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[Illustration: Mr. Eastman in Costume.]
Seven and Nine Years
AMONG THE
CAMANCHES AND APACHES.
AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
JERSEY CITY, N. J.
PUBLISHED BY CLARK JOHNSON, M.D.
1874.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1878, by
CLARK JOHNSON, M.D., JERSEY CITY, N. J.,
In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER. PAGE.
I. INTRODUCTORY 5
II. THE CAPTURE 18
III. A STRANGE ADVENTURE 22
IV. AGAIN A PRISONER 30
V. THE INDIAN TOWN 39
VI. THE TORTURE 47
VII. WA-KO-MET-KLA 57
VIII. A NEW VOCATION 68
IX. THE "MYSTERY BAG" 78
X. INDIAN LIFE 86
XI. MRS. EASTMAN'S STORY 95
XII. MRS. EASTMAN'S STORY CONTINUED 103
XIII. MRS. EASTMAN'S STORY CONTINUED 111
XIV. HOPES AND FEARS--AN ADVENTURE 119
XV. TREED BY A GRIZZLY 125
XVI. SOME CURIOUS CUSTOMS 134
XVII. THE BUFFALO DANCE 142
XVIII. A STRANGE HISTORY 150
XIX. A STRANGE HISTORY CONTINUED 159
XX. THE BUFFALO HUNT 171
XXI. MRS. EASTMAN'S STORY CONTINUED 184
XXII. FEASTS, FASTS, AND FACTS 192
XXIII. THE WAR PARTY 208
XXIV. MY FIRST SCALP 222
XXV. THE FEAST OF THE GREEN CORN 238
XXVI. DANGER AHEAD 242
XXVII. THE ESCAPE 249
XXVIII. A NEW DEPARTURE 263
XXIX. THE "VIGILANTS" 277
XXX. CONCLUSION 290
[Illustration: Edwin Eastman]
SEVEN AND NINE YEARS AMONG THE CAMANCHES AND APACHES.
CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCTORY.
In making my bow to the public as an author, I feel it incumbent upon me
to make a brief explanation of the motives that induced me to attempt
this autobiographical sketch of nine years of my life. At intervals
during the past decade, the country has been electrified by the recital
of some horror perpetrated by Indians on white travelers, and those,
who, having journeyed to the Far West, had settled, intending to make
the wilderness blossom like the rose. Through the medium of the press,
the details of these heart-rending cruelties were widely disseminated,
and aroused the just indignation of all peaceful and order-loving
citizens. To such an extent did popular feeling rise at times, that
farmers and drovers on the border, organized themselves into bands, and
on the report of some fresh outrage hastened to the scene, pursued the
perpetrators of the deed, and not unfrequently visited upon the Indians
a vengeance ofttimes of a very sanguinary character.
In these forays of the savages, they frequently carried off to their
mountain fastnesses women and children, who were never heard of more.
Thus, when our feelings were harrowed up by the report of butcheries,
the tales of life-long suffering of the forlorn captives were scarcely
ever known. Snatched ruthlessly from the bosom of their families, they
were mourned for a time and then they, by slow degrees, faded from the
memory of their friends and relatives, and when thought of at all, it
was as of those dead. In these chapters I will detail the trials and
sufferings of such as these, believing that the experiences of my wife
and myself, during our captivity among the Camanches and Apaches, will
serve as a prototype of many similar cases.
It was some time, and with not a little persuasion before I could be
induced to overcome the diffidence I felt about making my private
history public, and appearing in print. By those who have become
authors, my feelings will be understood and appreciated; but to others
who constitute the reading public it would be impossible to describe the
trepidation with which the tyro puts forth his first literary venture,
and had it not been for the earnest entreaties of my esteemed friend,
Dr. Clark Johnson, who used naively to say that what was a source of
such pleasure to him must be entertaining to the public, I doubt very
much if I should have ever put pen to paper in the capacity of an
author.
With this introduction, I will, as briefly as may be, relate my
experiences, nothing extenuating, and setting down naught in malice.
My family were originally from Massachusetts, my father being a
descendant of the Puritans, he inherited many of the qualities of his
ancestors, and, joined to a high integrity, he possessed a dogged will
that at times amounted to stubbornness. From childhood he had led the
life of a farmer, and my earliest recollections are associated with
country life. My father's disposition might be characterized as
restless; and after sojourning for a time in one place, he would evince
symptoms of uneasiness which would result in the family moving to some
new spot, and breaking ground in virgin soil on the confines of
civilization. By these successive removals we soon found ourselves far
to the west of the home of our ancestors, and at the time my father
resolved to go to California, we owned a very nice farm in Missouri,
and as far as I could see were very comfortably situated. On returning
from the county seat one Saturday, my father electrified us with the
intelligence that he thought seriously of going West. Had a bombshell
exploded in our midst it could scarcely have created greater
consternation; on inquiring what had induced such a sudden determination
on his part, he was fain to confess that he had met a gentleman in town
who had but just arrived from the new El Dorado, and who spoke so
enthusiastically of this marvelous country, that he led my father's too
diligent ear captive, and his mind was saturated with the desire to see,
without further delay, this wonderful land. The rest of the family
stoutly objected to such a hasty resolve, and we finally effected a
compromise, and it was agreed that the stranger should be invited to
spend a portion of his time at our house, and during his visit we could
consult, argue, and finally conclude what action should be taken in the
matter.
