Part 3

I next searched around and found the bodies of Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Ireland; they both appeared to have been dead for some hours. Their clothes were in great disorder, and I have no doubt, judging from appearances, that the foul fiends had ravished their persons, either before or after death. The only service I could render their lifeless forms, was to place them in as decent position as I could, which I did. Mrs. Smith had a thick, heavy apron, which I thought would help to keep me warm. I kneeled beside her, and tried to pull it off, but could not. I then found it fastened behind her back with a button, which, from her position, I could not loosen. I at last succeeded in running my left arm under her waist, and thus I raised her body, unfastened the apron, and put it over my head and shoulders, to keep off the constant rain. About half an hour was consumed in getting it, owing to the fact that my right arm was almost entirely useless, by reason of the bullet-hole through it, and the bruises on my shoulder, from the butt of the gun. I am naturally of a timid disposition, when near the dead, but this time I felt not the least fear, although it was, by this time, quite dark, and I was alone in the wilderness with the dead and dying.

When in our great haste to escape into the slough, that morning, I had torn the binding of my skirt very badly, and, since that, I had been obliged to hold it together with my hand. I now had a double task to perform with my left hand: first, to hold my skirt from dropping, not wishing to lose it, because it was all the clothes I had on, excepting a short loose sack and a chemise; and, second, I was obliged to hold up my right hand and arm with my left, for I could not let it hang by my side without great pain, neither was there strength enough left in it to hold itself up. Therefore, I felt over the waist of Mrs. Smith’s dress for some pins to fasten on my skirt with, but without success. I then moved to the body of Mrs. Ireland, and found two pins, which I used, so that they were of invaluable service. I also discovered the youngest child of Mrs. Ireland, lying upon the breast that had ever nourished it. I bent down my head and listened; the soft, low breathing showed how sweetly she slept, upon that cold, cold bosom. I left her, as I did the rest, being unable to carry anything, and she being unable to walk, and under two years of age. I looked around, and, in the darkness, found another lifeless form, stretched upon the ground, a few steps from me. My eyes had become accustomed to the darkness, so that I could see, indistinctly. I found that it was my poor little boy, Giles, shot through the breast by the Indians. He appeared to have died without a struggle; I seemed to see a smile wreath his cold lips and a dimple on his cheeks, and I fancied the angel spirit was watching me as I bent over that little house of clay. I could not wish him back, for he had gone to the land where suffering is unknown. I now left him as I found him, and proceeded to where my attention was attracted by the heavy breathing of some one. I found it was a child, and, stooping down, I examined it by feeling, as well as I could. Alas! to my unspeakable grief and horror, I found it was my own little Freddy! What tongue can tell the anguish that I felt, to reflect on the cruel treatment I had seen him receive, and that he had been left to suffer for hours. I thought, “O! that I had found him dead!” He lay upon his face with his clothes torn nearly off; he was quite warm, and breathed very hard, with a dreadful rattling in his throat. I knew that he was then dying, and could not live long. I wished to lie down and die beside my sweet boy, but an after reflection seemed to say, “No, you must not do it; you still have something for which to live, for are not Merton and little Johnny somewhere on the vast prairie, and, at this moment, hungry, wet, cold, and in danger of wolves?” Knowing this, could I lie down in the rain and die, without, at least, trying, with all my remaining strength, to find them, and give them what poor comfort I could? Oh! no; and I accordingly left the little sufferer, praying that God would soon release him from pain.

I had gone but a short distance when my attention was arrested by a loud, laborious breathing, in an opposite direction, and I found that it proceeded from Mrs. Everett, who had been shot through the lungs. The noise she made in breathing struck a complete horror over me; it was a rattling, gurgling sound, that made my very flesh crawl. I did not, dared not touch her. I was, all at once, overcome with such a dread or terror, or something of the kind, that I feared her. I called her by name several times, as I stood over her, but she answered not; she was beyond speaking. I hurried along, for I could not bear to witness the suffering of my friend and neighbor. I wandered around on the prairie, calling “Merton,” at intervals, but receiving no answer. Sometimes I fancied I could hear John crying: I would then hurry in the direction it seemed to come from, and call him again and again: then I would seem to hear him another way, and turn my course thither. Often, when forced by fatigue, I rested my bruised and weary frame on the wet ground.

