potatoes, and meat. We dared not speak aloud from fear that Indians
might be near. It was some trouble to keep the little ones quiet,
sometimes, but usually they were very still. Johnny now got so that he
began to walk a little again, but when I first overtook him, he was
unable to stand alone. About ten o’clock, Mr. Ireland said he could
not stand it any longer, and would go to the house. He was much better
now than he had been, before: but, one night, while we were staying at
the house, Mrs. Hurd and myself thought he was dying, from the wounds
through his lungs. He set out for the house, but had gone but a little
way, when we heard the barking of dogs. This seemed to us proof that
Indians, with their dogs, were upon us, and we expected to hear the
report of a gun that should be the first fired at poor Uncle Tommy. No
one can imagine what we then suffered with fear. Presently the dogs
came crackling through the bushes, and stopped, when in sight of us,
looking intently at us. I feared they would bark, and bring Indians
about us, but they did not. They turned back and were gone some time.
Next time, they came close to us, lay down about a rod from us, and
finally went away again. They were large, coal-black dogs, and did not
look cross, but quite the reverse. I told Mrs. Hurd that if they came
to us again, I would try to make friends with them, and, perhaps, they
would not betray us. Sometime after noon, they came the third time; the
largest one came close to me and looked very wistful. Not daring to
speak, I merely snapped my fingers at him, on which he came up, showing
all a dog’s signs of joy, and licking my face and hands. Glad to see a
friendly disposition shown us, by even a dog, I caressed him and gave
him some meat. Presently the crackling of the brush was again heard.
Looking up, in dismay, we caught sight of an object, that looked like
an Indian, a blanket over his head. A terrible fright seized us all: my
heart beat so loud that I thought he must hear it; but he soon appeared
from behind some bushes, and proved to be no one but Mr. Ireland. His
coming cheered us now, as much as it had, just before, frightened us.
He said the dogs probably had belonged to Mr. Brown, for they seemed at
home at the house. He tried his best to persuade us to go there, but we
steadily refused. He had eaten some potatoes, corn, &c., and brought us
some of the parched corn: he soon returned to the house, to stay there
alone.
I spent this night, like the preceding one, without sleep; and Mrs.
Hurd, also, spent a most miserable night, for she was sick, and vomited
a great many times. In the morning she was much better. Uncle Tommy
came out early from the house, and begged us again to go there with
him. I had about concluded to go, and run the risk of being killed by
the Indians, for, if we staid there, we should, of a certainty, be
tortured by the mosquitoes, and, perhaps, die after all. Mrs. Hurd,
also, concluded to accompany him. I managed to get out of the brush
alone, but could go no farther without help. The others all having a
load to carry, left me behind, on the ground. Merton came back, after
he had borne Johnny to the house, and helped me a little. I placed my
hand upon his shoulder, and, using him thus, as a staff, I got on a
short distance; but was, at last, obliged to get down on my hands and
knees, and thus crawl to the house, where I at once threw myself upon a
bed. After resting awhile, I thought, perhaps, I might be able to sit
up, to dress my wounded foot, but I was too faint and weak to succeed,
until afternoon, when I dressed my wounds. The one upon my arm was
beginning to heal fast, but my heel was badly swollen, and in a very
bad condition. I did not walk again for several weeks. During the rest
of the time that we staid here, the days wore slowly away: we remained
in silence, most of the time, and, even the little ones, were seldom
allowed to laugh or play. I began to think I should never live to get
away, though the others were now able to walk some miles. Mrs. Hurd
was very anxious to start for New Ulm, and thought every day, that my
foot would next morning be well enough to start: but each successive
morning brought the same disappointment. Finally I advised Mrs. Hurd
and Mr. Ireland to go, and wait no longer for me: that if they remained
we might all be murdered, and, if they left, it might be the means
of saving _their own_ lives, at least. But they refused to leave me,
helpless, which was very generous in them. Still I thought it not
right, to risk their lives, for the sake of keeping me company. So Mr.
Ireland finally proposed that, if we would all stay at the house, he
would go to New Ulm, and, if he could find men enough there, he would
have them come after us. We promised him to stay at the house, and
await the coming of help, if he felt able to walk to New Ulm. “Then,”
he exclaimed, “I _will_ go, and have you all rescued, or die in the
attempt!” He began at once to prepare for the journey.
