Part 4

While the mail-carrier cared for his horse, we entered the house, and he told me that Merton had left the scene of the massacre on the same day, carrying little Johnny, and he thought, perhaps, he had reached that house before “Dutch Charley’s” family had left, and so gone along with them. I was filled with hope and joy, to think that, perhaps, two of my children were spared. He detailed to me the circumstances how the rest of the men, who were lying there with him wounded, had made their escape from the slough about the middle of the afternoon of the same day, after the Indians had left. That Merton then told him that _he_ was going to leave, too. “Oh! no,” said Uncle Tommy, “you will starve to death on the prairie; you had better lie down with me, and both die here together, than to wander over the prairie, and finally starve.” “No,” bravely replied Merton, “Mother told me to carry Johnny as long as I live, and I’m going to do it.” Uncle Tommy then, seeing the child’s determination to go, told him he would go with him as far as the road. Poor little Frank started to go with them, but was wounded so badly, and so enfeebled by loss of blood, that he soon fell upon his knees, and besought his brother, Merton, to wait for him, saying he was _sick_ and could not keep up, Oh! how the poor boy must have felt, to see his brother leave him alone in such agony. He had been shot through the thigh, through the abdomen and through the mouth. I afterwards learned that he remained two days on the prairie, and was then found by a band of Indians, who carried him to Mrs. Smith’s house. Here they remained and doctored him two days; there were worms in his wounds at the time; and, finding he could neither eat nor drink, but would probably die, they left him in this situation. But he lived, and after staying there alone for three weeks, and living on cheese, &c., he was taken prisoner by a half-breed, named Joe Leaboshie. God only knows what the poor child suffered, and what he still suffers, for if still living, he is yet a prisoner.

Uncle Tommy only went about half a mile with Merton; being very faint from the loss of blood, he lay down in the grass, and was unable to turn himself over for thirty-six hours. Then, finding himself able to walk, he arose, and went as far as “Dutch Charley’s” that day, at which place we found him on Saturday, the next day. As he was unable to get himself a drink, he was suffering greatly, but the sight of the mail-carrier and myself raised his spirits to such an extent, that he thought he could travel a little. The mail-carrier came in after feeding his horse, brought in some hay, which he put in a corner, and advised me to lie down upon it and rest. He found a cheese in the chamber, which he cut and fed us upon. After resting some time, I went to the garden, and pulled a few turnips; taking them and a part of the cheese for food, we started once more. At first, Uncle Tommy could not walk very well, but, after going a mile or two, he could walk as fast as the horse. After going about eight miles, we went about half a mile away from the road, to camp for the night; ate a part of our turnips and cheese, and lay down on the ground to sleep. The mail-carrier gave me a quilt, that he had with him, and this I shared with Mr. Ireland, who had nothing but his shirt and pants. During the night, a severe storm arose, and it rained for some time; the kind mail-carrier put his oil-cloth blanket over us, reserving but a small portion for himself.