As I was going along I saw a light about two feet in length, and one and a half in breadth; it was a pale red light, and seemed to float along just above the grass, at the distance of about forty rods from me. It went entirely around me, some three or four times, or, perhaps more, for I did not count. It first appeared on the right hand side, going around before me: it soon moved very swiftly. I thought at first it might be an Indian, but soon saw that no Indian, or even horse, could move with such rapidity. What it was, or what was the meaning of it, I do not know, but it was very mysterious.

Morning dawn found me still wandering over the prairie, in search of my children, for I was confident that they still lived, unless they had perished from cold or hunger. I looked around, and strained my eyes in the vain hope of seeing some known object by which to learn where I was: but no, I was lost upon the trackless prairie. My fear of savages was too great to allow me to travel by day-light, so I hid myself all day in a bunch of tall weeds. The rain continued to fall till about 9 a. m., when it ceased, and, soon after, the sun cheered me with his warm rays. About ten o’clock, I heard the report of guns, not far distant, and heard the cries of children again. This proved to me that I was not far from the place where my husband and friends and children were murdered. I heard the agonizing cries of the children, during most of the day. They cried constantly, and sometimes would scream and shriek, as if in great pain. This led me to the conviction that the fiends were torturing them. I believed my own surviving boys to be among them, with poor Lily and Charles, and I expected they would all at last be killed, when the Indians were tired with their hellish sports: for I believe that it was rare sport to them, to torture such little innocents. But about four o’clock, I heard the report of three guns in succession: the wail of the infants instantly ceased. “Alas!” I cried out in despair, “what have I to live for now? My husband and five darling children are all murdered: my home is plundered and desolate; and I myself am left upon the prairie, alone among enemies, with many a wound, and scarcely able to walk!” This was, indeed, a sad picture; but how true it is that while there is a spark of life, there still is hope, in the heart. Poor human nature soon found for me another excuse for not giving up, and for trying to prolong my miserable existence. I wished to live long enough to tell to some white persons, and, through them to the world, the story of our sad fate. I then began to look around, to ascertain in what direction to go, to reach the house of “Dutch Charley,” a German living sixteen miles from Lake Shetak. I could just barely see, in the horizon, some timber, which I thought must be close to Buffalo Lake, and on the road to “Dutch Charley’s,” and I determined, that, as soon as it was dark, I would try to reach it. I had now passed two days without anything to eat or drink: I felt no hunger, but was almost ready to perish with thirst, as it seemed.

As soon as it was dark, I started on my weary journey toward the timber. I walked some hours, and then laid me down to rest, on the damp ground. The dew on the grass was very heavy; I thought I could scoop up some of it with my hand, and obtain relief, but it was in vain that I tried it. I then took up the bottom of my skirt, and sucked the moisture from it, until I had partially quenched my thirst. I thought it the sweetest water I ever drank. I now curled myself up on the ground for a nap, trying to get myself warm, by drawing the apron over my head and face, and breathing on my benumbed hands. I shook from head to foot. I was chilled through, and my teeth chattered. I heard something approach me, which I supposed, from the step, &c., was a wolf. I heard him snuffling around my head awhile, and then running away. I did not even look up, for I felt not the least fear of anything but Indians. Soon sleep and weariness overcame me, and I slept for some time. When I awoke, I felt quite refreshed, and started once more on my toilsome journey. But, by this time, my feet had become very sore; the flesh was worn almost to the bone, on the top of my toes, by the coarse prairie grass. Indeed, it was quite a hardship for me to walk, at all, but the sweet hope that I should soon reach “Dutch Charley’s,” buoyed up my sinking spirit. If I could only reach that place, I should be well cared for, and assisted to some friendly settlement, whence I could inform distant friends of my misfortunes. I traveled on in the darkness, through sloughs, and high tangled grass, and soon found a slough that was filled with water. Here I satisfied my burning thirst, but it was very difficult getting through it: the grass was as tall as my shoulders, and twisted and matted so that I had to part it before me, to get along. Most of the way, the water was as much as two and a half feet deep. I got so fatigued in wading this wide slough that I was almost obliged to sit down in it, and rest myself. As soon as I set my foot on dry land again, I lay down and rested a long time, before starting again.

