my friends. I replied that I did. After inquiring if I had the means
to carry me to them, and finding I was nearly destitute, he offered to
give me a pass. He left, and, shortly after, sent me a pass to Otomy,
a distance of fifty miles. But this was of no account, for I wanted
a pass to go to Ohio. The next day I took a journey to St. Peter, to
see the man who gave me the pass, and try to get one that would carry
me farther; but, on arriving there, I found he had returned to St.
Paul. I then returned to Mankato, and back to South Bend, to see Judge
Flandreau. He could only give me a pass to the State line. He finally
gave me a pass to St. Paul, and told me to go to Gen. Pope, who would,
if possible, give me a pass to Ohio. I took a letter of introduction
to Gen. Pope, and on Monday morning took the stage for Shakopee,
thence went by boat to the city of St. Paul. After considerable search
and inquiry, I found Gen. Pope’s head-quarters in a very large brick
building. Here I was directed up a flight of stairs, into a long hall,
where sat a man by the door of one of the rooms. On making known my
wants, I was told that I could not see the General, but that if I had
any business with him, I could send it in by him. I told him I wished
for a pass that would carry me to Ohio, and gave him Judge Flandreau’s
letter of introduction to carry in. He was gone but a few moments, when
he returned, saying, that Pope could not give me a pass, but would do
what he could for me, by way of subscription, and advised me to go to
Gov. Ramsey. I turned away in great disappointment, but concluded to
try once more, so I went to the Capitol, in search of the Governor. One
gentleman, among the crowd who were there, offered me a chair, which I
was very glad to accept, for, by this time, I was suffering much from
weariness and lameness. I stated that I wished to see the Governor,
and learned that I would have to wait about an hour, so I sent Merton
back to the boat, to have my baggage put on shore. At last, after long
waiting, a man came and told me that I could then have an opportunity
to see the Governor. There were a great many others waiting, and I
improved the chance at once. On entering the room, Mr. Ramsey spoke
very kindly to me, and I seemed to know, by intuition and by the sight
of his open countenance, that he would do all in his power to assist
me. “What can I do for you, madam?” he asked. I replied that I wished
for a pass to leave the State. He then inquired my name, circumstances,
and where I was from. So I related something of my story. “Ah!” said
he, “are you the mother of the little boy who carried his brother
such a great distance?” He became much interested, found out all the
circumstances, and had about an hour’s conversation with me. He said
that he would give me the pass, which I wanted, and hoped Merton would
return in time so that he could see the little hero, that he had read
so much about, but that he could spend no more time with me, for there
were a number of men wishing to see him upon business. He said that no
boats would leave until next morning: then gave a gentleman directions
to go with me to a photograph artist, and have pictures taken of myself
and children, for he said he wanted them very much. We did as he
requested, and sat for three different pictures. The artist made me a
present of two dollars and requested me to leave my address, in order
that he might afterwards send me one of the pictures, when finished.
I received the photograph, in due season. The next morning the same
gentleman, whose name I have forgotten, came and paid my hotel bill,
attended us on board the steamboat, Northern Belle, paid my fare as
far as Winona, and gave me fifteen dollars, saying that Gov. Ramsey
thought the money would be better for me than a pass, as I wanted to
stop in several places, on my way: having done all he could to assist
me, he returned to the Governor. Next morning we landed at Winona;
as I was just going to step ashore, the lady passengers gave me some
money, for which I stopped to thank them, but there was no time, and I
was hurried on shore. Hardly had I left the boat, when a hotel runner
took us and our trunk to the Franklin House, where I left my children
and started out to see if I could find a team going to St. Charles,
hoping to get a ride that far on my way. I was directed to Mr. Bauder’s
hotel, where the teamsters from that direction usually staid. I went
into the bar-room and made my inquiries of the landlord, who told me
that the teams from that way were all gone, but more would arrive,
that night. He asked if I lived at St. Charles. I told him I had lived
three miles south of that place, but that the autumn before I had moved
to Lake Shetak. A gentleman, sitting there, having inquired and found
out my name, said that he had been acquainted with my husband, but had
heard that the settlers at Lake Shetak were all murdered. I told him
some particulars about the massacre, in which he took a deep interest.
