RETROSPECTION—A BORDER TRADING POST—GARRISON HOSPITALITY—A
VISIT FROM THE COMMANDANT OF FORT RICE—ARRIVAL OF MY
HUSBAND—AFFECTING SCENE.
At first, and some time afterward, at intervals, the effects of my
life among the savages preyed upon my mind so as to injure its quiet
harmony. I was ill at ease among my new friends, and they told me
that my eyes wore a strangely wild expression, like those of a person
constantly in dread of some unknown alarm.
Once more free and safe among civilized people, I looked back on the
horrible past with feelings that defy description.
The thought of leaving this mortal tenement on the desert plain for
the wolves to devour, and the bones to bleach under the summer sun
and winter frosts, had been painful indeed. Now, I knew that if the
wearied spirit should leave its earthly home, the body would be cared
for by kind Christian friends, and tenderly laid beneath the grass and
flowers, and my heart rejoiced therein.
Hunger and thirst, long days of privation and suffering, had been
mine. No friendly voices cheered me on; all was silence and despair.
But now the scene had changed, and the all-wise Being, who is cognizant
of every thought, knew the joy and gratitude of my soul.
True, during the last few weeks of my captivity, the Indians had done
all in their power for me, all their circumstances and condition would
allow, and the women were very kind, but “their people were not my
people,” and I was detained a captive, far from home, and friends, and
civilization.
With Alexander Selkirk I could say, “Better dwell in the midst of
alarms, than reign in this horrible place.”
Being young, and possessed of great cheerfulness and elasticity of
temper, I was enabled to bear trials which seemed almost impossible for
human nature to endure and live.
Soon after my arrival at the fort, Captain Pell came and invited me to
go to a trader’s store to obtain a dress for myself. I needed it very
much, having no clothing of my own to wear.
A kind lady, Mrs. Davis, accompanied me, and the sight that presented
itself to my wondering eyes will never be erased from memory.
By the door-steps, on the porches, and every-where, were groups of
hungry Indians of all sizes and both sexes, claiming to be friendly.
Some of them were covered with every conceivable kind of superficial
clothing and adornment, and critically wanting in cleanliness, a
peculiar trait among the Indians of the Northwest.
There was the papoose, half-breeds of any number, a few absolutely
nude, others wrapped slightly in bits of calico, a piece of buckskin,
or fur.
Speculators, teamsters, and interpreters, mingled with the soldiers of
the garrison—squaws, with their bright, flashing shawls, or red cloth,
receiving, in their looped-up blanket, the various articles of border
traffic, such as sugar, rice, flour, and other things—tall warriors
bending over the same counter, purchasing tobacco, brass nails, knives,
and glass beads, all giving words to thought, and a stranger might
well wonder which was the better prototype of tongues. The Cheyennes
supplement their words with active and expressive gestures, while the
Sioux amply use their tongues as well as their arms and fingers.
To all, whether half-breed, Indian, or white man, the gentlemanly
trader gave kind and patient attention, while himself and clerks seemed
ready and capable of talking Sioux, French, or English, just as the
case came to hand.
It was on the 12th of December when I reached the fort, and like heaven
the place appeared after the trials of savage life.
The officers and men were like brothers to me; and their tender
sympathy united me to them in the strongest bonds of friendship, which
not even death can sever.
A party and supper was made for my special benefit, and on New Year’s
morning I was serenaded with cannon. Every attention and kindness was
bestowed upon me; and to Dr. John Ball, post surgeon, I owe a debt
of gratitude which mere words can never express. He was my attendant
physician during my sojourn at the fort, and, as my physical system had
undergone very severe changes, I needed great care. Under his skillful
treatment and patient attention I soon recovered health and strength.
I had been severely frozen on the last days of my journey with the
Indians toward the fort.
Colonel Diamond, from Fort Rice, came to visit me ere I left Fort
Sully. He was attended by an escort of one hundred and eighty men.
He told me of his efforts to obtain my release, and that he, with his
men, had searched the Indian village for me, but found no warriors
there, as they had already taken me to the fort. The Indian women had
made him understand by signs that the “White Woman” had gone with the
chiefs.
He said the Indians were so enraged about giving me up, that they
killed three of his men and scalped them, by orders from the chief,
Ottawa, who was unable to do any service himself, being a cripple. He
bade them bring him the scalps of the white men.
An Indian, who killed one of the men, fell dead in his lodge the
same day, which frightened his people not a little; for, in their
superstition, they deemed it a visitation of the Great Spirit for a
wrong done.
Colonel Diamond did not forget me, neither did he cease in his efforts
in my behalf.
During all this time no tidings had been received by me of my husband.
But one day, great commotion was occasioned in the fort by the
announcement that the mail ambulance was on the way to the fort, and
would reach it in a few moments. An instant after, a soldier approached
me, saying: “Mrs. Kelly, I have news for you. Your husband is in the
ambulance.”
No person can have even a faint idea of the uncontrollable emotions
which swept over me like an avalanche at that important and startling
news. But it was not outwardly displayed. The heart-strings were
stirred to their utmost depths, but gave no sound. Trembling, quivering
in their strong feeling, they told not of the deep grief and joy
intermingled there.
Mechanically, I moved around, awaiting the presence of the beloved,
and was soon folded to his breast, where he held me with a grasp as if
fearful of my being torn from him again.
Not an eye present but was suffused with tears. Soldiers and men, the
ladies who had been friends to me, all mingled their tears and prayers.
Language fails to describe our meeting. For seven long months we had
not beheld each other, and the last time was on the terrible field of
slaughter and death.
His personal appearance, oh! how changed! His face was very pale, and
his brown hair was sprinkled with gray. His voice was alone unchanged.
He called me by name, and it never sounded so sweet before. His very
soul seemed imbued with sadness at our separation, and the terrible
events which caused it.
My first question was concerning my little Mary; for her fate had been
veiled in mystery. He gave me the account of her burial—a sad and
heart-rending story, sufficient to chill the lightest heart—which
account comprises the succeeding chapter.