It was now early twilight, and I could see timber at a short distance. I was so weak that I reeled badly, as I walked, but the sight of the woods revived my strength somewhat, and I dragged myself along, thinking that about five of the sixteen miles of the route to “Dutch Charley’s,” were accomplished, and vainly hoping that before night I might travel the remaining eleven miles. As I neared the timber, I heard the crowing of fowls in several directions. It was now broad day, and I discovered that this was not Buffalo Lake, but Lake Shetak! I cannot describe my grief and despair, at finding myself back there, after wandering two long nights, with feet bleeding and torn by briers and rough weeds, and with nothing to eat for three nights and two days. My fear of Indians caused me to creep into the first bunch of weeds, for shelter, and I covered my head and face with the apron, to keep off the musquitoes, which stung me beyond all endurance. I began to feel sick, and a weak, faint feeling would come over me at times, which I attributed to extreme hunger. I thought that if I got away from that place, I must get something to eat, or die soon of weakness and starvation. There was a house not far off, which I knew to have belonged to my old friend and neighbor, Thomas Ireland, and if I could get to it, I might, perhaps, find something eatable. After wavering for a long time, in a state of uncertainty, between the fear of starvation and the fear of the Indians, I chose to risk the danger of being discovered by them, knowing that to remain without food longer, was death. At about ten o’clock I started for the house. I had to cross a small slough, the opposite side of which was a high bank, covered thick with brush. With great pain attending every step, I crossed the slough, gained the other side, and essayed to climb the bank; I parted the brush, in order to get through with the least possible pain, but the brush would catch between my toes at every step, causing me to groan aloud. God only knows what I suffered. Entirely discouraged, I lay down in the midst of the brush to _die_! I reflected that all that had kept me alive, hitherto, was my great desire and determination to live; hence, that all I now needed to do, was to lie down, determined to die, and death would soon relieve my sufferings. But I was mistaken: I found that I could not die, unless it was God’s will, and in His time. I lay here until noon; then arose and started once more for the house. By pulling myself up by the bushes, I at last reached the top, and found myself within a short distance of a corn field. Though in such an exhausted state that I could scarcely walk, I dragged myself to the field. I plucked the first ear I could reach, sat down, and, after many efforts, pulled off the green husks. I then ate two rows of the milky kernels of green corn, but they made me very sick at the stomach. But, after lying down for some time, I arose, feeling a great deal better, and stronger, and soon reached the house.

Here I found the head and bones of a young bullock the Indians had butchered: several dead pigs, old clothes, dishes, Indian blankets, &c., scattered all about the yard. The ground was covered with feathers which they had emptied from the beds. I entered the house and found in one corner, a dead dog; I found a crock containing some buttermilk, so sour and covered with mould that I found it impossible to use it for food. But I took a cup to the spring, drank some water, and crawled into some plum-bushes, where I remained until night. When it got sufficiently dark, I went back to the house, where I caught and killed a chicken, tore off the skin, and with my teeth tore the flesh off the bones. This I rendered eatable by dipping it in some brine that was left in a pork barrel; wrapped it in paper, and put it in a tin pail that I found. This must be my provision for next day, for well I knew that I must have food of some kind, even if raw. I also pulled three ears of corn, and deposited them with the meat. This little store of provision, I thought, would be enough to keep up my strength until I could reach “Dutch Charley’s.” This I imagined would be a haven of rest, where kind hands would care for me, and nurse me up. I put on an old ragged coat, to keep me warm, bound up my raw and painful feet, in old cloths, and started anew on my journey.