“Where are you stopping?” asked Mr. Bauder. “At the Franklin House,” I
replied. “Well,” said he, “you had better get your children, and come
here to put up, and go out on the stage to-morrow.” “But,” said I, “if
I go with some teamster, it will cost me less than by stage, and I must
economise in every possible way.” “Well,” said the landlord, “you shall
come here to stay and welcome; and if the stage agent won’t give you
a ticket on the stage, I’ll pay your fare myself.” This was too good
an offer to be disregarded, so I returned to the Franklin House, and
offered to pay for my ride up from the river. The landlord asked if I
was going, and had found a team; “I have found no team,” said I, “but
I am going to the Bauder House.” “You had better stay here,” said he,
“we are running opposition to Bauder, and will do as well by you as
he will.” I then got him to state the lowest terms on which he would
keep me, considering my poverty. As a special favor, he agreed to give
us one day’s board for a dollar. “Then,” said I, “I think I will go
to Mr. Bauder’s, as he will keep us free and pay my stage-fare to St.
Charles.” This being a degree of generosity beyond his conception,
he charged me a quarter for my ride to his house, and, having paid
him, I went to Mr. Bauder’s. In the evening, Mr. Bauder brought me
twenty-five cents which he said was sent me by a blacksmith, who also
promised that when I came again to Winona he would pay my fare. I do
not know the man’s name, but I know he has a kind heart.
Next morning Mr. Bauder handed me a small sum of money which he and
others had contributed, and the stage agent gave me a ticket to St.
Charles, so I was soon on my way. On the stage was a man named John
Stevens, an artist by profession: he had learned of my misfortune, and
asked me a great many questions. He had a panorama of the war nearly
completed, and offered, if I would stay with him until he had painted
some additional scenes of the Indian massacres, to give me the benefit
of the first exhibition at Winona. He thought it would pay me well for
staying, and said it would be about four weeks before its completion.
I concluded to stay until that time, among my old neighbors, who, when
I reached my old home, gave me a hearty welcome. While stopping near
St. Charles, I was delighted to receive a visit from one of my old
neighbors from Lake Shetak: namely, Mrs. Cook, who, I heard, had been
taken prisoner by the Indians, and afterwards, released, with a great
many other women and children. I was so glad to see her alive once
more, that I threw my arms around her, and wept for joy. She related
how she had escaped from her captors, and, though rather a long story,
it may not be uninteresting here. She was taken, with the rest of the
prisoners, to Mr. Ireland’s house, where a great many Indians were
encamped for the night. The Indian who claimed her, told her to stay
in the “teepe” or the Indians would kill her. They had a great dance
that night notwithstanding the storm. Some one of them would jump into
the ring, declare that he had that day killed a pale-face, and then
proceeded to represent in pantomime the manner in which his victim had
died. He would jump as though struck by a bullet, stagger around till
he fell, groan a few times, and lie as though he were dead, while the
rest joined in a demoniac dance with yells, whoops, and songs, around
him. Then another would spring out and boast of his exploits, acting
out the sufferings of the victims, and thus they spent the whole night,
perfectly intoxicated over their banquet of blood. Their chief had
been killed that day, so this night they chose old “Pawn” chief. Next
morning they brought Lily Everett into their camp, so chilled and wet
that she could hardly speak. Mrs. Cook and Mrs. Duly took compassion
on her, wrapped her in a shawl and set her close by the fire. But the
savages, not liking to see any one showing mercy or pity to a child,
instantly took aim at them, and fired. One ball went through the skirt
of Mrs. Duly’s dress, and another pierced the shawl worn by Mrs. Cook,
just below her shoulders, cutting a slit through the shawl, about half
a yard in length, but, fortunately, neither of them were hurt. The
Indians staid at the lake till Friday morning, when they decamped,
taking away all the cattle, and several wagons loaded with plunder.