I had serious misgivings that our fair home was doomed; knowing too well
my father's character, and that any objections we might make to the
proposed departure would only strengthen his determination to have his
own way. Such was his intense love for the unknown, that any plausible
fellow could induce him to see the advantages of owning a thousand acres
of wild land to his own well-tilled homestead.
The following week Mr. Terhune made his advent among us. He was a fair
type of the adventurer, and seemed a man who could be equal to any
emergency circumstances might demand; of robust form, a complexion
bronzed by exposure, and with an address so pleasing when he wished to
exert himself, that he soon became a favorite, especially with the
female portion of the family. He adapted himself to our mode of life
with wonderful ease, and apparently was making preparations for a visit
that should outlast our expectations. The beauties and advantages of a
home in his adopted State was his constant theme; and so pleasantly did
he talk, illustrating his arguments with anecdotes so amusing and
apposite, that I felt myself being perceptibly influenced by his views,
and used to dream of climbing trees of prodigious height, and gathering
nuggets from their branches as if they were apples. When lending an
assisting hand at our farm labors, he would descant on the fertility of
the soil on the Pacific Slope, saying that crops grew almost
spontaneously, and related what fortunes could be made raising sheep.
By such means were we seduced into the conviction that a change of base
was not only advantageous, but necessary, and it was finally decided to
go. Mr. Terhune said he could negotiate an exchange, by which we could
dispose of our farm for California real estate, whereby we would be the
gainers; and one Monday morning in April, he left us for St. Louis, to
complete the trade and purchase. Our intentions becoming known in the
vicinity, our neighbors seemed to take an especial interest in our
movements, and many were the staid old farmers who called to offer us
their advice and wishes for our future prosperity. Being notified that
all was in readiness, and that we could start as soon as it suited our
convenience, we lost no time in packing what few articles we required,
and bidding our friends adieu, we commenced our journey.
Arriving in St. Louis, we were greeted by Mr. Terhune who escorted us to
the Planters' Hotel, where we were temporarily to reside until the
steamboat on which we were to embark was ready to leave. The few days
spent in the metropolis of the West, was thoroughly enjoyed by our
little party, as under the guidance of our friend we visited all the
places of interest in the neighborhood. On Saturday, April 30th, we
embarked on the steamboat _Prairie Flower_, bound for Independence,
where we were to make the necessary purchases for our outfit in crossing
the plains, and were also to join a train that was being formed, and of
which we were to become part and parcel. After an uneventful journey we
reached Independence, only to find that the train we expected to join
had left two days previously; here was a dilemma, and we were at a loss
what to do. I was in favor of waiting until another train could be
formed, but father objected, stating as his reasons, that it would
consume both time and money; neither of which did we possess in vast
quantities. Meantime we had become the centre of attraction to quite a
motley crowd, who stood looking on, and seemed to take a lively interest
in us, criticising our appearance and indulging in various remarks which
were not always of a complimentary Character. Noticing an old
weather-beaten frontiersman, who stood some little distance off, and
thinking he could perhaps suggest a way out of our difficulty, I made up
to him, and after the usual salutations and a proffer of some tobacco,
to which he helped himself in rather large quantities, I asked him his
opinion, and what he thought we had best do under the circumstances.
Drawing his lank form out of the entanglement it seemed to have been in,
he delivered himself in somewhat the following manner:
"Wal stranger, pears to me, I would jist git rite arter that ere party,
quicker'n greased lightning, kase you see, they haint been gone long,
and if you drive yer animiles rite smart, you will ketch up in jist no
time."
This advice struck me as excellent, and returning to our party I
communicated it to them. We resolved to adopt it at once, only wondering
we had not thought of it before.
Having come to this determination, we busied ourselves with the
necessary preparations, and on the third day after the departure of the
train, we bade adieu to the few acquaintances made during our brief
sojourn at Independence, and struck out upon the almost trackless
prairie.
Our equipment was that in general use among prairie travelers, and
consisted of a "Concord" wagon, covered with white canvas, and drawn by
six mules, in the management of which rather intractable animals my
father was an adept. In the wagon were stored our few household goods
and scanty supply of provisions, and in it rode my wife and mother. My
brother and myself figured as a mounted guard, and presented a not
unpicturesque appearance in our tunics of dressed deerskin, and leggings
of the same material; our revolvers in our belts, and rifles slung over
our shoulder, or resting on the pommels of our Mexican saddles.
Everything seemed propitious; the wagon moved off smoothly, the morning
was clear, and the great red disc of the sun just rising in the east had
scarcely dispelled the haze that enveloped nature as in a fleecy mantle.
We little dreamed, alas, of the dreadful fate soon to overtake us. That
fate which was to dissever a loving and united family, causing three of
its members to pass through the valley of the shadow of death, and
subjecting the survivors to suffering that often made them cry out in
the bitterness of their hearts "why was I spared to suffer such torture,
when death would have been such a welcome relief!"