Part 2

When the first Indian was shot, Mr. Duly called to us women and children, and bade us go to a slough, not far off, which was the only place that presented itself for concealing ourselves, and that was but poor. We turned our course toward the slough, amid a shower of balls and shot. One large ball entered my heel, which caused me much pain. Mrs. Ireland’s youngest child was shot through the leg; Emma Duly through the arm, and Willie Duly in the shoulder. We soon reached the slough, and all concealed ourselves as best we could, by lying down in the tall grass. This, however, only hid us from the sight, but not from the shot and balls. For two hours, or more, we were exposed to the random shots of our merciless foe. My husband tried several times to shoot the savages, but his gun missed fire, and he was obliged to work a long time before it would go off. Meanwhile, to me, every minute seemed an hour, for I thought John could do good service with his gun, being a good marksman and having a good rifle. Several times our comrades called on him to shoot, saying, “There is an Indian! why don’t you shoot him? for my gun will not reach him.” The Indians only showed themselves one or two at a time, they would skulk behind the hills, crawl up to the top, rise up, fire on us, and drop out of sight instantly, thus proving themselves to be great cowards. The odds were fearfully against us; two hundred Indians to six white men. We felt that we were but weakly protected, and we could expect no mercy from our inhuman enemy: we all knew that death or captivity was before us, and I had no idea that any of our company would escape them. The balls fell around us like hail. I lay in the grass with my little ones gathered close around me: as it was very hot and sultry, I tried to move a little distance from them, but could not get a foot away from them, for they would follow me. Poor little dears! they did not know how much they were destined to suffer, and they seemed to think if they kept close to mother, they would be safe. I could now hear groans about me in the grass, in various directions, and Mrs. Everett told me she was shot in the neck; and in a few minutes more, I was struck by a ball in the side. I told my husband I was shot. “Are you much hurt?” he asked. “Yes, I think I shall die,” I answered, “but do not come here, for you can do me no good; stay there, for you can do more good with your rifle.” I knew he could not come without being discovered by the Indians. Another ball soon struck me on the head, lodging between the skull and the scalp, where it still remains. I could tell when a ball struck any one, by the sound. My husband then said he thought he would move a little, as the Indians had discovered his hiding-place. He removed, re-loaded his gun, and was watching for a chance to shoot, when I heard a ball strike some one. Fearing that he was the one, I called to him, saying, “John, are you hurt?” He did not answer. I called again, but there was no reply, save that I heard him groan twice, very faintly. Then I knew that he was hurt, and thought I must go to him, but Mrs. Cook begged me not to go. I told her that he was badly hurt, and I _must_ go to him. “Do not, for God’s sake,” said Mrs. Cook, “stay with your children; if you stir from that spot they will all be killed; your husband is dead already, and you cannot possibly do him any good, so stay with your children, I beg of you.” I took her advice and staid with them, for they were all I had left in the world, now, and I feared it could not be long before we were all to sleep in the cold embrace of death, like my poor husband!

The whites now made but little resistance, for the men were all wounded, and one of them killed. Three of the Indians now came from their skulking place, and began calling upon the women to come out. Mr. Everett answered them as he lay wounded in the grass. One of these three Indians was old “Pawn,” who had professed to be our friend in the morning, but who now proved to be as bitter a foe as we had. Pawn knew the voice of Everett, and, calling him by the name, commanded him to come out of the slough; Mr. Everett told him he could not, for he was wounded, and could not walk, and asked Pawn to come to him. Pawn replied, “You lie, you can walk well enough, if you want to.” Two of the Indians then fired into the grass, in the direction in which they heard his voice, and a bullet struck Mr. Everett near the elbow, shattering the bone very badly. He then told his wife to tell Pawn that he was killed: she boldly rose upright, in sight of the savages, and in the most melting and piteous tones, told them her husband was dead, and they had killed him. Pawn assured her that they would not hurt the rest of them; but that they must come out, for he wanted her and Mrs. Wright for his squaws. Mr. Everett, thinking that perhaps they could obtain safety by obedience, until they could make their escape, told her perhaps the best thing she could do was to go. She then called out, and asked me to go with her. I told her I could talk but very little with them, and asked Mrs. Wright to go, knowing that she could speak Indian. She agreed to go with Mrs. Everett, and confer with the Indians.