They compelled the women to drive the oxen that drew the wagons, and
also the loose cattle, which spread out over the prairie in quite a
drove. While on their way to the house of Mr. Ireland, Mrs. Cook was
leading little Belle Duly, aged five years, when the same old squaw
who had murdered my poor Freddy came along, snatched the child away
and began to torture her. First she whipped her over the face, with
a raw-hide; then took her up by one arm and one leg, and beat the
ground with her, till the breath was nearly driven from her body; next,
tied her to a bush, stepped back a few paces, and threw knives at her,
sometimes hitting her in various parts of the body. In this brutal
manner, she caused the poor thing’s death, while the mother was forced
to behold the sight. She then told me about a band of Indians who had
found my boy, Frank. This was the first I had heard about him, and for
a long time I thought, as she did, that he had died at the house where
they left him. She was seven weeks with the Indians; the first half of
the time she had plenty to eat, but was then sold to an old chap who
was very good to her sometimes, and at other times very cruel. One day
he announced to her that he was going to another band of Indians, at
some distance, and some of the squaws told her, that where they were
going, there was hardly anything to eat. Next morning he started off,
compelling her to go with him: she made no resistance, but, after going
some five miles, she offered to carry his gun for him. He gave it to
her, probably thinking her a remarkably good squaw, and she soon, while
walking behind him, took off the percussion cap, threw it away, and
spit in the tube, to make sure that it would not go off. She then told
him she should go no farther. He seized his gun and told her to go on,
or he would shoot her, and pointed the muzzle at her breast. She boldly
told him to shoot, then, for she was determined to go no further, and
bared her breast before the muzzle, as if to receive her death-shot.
But he did not do it; he dropped the butt of his musket upon the ground
and looked at her in amazement. She was probably the bravest squaw he
had ever seen. At last he agreed to go back with her. That night she
intended to escape with a squaw, who had married a white man, and was
also a prisoner. But their plan was defeated by the sickness of the
squaw’s child. The next morning, however, the child was better, and the
Indians all went away, save the one who owned Mrs. Cook. This was a
splendid opportunity. Mrs. Cook stole away to the river, unperceived;
the squaw rode a pony the same way, pretending to be going to water
him; but let him go, at the river, and joined Mrs. Cook. They traveled
all day, crossing the Minnesota river ten times, in order to hide their
trail, if followed. They walked, they thought, about thirty miles,
when they came to “Red Iron’s” band of Indians, whom they joined.
After being in their possession three days, with a great many other
prisoners, they were all surrendered by “Red Iron” to Gen. Sibley.
Mrs. Cook urged me hard to go back to Mankato with her, for they had
taken some three hundred and eighty Indians prisoners, and, if I knew
any of them, to appear as a witness against them. I told her that she
could go on to Rochester, where she was to stop a few days, and I
would join her there. I thought it advisable to return and see about
the claim which I had put in, like a great many others, claiming to be
reimbursed by the Government, for all my property which was taken from
me by public enemies. I had made out a list of the items, and employed
a lawyer, named Buck, to prosecute my claim, not knowing what he
intended to charge. So I concluded to return, and find how the matter
stood. On the Saturday after Mrs. Cook left, I went to Rochester, where
I staid a week, with a German family named Kolb, and went to see my
artist friend, Mr. Stevens. His panorama was not yet completed, and
would not be, for three weeks. On my telling him I could not wait that
long, he said he would exhibit what he then had of the panorama, for
my benefit. Accordingly, he had an exhibition and donated to me the
proceeds, twelve dollars, together with some more money which he had
collected for me. He was a man of great generosity.