On Monday morning of the ninth day, that we had staid at Mr. Brown’s,
very early, Mrs. Hurd cooked two young chickens, and Uncle Tommy,
taking them for his provisions, started for New Ulm, telling us to be
of good cheer, for, if he had no bad luck, he would reach the town
sometime that night, and by Tuesday night, we might look for some one
after us. I could not keep from shedding tears, as he left us, for
now I seemed more lonely than ever, and I hardly dared to hope that
he would succeed in bringing us succor. I still thought that it would
ultimately be my lot to be murdered by the savages, and my constant
prayer was, that God would give me strength to die like a Christian.
I determined that if they came and murdered me, they should not have
their ears delighted by a single groan, or cry. Having found some
newspapers in an old trunk, I tried to read, thinking it would relieve
the tedium of the hours, and divert my sad heart. But the first story
I found, was something horrible about Indians! I threw the paper from
me, for my mind was already filled with such dreadful scenes, as none
of the writers of fiction have described. All the afternoon of Tuesday
we looked long and eagerly for some one to come to our relief, until
after dark, when I retired and slept for some hours. At about midnight
we were awakened by the barking of the dogs and I asked Mrs. Hurd
what they could be barking at. “It may be the cattle,” replied she,
“but they act as if afraid of something.” She arose and went to the
window, but could see nothing. The dogs now barked more savagely than
ever, running out a short distance, then back against the door. This
frightened us very much, as we thought it must be Indians, or the dogs
would not act so. But, thought I, whether it be enemies or friends I
must arise and dress, if I have strength, though it may be the last
time. So I began putting on my clothes, still asking Mrs. Hurd if she
saw anything, when, just as I was about dressed, she exclaimed, “My
God! Cook, is that you?” Then I knew that it was some one whom she
knew. I knew their voices when I heard them speak. It proved to be a
young man named Cook, who lived at Lake Shetak, and some time before
the outbreak had gone to Crystal Lake, to work in harvest: and my
neighbor, Mr. Wright, who was also gone at the time. They came into
the house, pressed our hands warmly, with tears running down their
faces, while Mrs. Hurd and I wept aloud for joy! Immediately after
them, a number of soldiers entered, and when Mr. Wright took out some
matches, and lit a lamp, the sight that met their eyes caused the eyes
of all the brave boys to grow dim with tears. Some of them, tired and
worn out, had lain down on the floor to rest, but their leader, Lieut.
Roberts, told them that was no place to rest; that they must get up and
stand guard. They remained but a few minutes in the house, when he went
out and stood guard with the rest of them.
We now learned that Uncle Tommy had succeeded in getting to New Ulm,
about noon, on Tuesday, and at once made known our condition to Capt.
Dane. Thereupon the Captain ordered fourteen men under Lieut. Roberts,
as commander, to prepare to start as soon as possible to our relief. It
was almost sunset before they were ready to start, when, lo! Mr. Wright
and Mr. Cook came into town, and, learning the facts, volunteered to
attend them as guides. They reached our place at midnight, and, fearful
that the sight of them all would frighten us, the guides came on alone
to rouse us. They had brought some crackers and tea for us; they went
out and caught, killed and cooked some chickens for the soldiers,
refusing all assistance from Mrs. Hurd; and, having prepared a good
meal, of chickens, potatoes and tea, a part of the soldiers came in and
ate, while the rest stood guard. After the first half of the soldiers
were fed, the other portion were also relieved and furnished a good
warm supper. I drank a cup of tea, but could eat scarcely any.
At length morning began to dawn, and we were soon ready to start. They
placed the feather bed in a light two horse wagon, which they had
brought, also, some quilts and a buffalo robe. I was then helped in,
with Mrs. Hurd and our children. The Lieutenant ordered the men to
mount their horses, and eight to ride in advance of the wagon while the
rest were to act as rear guard. All being now ready, we started, and I
gladly bid adieu to the lonely house in which I had suffered so much. I
saw one of the soldiers dismount, and go to the corn-crib, but thought
no more of it. But, after proceeding some three miles, a soldier rode
ahead, and told the Lieut. there was a man left behind, upon which he
ordered back three men in search of him. When about five miles from Mr.