While Pawn was talking to Everett, Mr. Duly said he would shoot him; but Mrs. Smith and myself begged him not to shoot, for well we knew that if he did, the balls would shower around us again with renewed fury. “It is too good a chance to throw away,” said he; “the Indians will kill us all, sooner or later, and I’m bound to make one less of them, while I have a chance!” The women then all begged him not to shoot; and I urged as a reason that, perhaps, he might escape, and let the world know what had been our fate. Upon this he desisted from his purpose. After the savages had shot Mr. Everett, as I have just related, Uncle Tommy Ireland rose up out of the grass, and plead with them to save the women and children. Two of the Indians, who were only three or four rods distant from him, drew up their guns, and fired with murderous aim! He fell to the ground with a groan, shouting in anguish, “Oh, God! I am killed!” He had received seven buck-shot, two of which passed through his left lung, one through his left arm, and the rest lodged in various parts of his body. When Mrs. Everett and Mrs. Wright came back from their interview with old Pawn, they reported that he said they would spare the women and children. We, therefore, thought that since we were in their power so completely, we had better go with them at once. When we all got out of the grass, I found there were not as many killed as I had at first supposed, although many of us were wounded. The rest all went to the place where these three Indians were waiting for us, for they dared not go into the slough after us, but I could not go without first seeing my husband. I went to him, and found him fallen over upon his side, probably having died without a struggle. One hand was lying on his face, and the other still grasped his trusty rifle; his hat was on his head, and his dog lay by his side, watching over his lifeless remains. I could see no blood about him. I kneeled down beside him, and there, in the tall grass, alone with the dead, but surrounded by cruel enemies seeking my life, and dead and dying friends, I took my last farewell of poor John, expecting soon to follow him. I took his cold hand in mine, leaned over and kissed his brow, and looked, for the last time, on him who had been my companion for twelve years, and had now laid down his life in trying to protect his wife and little ones. I did not shed a tear, that I am aware of, when I parted from him thus.

I now found that I was quite lame, and could scarcely walk. Merton carried little Johnny in his arms, and Frank and Giles, two of my other boys, assisted me to walk, by going on each side of me, and letting me rest my weight partially upon them, by placing both hands upon their little shoulders. As I came out of the slough, I saw Uncle Tommy Ireland lying not far from me. He was still alive, but the blood and froth were oozing from the wound made through his lungs, and I did not think he could survive, for another hour. His wife was bending over him, receiving his last words. He bade her and the little ones a last adieu, thinking his end was nigh. The Indians had sent Mrs. Wright to gather up the guns. As she came back, she passed close by him, upon which he begged her to shoot him and put an end to his torment. She told him she would be glad to help him, if it were possible, but she could not kill a friend, even to relieve his sufferings. We came out to where the Indians were, and found that three more had joined them, making six in all. The prisoners seated themselves on the ground, and we now learned how many had been wounded, while in the slough. The men were all wounded, but kept concealed in the slough. Mrs. Smith was shot through the hip, and could scarcely stir. Mrs. Everett was wounded in the neck, and her clothes, on one side, were wet with blood, but her wound had nearly ceased bleeding, and did not pain her much. Mrs. Ireland’s next youngest child was shot through the bowels, and must have been suffering greatly, for her face had turned spotted, and the froth was running out of her mouth. I do not think she could have lived long.