Then I returned to Mankato, and staid at Mr. Thayer’s. Called to see
Mr. Everett at the hospital; he was now gaining fast. I met Mr. Tyner,
who invited me to his house to dinner, and insisted on my staying
there. Next day he sent a man, with a carriage, to take me to see the
prisoners. The prison was in the midst, of Gen. Sibley’s camp. We found
the prisoners seemingly enjoying life much better than they deserved;
some sleeping, some smoking, some eating, and some playing cards. It
made my blood boil, to see them so merry, after their hellish deeds. I
felt as if I could see them butchered, one and all; and no one, who has
suffered what we settlers have, from their ferocity, can entertain any
milder feelings toward them. I returned to the house of a friend, named
Wilcox, where I staid three days. I called on Mr. Buck, at his office,
to ascertain what his charge was to be, for attending to my claim. His
reply was, that he should demand twenty-five per cent. I mentioned
the subject at the house of Mr. Wilcox, and was told that it was very
little trouble to prosecute any of these claims; that the usual charge
was ten per cent., and that Mr. Wilcox, who was an attorney, would
attend to it for that, or that I might give him what I chose. Next
day I again called on Buck, and got back the schedule of my property.
He said he was glad I had taken it, for he could hardly afford to
collect the claim for twenty-five per cent. as there would have to be
an administrator appointed, and the expense would be heavy. I told him
if he was satisfied, that I was much more so. I left the list with Mr.
Wilcox, in whom I felt I could trust, for he and his lady had proved
themselves to be my friends in time of need. Thus far, in prosecuting
my claim he has given me good satisfaction. While I had been gone from
Mankato, a party of men had been up to Lake Shetak, to bury the dead.
They found and brought back my husband’s rifles, one of which was in
good condition, and the other much broken to pieces. I went to the
person who had them in charge, and claimed them. He delivered them up,
as soon as convinced that I knew and owned them. The best one I lent to
poor Uncle Tommy, but the broken one I took with me, as a memento of
the departed, for it was my husband’s favorite weapon, and he loved it
with feelings that every true hunter will appreciate.
I had now arranged my business satisfactorily, and, on Monday, I
started once more for my friends, at four o’clock, a. m. At about
twenty-four hours from that time, I reached Rochester very much
fatigued. I went to the house of Mr. Stevens, as soon as light,
intending to proceed to St. Charles that day, but his kind-hearted wife
urged me to stay with them and rest myself, till next day. I gladly
accepted the invitation. Mr. Stevens told me that if I would leave
Merton with him, he would afterwards bring him to me, at my sister’s
in Wisconsin. Accordingly, I left him, and, two months afterwards, he
brought him to me, in much better condition, having bought and given
him a full and very comfortable suit of clothes. Merton had become
much attached to his kind benefactor, and, on the day that Mr. Stevens
left him, to go farther east, he wept for nearly an hour. Well, I left
Rochester, and staid at St. Charles a few days. While here, I met with
another of my Lake Shetak neighbors, Mr. Myers. From him I learned the
manner in which himself and family had fled the country, which was as
follows: After the Indians had gone and left his place unharmed, in
consequence of his being a “good man,” and been gone about an hour, he
sent his oldest son, ten or eleven years of age, to the house of Mr.
Hurd, to get some bread for his sick and helpless wife. But the boy,
finding Mr. Vought dead in the yard, the house ravaged, and the family
gone, brought home only the story of what he had seen. Myers then,
thinking that Vought must have provoked a quarrel with the Indians,
went to Mr. Cook’s to tell him what had taken place, but, on finding
Cook shot through and lying on the ground, he saw the danger they were
in, ran home, and prepared for instant flight. He sent his boy to the
inlet after the oxen, and, after a long hunt, they were found, and
driven home. He took them over to Hurd’s, yoked them to a wagon, and
drove back, hearing the continual yell and the report of guns, that
came to him from the lower end of the lake. After putting in the wagon
some bedding and provisions, and placing on the bed his poor sick wife
and the children, he started, and got away unnoticed by the Indians.
But the dreadful news of the morning had thrown his wife into a
dangerous fit. After traveling a great distance upon a circuitous route
to shun the savages, they reached Mankato, but, on the same night, the
poor woman died, leaving five children to mourn her loss.
It was now getting quite late and cold, and winter was fast
approaching; I was anxious to be once more upon my way to my friends.
On the next Monday I started, bidding good-bye to my kind neighbors.