I knew the direction to the road to be due east from this place, and the distance about two miles. This night I kept the right course by the north star, but did not travel far, for I could go but a short distance, before I was obliged to lie down and rest. Just at day-break, I reached the road, making the distance of two miles in the whole night! This I thought was slow traveling, but I was quite encouraged, now that I had found the road, and was sure of going right. I lay down and slept until after sunrise: then, after eating some green corn, I started again. Often did fatigue force me to sit down and rest, and each time, after resting, I could scarcely put my foot to the ground. My heel, which had been shot through, was very sore, and badly swelled; but, discouraging as this was, I still pressed onward, till I reached Buffalo Lake, at about 11 o’clock, a. m. Here I found that I must cross the outlet of the lake, upon a pole that some one had laid across, long ago. But when I trusted my weight upon it over the middle of the stream, it broke, and I fell into the water. After repeated efforts I got out and passed on, but was obliged to stop and repair damages caused by the accident. I took off and wrung out some of my clothes, such as my skirt and the rags on my feet; then hung them in the sunshine to dry. I also laid the meat in the sun to dry, for it was so soft and slippery that I could not eat it. After this I lay down in the bushes that grew around the lake, and slept very soundly, for some time. I arose, at length, put on my skirt, coat, and apron, as usual, dressed my feet again, sat on a log and ate some corn and forced down some meat. Just as I finished my lonely meal, a flock of ducks flew off the lake, and soon a crane followed them. This was proof that something had disturbed them, and, fearing that Indians were close at hand, I hid behind a tree, and watched the road in the direction I had just come. Presently the head of a horse was seen to rise over the hill near by. “Indians, without doubt,” thought I, and shrank down among the bushes, and watched to see a dozen or more of the hated savages file along before me. But, oh! what a revulsion of feeling, from fear to joy! It proved to be the mail-carrier from Sioux Falls to New Ulm. I crept out of the brush, and addressed him. He stopped his horse, and, staring me in the utmost astonishment, asked, in the Indian tongue, if I were a squaw. I answered yes, not understanding him, and told him the Indians had killed all the white people at the lake. “Why,” said he, “you look too white to be a squaw.” “I am no squaw,” replied I, “I am Mrs. Eastlick; you have seen me several times at Mrs. Everett’s house; but I am very badly wounded.” While talking with him, the first tears I had yet shed, since the beginning of my troubles, began to pour like rain over my cheeks. While I was alone, without an earthly friend to listen to my grief, I bore up stoically; but now the warmth of human sympathy unlocked the frozen current of my tears, and I tried with joy, at once more beholding the face of a white man. He then inquired about the extent of my wounds, and asked to see them; so I turned up my sleeve, and showed him my wounded arm, and the place where my head was broken. He then helped me up on his sulky, and walked along, leading the horse. At about four o’clock we came in sight of “Dutch Charley’s,” when we drove the horse away from the road into a ravine, helped me to the ground, telling me to conceal myself in the grass, and he would go to the house and see if there had been any Indians about. He returned presently, saying there had been none there: that the family had deserted the premises, but that there was an old man there, who came from Lake Shetak. He helped me to mount the sulky again, and we were soon before the door. As soon as I had got to the ground, the man made his appearance at the door, and, wonderful to tell, it was poor “Uncle Tommy Ireland.” I hardly knew him, for he looked more like a corpse than a living being; his face was pale, his eyes deeply sunk, and his voice reduced to a whisper. I hurried to greet him, rejoiced to find, still living, my old friend and neighbor, who had witnessed the same heart-ending sights with myself. He clasped his arm around me, kissed me several times, and we both wept like children at the sight of each other.