The sky now became overcast with heavy clouds, and a furious rain-storm, accompanied with thunder and lightning, was coming on. Soon the rain descended in torrents. The Indians now hurried and caught their ponies, and made all preparations for starting away. We expected to be all taken along with them, as prisoners, but we were disappointed, for, as it afterwards proved, some were taken, while others were put to death, or left in a dying condition. Those of us who afterwards escaped, were for a long time in such a plight that death seemed inevitably to stare us in the face. One Indian started, taking Mrs. Cook, as his prisoner; another took one of Mr. Ireland’s daughters; while a third started off, leading by the hand Mrs. Duly and myself, neither of whom made any resistance. I stopped, however, and looked around to see if my children were coming, and to tell them to follow me. Little Freddy, one of my boys, aged five years, arose out of the grass, at my call, and started to come. Then, for the first time, I observed a hideous old squaw, who had just joined the Indians: she ran after him, and felled him to the ground, with a blow upon the head from something she carried in her hand. Weak, wounded, and tightly held by my captor, as I was, I could only stand and look on at the scene which follows, while such anguish racked my soul as, I pray God, that _you_ ye mothers who read this, may never feel. The old hag beat him for some minutes upon the back part of the head, till I thought she had killed him. She stepped back a few paces, when the little innocent arose, and again started for me: but, oh! what a piteous sight for a mother to behold! The blood was streaming from his nose, mouth and ears. The old squaw, not yet satisfied, again knocked him down, and pounded him awhile; then took him by the clothes, raised him as high as she could, and, with all her force, dashed him upon the ground. She then took a knife and stabbed him several times. I could not stop or return, for my captor was by this time dragging me away, but my head was turned around, and my eyes riveted upon the cruel murder of my defenceless little ones. I heard some one call out, “Mother! mother!!” I looked, and there stood little Frank, my next oldest child, on his knees, with hands raised toward heaven, calling, “Mother!” while the blood was streaming from his mouth. Oh! who could witness such a sight, and not feel their hearts melt with pity! None but the brutal Indians could. He had been shot in the mouth, knocking out four of his teeth--once through the thigh, and once through the bowels. But what could I do? Nothing, but gaze in silent horror on my children while they were being murdered by savages. I was well aware that any interference of mine, even were I capable of making it, would only occasion greater cruelty. In the meantime, the Indians had been killing several women and children, but I did not notice it at the time. I could not take my attention from my own children, to observe what befell the rest. The Indian now let me go, and went on without me. I fastened my eyes on the pleading face of the little sufferer, but dared not go one step toward him, while surrounded by our foes. Old Pawn now came along with Mrs. Wright and her children. He brought a horse that belonged to Charley Hatch, and ordered her to put her children on it, which she did. He then gave her the halter strap, and sent her along, telling me to go along with her. I looked around, as I started, and saw Mrs. Everett running towards the slough, where her husband lay wounded, and an Indian in pursuit of her, and just in the act of catching her, when some one else shot her through the back. Next I saw Willie Duly fall, shot through, a few yards in front of his mother; upon this, she turned around and begged of old Pawn to spare her other children. One was a girl, two years old, whom she carried in her arms; another, five years old, she led by the hand; another, a boy, was hanging to the skirts of her dress. I can never forget the pale, pleading face of my friend and neighbor, Mrs. Duly. Pawn then told her, as usual, that he would not kill them. I asked him what he intended to do with me, and if he meant to kill me. He replied in the negative, then stopped, leaned on his gun, and told me to hurry on.