I took the stage about a mile from St. Charles. When we came to the
village, the stage agent, whose name, I think, was Hall, demanded my
fare to Winona. I told him that a blacksmith at Winona had promised to
pay my stage-fare when next I came there, and I wished him to wait till
I got there; and, if the blacksmith did not pay it, I would. I knew I
had not money sufficient to carry me through, and hoped to economise it
so as to have no trouble when I got among total strangers. But it was
of no use; I could not go unless I paid in advance, so I gave him the
necessary amount.
We arrived at Winona about dark; and, finding the boat had already
gone, I told the driver to take me to the Bauder House. There I staid
all night, and learned that the next boat would leave in the morning,
for La Crosse. Accordingly, next morning, I was aroused in season, and
Mr. Bauder told his son to take me to the boat in the carriage, but
first to stop and meet him at a certain building. We drove off, and Mr.
Bauder followed us, stopping in at various places of business. After
driving about for some time in this manner, he came and told me that
the boat had gone, and I would be obliged to stay until night. So I
was taken back to the hotel, wondering what the kind landlord meant by
this course; but it was soon explained. He came in, and said he had
been around town, to see how much the citizens could assist me, and
that he had succeeded in raising forty-one dollars. For this I was very
grateful; indeed, I felt comparatively rich. I can never forget what
the people of that place, and especially the active and benevolent
Mr. Bauder, have done for me, for it was through his agency, that I
received my board at his house and these welcome sums of money. He then
went to the bank and exchanged the money into national currency, for
me, then went with me on board the boat, and stated to the captain the
circumstances of my case; whereupon he carried me, free of expense.
On arriving at La Crosse, I journeyed on by railroad via Madison to
Boscobel. I staid over night at Boscobel: and, next day, took the
stage for Lancaster, but the stage agent refused payment for my ride.
He left me at that excellent hotel, the “Mansion House,” where I was
treated with the greatest kindness by all of Mrs. Hyde’s family. I am
very grateful for their goodness; and not only am I grateful to them,
but all those kind people, who have given me their sympathy and their
assistance, and thus smoothed down the rough and thorny places in my
walk of life. I have great cause to thank God, not only for sparing my
life, and that of my dear boys, but for raising up friends wherever I
have been, to help me along.
While at the Mansion House, in Lancaster, Mr. J. C. Cover, editor of
the Grant Co. Herald, called on me, and requested me to relate to him
my story. This I did in a very poor way, which I am sure he would
excuse, if he knew how many times I had previously related it. The next
day I reached my brother’s house, where I was received with tears of
joy.
I will now mention what I know of the surviving settlers of Lake
Shetak, as far as possible, in my limited space. Mrs. Duly and Mrs.
Wright are with their husbands, having been ransomed, after four months
captivity. Mrs. Duly’s youngest child was murdered while a prisoner,
but two of her other children are with her. Mrs. Cook is married, and
lives in Mankato. Uncle Tommy Ireland has recovered from his wounds; he
still lives in Minnesota, and his daughters likewise. Mr. Duly joined
the 1st Minnesota Mounted Rangers, and afterwards became captain of
scouts: he lives now in Mankato. Mr. Everett recovered, and went East
with his little “Lily,” who was ransomed from the Indians. Charles
Hatch returned to his friends in Wisconsin. Mr. Myers still remains
in some part of Minnesota. Mr. Smith joined the Mounted Rangers, and
served his time. Mr. Rhodes joined the same company, but, as he was
soon afterwards missing, it was supposed that he deserted, as he was
not heard from again. Mr. Bently enlisted to fight Indians, in some
company. Mrs. Hurd is living at La Crosse.
Now, dear reader, since you have attended me till I finally reached my
destination, and joined my relatives, I will bid you good-bye, hoping
that if you are ever as unfortunate as I have been, God will give you
as many kind friends as he has given me.
COPYRIGHT SECURED ACCORDING TO LAW.
Transcriber’s Note:
Words and phrases in italics are surrounded by underscores, _like
this_. Obvious printing errors, such as upside down, or partially
printed letters and punctuation, were corrected. Final stops missing at
the end of sentences were added. Extraneous punctuation was removed.
Obsolete spellings were not changed. Thirteen misspelled words were
corrected.