward a
few minutes previous, as if actuated by curiosity, but in reality to
convey intelligence to his fellow-savages of the state of the fort and
its defenses.
Then the gate was opened, and Major House appeared, accompanied by
several officers and an interpreter, and received the chiefs who rode
in advance.
Meanwhile, Captain Logan (the officer of the day), a man whose kind and
sympathetic nature did honor to his years and rank, approached me. My
emotions were inexpressible, now that I felt myself so nearly rescued.
At last they overcame me. I had borne grief and terror and privation;
but the delight of being once more among my people was so overpowering
that I almost lost the power of speech, or motion, and when I faintly
murmured, “Am I free, indeed free?” Captain Logan’s tears answered me
as well as his scarcely uttered “Yes,” for he realized what freedom
meant to one who had tasted the bitterness of bondage and despair.
As soon as the chiefs who accompanied me entered the gate of the fort,
the commandant’s voice thundered the order for them to be closed.
The Blackfeet were shut out, and I was beyond their power to recapture.
After a bondage lasting more than five months, during which I had
endured every torture, I once more stood free, among people of my own
race, all ready to assist me, and restore me to my husband’s arms.
Three ladies, residing at the fort, received me, and cheerfully
bestowed every care and attention which could add to my comfort
and secure my recovery from the fatigues and distresses of my past
experience.