Brown’s, Lieut. Roberts rode back to our wagon, and told the driver to
turn out of the road, pointing a little distance ahead of us. Thinking
it a bad place in the road, I looked in the direction he pointed, and
beheld the body of an old grey-haired man, lying in the road. I was
forced to turn my eyes from the sickening spectacle. This was the body
of Mr. Brown, whose family were all murdered here. We soon crossed a
little run, where stood their wagon, the goods thrown out, books and
clothing scattered on the ground, as, also, were two feather beds,
which the soldiers carried away with them. Near the wagon we found the
body of Mrs. Brown: her head was split open, and a few feet from her
lay a tomahawk. In this place the soldiers found, in all, the bodies
of four men and two women. We made all haste to pass by and leave this
horrid scene of death, but its memory will never leave us. Soon after,
the three soldiers overtook us, having seen nothing of their missing
comrade. But it was thought that he had gone back upon the north side
of the Cottonwood river: they had gone up the river by that route,
but, thinking it safer to return by the south side, they had done so.
But, as this intention was not announced until after leaving Brown’s,
the man who was left, named Gilfillan, being entirely ignorant of the
change of route, had started back by the same road he came. It was just
growing light a little, in the east, when we started, and, it was too
dark for him to see which way we returned. On the next day, a company
of soldiers went out from New Ulm in search of him, as I afterwards
learned. They found him on the south side of the Cottonwood, about six
miles from town. He had been shot through the breast, and, afterwards,
his head severed from his body. The savages had beaten it to pieces
until there was not a piece of the skull left as large as a man’s hand.
From the appearance of the grass, he had fought bravely for his life,
for it was wallowed down for rods around; at least, so the soldiers
reported. They buried him where they found him, and left the place with
sad hearts.
When about ten miles on our way, we found two wagons standing in the
road; the white covers were torn off, and dresses and other clothes
hanging on the bows. Some of these the soldiers put into the wagon
for our use. Not far from the wagons, in the grass, lay the body of
a man with his scalp torn off. Every house that we passed showed
unmistakable signs of having been plundered by the redskins. As we
passed one farm, about forty head of cattle, far off in the field,
were attracted by the noise: they started for us, seeming to feel
the need of a master, and ran at full speed, bellowing like mad, up
to the fence; then followed along in the field, until they came to a
cross-fence, where they were obliged to halt. We reached New Ulm a
little after noon, and drove to Capt. Dane’s head-quarters, which was
a large hotel. The porch was filled with soldiers who came out to see
us. A man named Robertson helped me out of the wagon, and asked me if I
could walk, to which I replied, that perhaps I could, if he would give
me some assistance. He then, seeing that it gave me great pain to touch
my sore foot to the floor, took me up in his arms, carried me into the
house and up two flights of stairs, to a room where he laid me upon
a bed. Here I saw Uncle Tommy, who was delighted to see us. We were
attended by a young man named Hillsgrove, and two ladies, who dressed
my wounds, brought us wine to drink, and took the best possible care of
us. The ladies lived some thirty miles from that place, and soon left
for their home. I learned that the Indians had attacked the place some
three different times, had burned some fifteen or twenty houses, and
killed quite a number of men, but that, after much hard fighting, the
whites had succeeded in driving them away. The women and children had
left the town. The soldiers here were very kind to us: Lieut. Roberts
gave Mrs. Hurd and myself each a dollar. I was as proud of this as a
little child, and wondered what I should purchase with it. I could
think of a great many things that I needed, but could not decide what
I needed most, so I put it away, feeling very grateful to the donor.
Capt. Dane gave us some clothes that he found. Mr. Wright found a piece
of calico, which he brought to us, and divided between Mrs. Hurd and
myself, and which was sufficient for a dress for each of us.
On the morning of the fifth of September, a party of us, consisting of
Mrs. Hurd, and myself, with our children, Mr. Ireland and Mr. Wright,
started for Mankato. Capt. Dane kindly sent some fifteen or twenty of
his soldiers as our escort part of the way. About sunset we reached
South Bend, where we thought we had better stay over night, but, on
stopping to see what accommodations could be obtained, we found the
hotels crowded to overflowing, and there was no chance for us. But
the wagon had hardly stopped, before it was surrounded by men asking
questions as to who we were, &c. On learning my name, they exclaimed,
“Is this the little hero that traveled from Lake Shetak, carrying his
little baby brother? We had heard about him, but supposed they had
starved to death upon the prairie before this.” They became quite
excited about the boy, and crowded each other hither and thither to
get a sight of him. We drove on a short distance to a grocery, where
the men of our party stopped to refresh themselves with a glass of
beer, when a man came running after us in great haste. On coming to
our wagon, he asked, “Is this the boy that ran away from the Indians,
and carried his brother?” “Yes,” said I. “Give me your hand, my brave
little man,” said he, shaking his hand warmly: “and is this the child
he carried so far?” On being told it was, he took Johnny in his arms,
and kissed him several times: then, after we had started on, he walked
half a mile beside our wagon, talking to Mrs. Hurd and myself.