I had now got some distance from the spot where I left my children, and did not know whether all of them were murdered or not. I could now walk without difficulty, for fear had driven away all pain. Part of the prisoners were gone out of sight, and Mrs. Duly and Mrs. Wright were fast leaving me. So I limped along at a rapid pace, but, looking back, I saw old Pawn standing where I had left him, loading his gun, and I instantly feared that, in spite of all his protestations, he was going to shoot me. I had a small slough to cross, and when about half way through it, some one, probably Pawn, shot me again, making four bullets which I had received, in all. The ball struck me in the small of the back, entering at the left side of the spine, and coming out at the right side, just above my hip--also passing through my right arm, between my elbow and wrist. I fell to the ground upon my face, and lay here for some minutes, wondering if my back were broken, and expecting the Indians would ride over me, as I had fallen in the trail. Finding that I could move with great difficulty, I crawled about a rod from the trail, and lay down again on my face. In a few moments more I heard the step of an Indian, and held my breath, thinking he would pass me, supposing me dead. But I was sadly mistaken. He came up close beside me, stood a moment watching me, then commenced beating me on the head with the butt of a gun. He struck me a great many times, so hard that my head bounded up from the sod, at every stroke, and then gave me three severe blows across the right shoulder. I did not lose all presence of mind, although the blows fell heavy and fast. I endeavored with all my might to hold my breath, in order to make him think I was dead, but it was impossible: I was so nearly smothered with my face beaten into the grass, that I caught my breath several times. He probably supposed me to be dying, and threw down his gun. I thought he was preparing to scalp me: I expected every moment to feel his hand in my hair, and the keen edge of the scalping-knife, cutting around my head. But, for once, I was happily disappointed, for he went away, and left me, thinking, no doubt, I was dead. And, in fact, I _was_ so dead to every feeling but fear, that I believe he could have taken my scalp, without my moving a muscle.

I lay here for some two or three hours, not daring to stir. While I was lying here, I heard Merton calling me, and now knew that he still lived, and wondered how he had escaped the red-skins, but supposed he had concealed himself in the grass. I dared not answer him, for fear he would come to me, be discovered by the Indians, and be killed. The rain had continued falling all of this time; my clothes were wet through, and I was very cold and chilly. At about four o’clock p. m., on trying to get up, I found that I was very weak, and that it required a great deal of painful effort to raise myself to a sitting posture. As I had been lying, my hand was under my forehead: I now found that the blood had run down from my head and coagulated among my fingers; hence I knew that my head had bled quite freely, or the rain would have washed it away. Upon this, I tried to ascertain how much my head was injured by the blows. I was insensible to pain in that quarter, but by turning my head back and forth, I could plainly hear and feel the bones grate together. I thought my skull must be broken, and this afterwards proved to be true. My hair was very thick and long, measuring about three feet, and this, I think, saved my life, by breaking the force of the blows. Here I sat, wet and cold, not daring to move from the spot. I had heard the cry of a child at intervals, during the afternoon, and thought it was Johnny. I thought Merton must have taken him to the wounded men, to stay with them. So I determined to try and go to them, thinking we could, perhaps, keep warm better, for the rain still fell very fast, and the night was setting in, cold and stormy. I rose upon my feet, and found that I could walk, but with great difficulty. I heard Willie Duly, whom I supposed dead long before this, cry out, “Mother! mother!!” but a few steps from me, and then he called, “Mrs. Smith! Mrs. Smith!!” Having to pass close by him, as I left the slough, I stopped and thought I would speak to him; but, on reflecting that I could not possibly help the poor boy, I passed him without speaking. He never moved again from the spot where I last saw him; for when the soldiers went there to bury the dead, they found him in the same position, lying on his face, at the edge of the slough. I was guided to the place where my children and neighbors were killed, by the cry of a child, which I supposed to be Johnny’s voice: but, on reaching the spot where it lay, it proved to be Mrs. Everett’s youngest child. Her eldest, Lily, aged six years, was leaning over him, to shield him from the cold storm. I called her by name: she knew my voice instantly, and said, “Mrs. Eastlick, the Indians haven’t killed us yet?” “No, Lily,” said I, “not quite, but there are very few of us left!” “Mrs. Eastlick,” said she, “I wish you would take care of Charley?” I told her it was impossible, for my Johnny was somewhere on the prairie, and I feared he would die unless I could find him, and keep him warm. She begged me to give her a drink of water; but it was out of my power to give her even that, or to assist her in any way, and I told her so. She raised her eyes, and, with a sad, thoughtful, hopeless look, asked the question, “Is there any water in heaven?” “Lily,” I replied, “when you get to heaven, you will never more suffer from thirst or pain.” On hearing this, the poor little patient sufferer, only six years old, laid herself down again, and seemed reconciled to her fate.