THE CAPTIVITY.
A person never knows what he would do under conditions and
circumstances never before experienced: a mother who would flee from a
cow, would, to protect her child, fight a tiger without thought of her
own safety; a timid deer that would flee from a baby, when its nature
is changed by a serious wound will fight a hunter to death; a soldier’s
nature becomes so changed in battle that he obeys orders like an
automaton and in his efforts to kill men exerts himself until the sweat
rolls down his face as it would down the face of a harvest hand mowing
grass.
Sylvia and Rachel Hall, who in the peace of their home would faint at
the sight of blood, had their nature so changed during the slaughter
and mutilation of their dear relatives and friends that they viewed
the scene with horror that almost paralyzed them and put them in a
psychological condition of mental aberration.
The spell of lethargy was rudely broken when the girls were dragged off
as captives, first to the creek, and, after Rachel had been pulled half
way across the stream, then back again to the yard. There two Indians,
each seizing one of Sylvia’s hands, and two others taking Rachel in a
similar manner, hustled the girls northward along the easterly side
of the creek. The girls were soon in unknown lands through which they
were tugged on, and on, not knowing whither nor to what fate. Did they
cry? Of course they did; strong men would have wept under similar
circumstances. Did they pray? Yes; but their prayers were not like the
Pharisee’s: they prayed with an intense feeling from the bottom of
their hearts and with all the power of their souls. Were their prayers
answered? Were they? Read on, read on!
After being hustled and half dragged about a mile and a half, they
came to where a number of horses were tied in the edge of a grove.
Here they met friends: horses belonging to their father and their
neighbors. The horses pricked up their ears, looked at the girls and
whinnied--returning the girls’ recognition. If the girls could have
mounted two of these friendly animals that were bred in Kentucky they
might have ridden to freedom; but it was not so to be.
The Indians put each girl on a pony furnished with an Indian saddle
and led by a warrior. Thus they traveled on, keeping due north. After
the sun had set the additional terror of darkness was enveloping them.
Occasionally a night-hawk would break the awful silence by swooping
down from his great height with his accustomed “Boo-oo-oo,” and a
whippoor-will would add his monotonous whistle from a decayed log
in the adjacent woods. Otherwise, it was as solemn a procession as
ever moved to the grave, and only for the crack of his whip and an
occasional “ugh” from an Indian there was little to attract attention
until they passed a large grove on their left. The girls had heard of
Shabona’s Grove. Was this that historical sylvan place? Would Shabona
come to their relief? He had saved them and their friends before, and
if it had not been for the obstinacy of Davis they would not have been
in their awful predicament. But the chief, worn out and tired from
his long wild ride of the night before and asleep in his tent, was
unconscious of the passing of that strange and unusual procession.
Hour after hour passed as the girls rode along weary and heart-sick on
that dark night, with nothing but the stars to light their way, and
not a ray of hope in their hearts. The head waters of Indian creek
and of the Somonauk had been passed and the source of the Sycamore
was reached just as the moon was rising, 51 minutes after twelve
o’clock.[16] Here the first stop was made and the girls were allowed
to rest on some blankets on which they sat together, not daring to
lie down to sleep. The Indians holding their ponies by the bridles,
danced a little, but nothing was said that would indicate their intent,
either as to the place of destination or what they intended to do with
their captives. As the girls could not speak the Indian language or
understand it, there was little medium of communication between them
and the Indians. Their feelings of sorrow for their murdered relatives
mixed with the uncertainty of their own fate, and their disheveled hair
and soiled cheeks through which their tears washed courses, made them
objects of woeful misery. Oh! if the girls could only wash their faces,
which were stained with powder and the blood of their dear friends,
or even in their sorrow comb each other’s hair as they had often done
at their father’s cottage, it would have refreshed them, and, to some
extent, relieved their distress.
[16] Washington Observatory Record; “Old Farmer’s Almanac,” 1832.
About half-past three o’clock in the morning of May 22nd, the girls
were replaced on the ponies, the Indians remounted, and once more the
train proceeded in its former order, with Indians before, on the sides,
and in the rear of the girls. They passed groves, here and there, and
hour after hour, with tiresome monotony, they moved along.
After the sun had lapped the dew, it grew very warm and Rachel became
weary almost to collapse. She thought that if she could walk for
a little while it would give her relief, notwithstanding her weak
condition from fasting and worry. She did not know the language of
the Indians, but necessity finds a way: she made signs of distress
and indicated that she wanted to walk. The Indians understood her and
assisted her from her pony. This little act of gallantry gave her the
first indication of their human sympathy and inspired her with some
confidence in their honor.
Limp and staggering, she managed to keep pace with the procession. When
they reached the Kishwaukee there was no hesitation and all plunged
into the stream. Rachel, who had not been replaced on her pony, was
forced to wade across through water three feet deep.