Late in the evening we reached Mankato; here they took Mr. Ireland,
Mrs. Hurd, myself, and our children, to the hospital, where supper
was soon prepared for us. I was assisted to bed, and the surgeon came
and dressed my wounds. We here received excellent care and nursing.
Dr. McMahan was the head surgeon, and was very kind to us; indeed, it
would almost cure a sick person, to see his good-natured face. In his
absence, Dr. Wickersham attended the sick and wounded, and he, too,
treated us with kindness. On the next day, which was Saturday, I was
told that some of my old neighbors were at the hospital, namely, Mr.
Everett and Charles Hatch. They had made their escape, and reached
Mankato in very sad plight. Charley had by this time nearly been
healed of his wounds, but it was thought doubtful if Mr. Everett ever
recovered. On the morning of this day, Mrs. Hurd left for St. Peter and
La Crosse; this was the last I saw of her. The ladies of Mankato showed
their generosity while I staid there, by giving me clothes for myself
and children. I often overheard some one inquiring for the boy that
carried his brother so far: soldiers and officers came there in large
numbers, thinking it quite a sight to see my Merton, and generally
gave him or myself, small sums of money, from a dime to a dollar.
When several companies of the 25th Wisconsin Regiment came through
the town, on their way to the scene of the Indian war, they remained
in town over night. Next morning, they came to the hospital to see
me and my children: they crowded my room and the halls, till at last
the surgeon, seeing that there were a great many more coming than the
house would hold, locked the door against them and refused to let them
in. Not being able to see me, then the soldiers clamored for a sight
of Johnny. Dr. Wickersham took the child down among them, where he
was caressed and passed from hand to hand, causing great amazement at
the strength and endurance of the boy that had lugged him fifty miles
without food. When they left town, they took Merton along with them
some distance, and sent him back with a present of fifteen dollars,
all in silver, which was a scarce commodity at that time, and is still
more rare now. I shall never cease to remember, with gratitude, the
benevolent soldiers of the 25th Wisconsin. The money came very timely,
for, until then, I had nothing with which to get clothing for Merton.
I had remained at the hospital six or seven weeks, and he was much in
need of clothes, for the weather was now growing colder. I was now very
tired of staying here, and determined to leave, whether they gave me a
discharge or not. My foot had healed so that I began to use it some,
but was very lame: the rest of my wounds were all healed.
Three days before I left, the Government sent a new surgeon to take
charge of the hospital--viz: Dr. Clark, of Mankato. He at once tried to
send me into the kitchen, to work, but I had no intention of paying my
board by working in the kitchen, while he drew pay from the Government
for keeping me, and so I did not agree to the proposal. Finding he
could not drive me to work, he said that if I was going to leave at
all, I could do so at once, which I soon afterwards did. On another
occasion, a gentleman called and inquired for Dr. Clark. Mr. Ireland
told him he was in Mr. Everett’s room, and volunteered to go and call
him; went to the door, and, finding it ajar, pushed it open just in
time to see Dr. Clark in the act of tipping up a bottle of brandy to
take a dram. Clark at once got in a passion, charged Uncle Tommy with
hanging around watching him, and, swearing he would not keep a spy
about him, he discharged him, on the spot. But Mr. Ireland was unable
to get a living, for his arm, that had been shot through, was of no
use, so Dr. Wickersham, in the benevolence of his heart, took him to
the hotel and paid his board for one week. At the end of this time, Mr.
Ireland refused to stay longer, not thinking it right to take advantage
of the Dr.’s kind offer. I was not in a condition to travel, for I had
no bonnet or shawl. But Mr. Daniel Tyner bought me a bonnet, shawl,
a pair of shoes, stockings and gloves, as well as clothing for the
children, and gave them all to me. When I asked him what they cost, so
as to pay him, if I ever got able; he said that if that was my reason
for asking, he would not tell me. I shall ever remember him and the
ladies of Mankato, with gratitude.