It was now about two o’clock in the afternoon and a stop was made about
twenty-five miles easterly from Stillman’s Run, on the west of a large
grove, to allow the ponies to graze on the bank of the river. Here
they remained for about two hours. The Indians scalded some beans and
roasted some acorns, of which they ate heartily and offered portions to
the girls, who tried to eat so as not to offend the Indians.
After the Indians had finished their lunch they busied themselves
in stretching on little hoops the scalps that they had taken in the
massacre at Indian Creek. The girls immediately recognized the scalps
of some of their friends, particularly the scalp of their mother. The
sight caused Sylvia to faint. Limp and unconscious she lay beside her
sister, who by the incident was again put into her former psychic
condition, being oblivious to everything about her excepting her
sister’s care. The subconscious thought that she had to protect Sylvia
inspired her with superhuman strength as well as the fighting spirit of
a lioness. If Sylvia should die! what then? If she should be unable to
travel, would the Indians kill her? What torture of mind Rachel must
have suffered!
About four o’clock Sylvia regained her consciousness, to the great
relief of Rachel who recovered her normal condition of mind. By this
time the Indians had gathered their horses, and replacing the girls on
the ponies that they had been riding, all moved forward leisurely.
Shortly after starting a detachment of the Indians was sent out to
scout to the westward, and after being gone some time they returned
apparently excited, and immediately the procession assumed a
double-quick, during which the Indian guards in the rear held their
spears poised, as though they expected an attack. After traveling in
that manner for about five miles, the Indians resumed their composure
and slackened their speed to a walking pace.
Had the Indians seen some of Gen. Whiteside’s scouts? Had they learned
that a detachment of Illinois Militia, of which Abraham Lincoln was a
member, was moving towards them up the Kishwaukee?[17] Or, were the
Indians pursued by the friends of the girls?
[17] XII Wis. Hist. Col., 241, 242; “The Black Hawk War.” 146.
If the whites should attack the Indians, Sylvia and Rachel feared that
they would share the fate of their relatives and friends at the Davis
Settlement. Therefore, when the excitement of the Indians subsided, a
feeling of relief from danger of immediate death calmed the girls.
The extra exertion during the scare caused the pony that Sylvia was
riding to give out, and it was abandoned. Sylvia was then placed
behind an Indian on a fine horse belonging to Mr. Henderson, which,
like the girls, had been taken captive at Indian Creek. Thus they
traveled, on and on, until about nine o’clock in the evening when they
arrived at Black Hawk’s Grove on the east side of the present city
of Janesville, Wisconsin, where the whole of Black Hawk’s tribe was
encamped.[18] During twenty-eight hours the girls had traveled about
eighty miles from the place of their capture, and were worn out almost
beyond description. No one can fully comprehend their condition without
reflecting upon that extremely long ride on horseback, without food
or drink, mourning their dead, and tortured with the worry over their
future fate.
[18] Hist. of Rock Co., by Gurnsey & Willard, 19; 14 Wis. Hist. Col.,
129; 6 Wis. Hist. Col., 422.
On their arrival at Black Hawk’s Grove there was great rejoicing at the
Indian camp. Several squaws hurried to the girls, assisted them off
their horses, and conducted them to the center of the camp where they
had prepared a comfortable place in the form of beds of animal skins
and blankets. Also, the squaws brought in wooden bowls, parched corn,
meal and maple-sugar mixed, which they invited the girls to eat. More
through fear than appetite, the girls partook of the food, although it
was disgusting to them.
The squaws requested the girls to throw on the fire particles of food
and some tobacco which they handed them. The girls complied with the
request of their dusky hosts, although they did not know for what
purpose it was required. As a matter of fact, it was a common practice
among the Indian tribes to make the offering of food and tobacco
to their gods in case of escape from death or as thanks for some
extraordinary good fortune.[19]
[19] 2 “Indian Tribes of U. S.”, Drake, 68, 72; 6 Schoolcraft’s,
“History of Indian Tribes of the U. S.”, 83, 88.
The squaws requested Sylvia and Rachel to lie down on separate beds,
and then a squaw lay on each side of each of the girls, so that there
was no chance for escape. Thus abed, they had a night of confused,
disordered sleep, in which visions of their friends and the scenes of
the massacre haunted them almost continually. The squaws endeavored to
soothe the girls, but they could not take the place of that mother who
in their childish nightmares would say to them: “My dears, say a prayer
and try to sleep.”
“But God is sweet.
My mother told me so,
When I knelt at her feet
Long--so long--ago;
She clasped my hands in hers.
Ah! me, that memory stirs
My soul’s profoundest deep--
No wonder that I weep.
She clasped my hands and smiled,
Ah! then I was a child--
I knew no harm--
My mother’s arm
Was flung around me; and I felt
That when I knelt
To listen to my mother’s prayer,
God was with mother there.
Yea! “God is sweet!”
She told me so;
She never told me wrong;
And through my years of woe
Her whispers soft, and sad, and low,
And sweet as Angel’s song,
Have floated like a dream.”--Fr. Ryan.