As soon as day-light on Sunday morning, we started again. It was very cold, and I should have suffered much, if the mail-carrier had not given me his blanket to ride in, which kept me very comfortable. At about eleven o’clock, we espied some persons ahead of us, and the mail-carrier, thinking they might be Indians, turned from the road, followed along a ravine, for some distance, till he thought he could come up with them. He then cautiously crept to the top of the hill, and looked over, upon the road. But he could see nothing of them; they were out of sight. He returned and said he would go back to Sioux Falls, if I would. I told him, if he thought he would be any safer to return, to do so, by all means: but that I would rather he would leave me to go onward, to New Ulm, which I supposed must be a place of safety. He said he would go there with me. I urged him not to run any risks for my sake, for we might all get killed if we went on, but he would not leave me behind, alone. We then all started on again, with the mail-carrier some distance in advance. As we neared the place where we had seen the supposed Indians, he took a circuitous route, telling me to wait until he could go to the top of a hill, and look out for them. After looking in every direction, he motioned to me to go on, and soon rejoined me. But when we had traveled about a mile further, on ascending an eminence, I saw at a long distance the objects that had alarmed us, which appeared to be a woman and two children. When we arrived near to them, the woman looked to me like Mrs. Duly: I beckoned to her to stop, and, on coming up, it proved to be Mrs. Hurd, with her two children. She was unable to speak, for some time, but shook hand with us all, and finally told me that my Merton was a short distance ahead, just out of sight, and was carrying Johnny. I could stay to hear no more, and, urging the horse along, I soon came up with them. Merton stopped, gazed upon me, but spoke not a word. The mail-carrier took Johnny, who was sleeping, in his arms, and gave him to me; I clasped him to my breast, and, with tears of joy, I thanked God--Oh! how fervently--for sparing my children thus far. How I longed to press to my bosom my poor Merton, but could not, for I was unable to get off the sulky; all I could do was to press his wasted hand, and call him my dear brave boy. He, though only eleven years old, had carried the child, who was fifteen months old, fifty miles, but now he could hardly stand alone; for he felt no fear now, and had nothing to excite him or keep up his strength. He was the poorest person I ever saw, able to stand alone. Two weeks of hard sickness could not have altered his looks more. And little Johnny, too, was sadly changed; his face was entirely covered with a scab, where the musquitoes had bitten him and he had scratched off the skin: he lay stupid in my arms, and seemed not to notice anything; and he had pulled the hair all out of the back of his head. They had both been two days without food. After Merton had left Mr. Ireland, exhausted upon the prairie, he soon found the road to “Dutch Charley’s,” and reached Buffalo Lake before dark, on the day of the massacre, and stopped there all night. He laid his little brother on the ground, and bent over him to protect him from the cold rain. The wolves came around in the night, and he was obliged to halloo at them with all his power of voice, to scare them away. Think of it, mothers, and fancy your own cherished darlings sleeping thus!

Thus he spent the long, cold, weary night, and at day-light, started on his way. All day long he carried little John, resting at intervals, until about five p. m. he overtook Mrs. Hurd, near the house of the German. Together they proceeded to the house, where they found and ate some cheese full of skippers, which was the first morsel they had tasted for two days. The people of the house had left, taking with them all their provisions, that were fit to eat. At about dark they went and concealed themselves in the corn-field for the night.

Mrs. Hurd, also, had had a very hard time since the beginning of her troubles. After the Indians had driven her from her home, she wandered on till she became bewildered, and lost her way, while the rain poured in torrents. At night she laid her children on the ground, tried to shield them from the storm with her body, and spent the night in watching over them. Next day, after wandering round for a long time, and crossing numerous sloughs, she found the road, but her eldest child became very sick, and vomited often. Soon he became unable to walk, and then she was obliged to carry him. But having two to carry, and being quite weak, she was under the necessity of carrying one of them a quarter or half mile, laying him down and returning for the other one, so that, for every mile that her children got along, she was obliged to walk three miles. Her oldest child cried bitterly for bread, but she cheered him by promising that he should have some when they reached “Dutch Charley’s.” She traveled thus till she reached the house, when she was almost discouraged by finding them all gone. Her boy reminded her of her promise, but she could find no bread for him. Next morning, after returning from the corn-field, they resumed their search for food, and at last found in an old building some spoiled ham, which they fed to the little ones. Merton pulled some carrots in the garden, and, after making their breakfast of carrot, ham and cheese, they started again, taking what provision they had left. Thus they traveled, with but little to eat and nearly destitute of clothing, and sleeping on the ground at night. Johnny’s sole clothing was a dress, with a very low neck: Merton had, at first, a shirt, pants, and hat, but the hat was shot to pieces in the slough, and he had torn his pants nearly off, in walking, so that he replaced them with an old pair which were picked up at the German’s.

At about noon we reached Brown’s place, which was two miles from where I met with my children, but found the house deserted, and the family gone. From the appearance of things, they were judged to have left the house of their own accord, and had taken most of their goods with them. The mail-carrier, being unable to enter the door, which was fastened, climbed in at the window, which had been broken in, and found some bread on the table, which he distributed among us, reserving but a small piece for himself. After feeding his horse, he started alone for New Ulm, leaving us around the house, and promising to send some one after us. He said that about seven miles from there, lived a man who owned a pair of horses, and he would send him after us. After he was gone, being afraid to stay around the house, we went about eighty rods from the house, into the brush that grew along the bank of the Cottonwood river. Here we staid until near sunset, when we returned to the house, crawled in through the broken window, and examined the premises. The house looked as though it had just been left; it was quite clean, and everything was placed in good order. There were one feather bed and three straw beds in the house, some forty pounds of pork and a crock of lard in the cellar; in short, we found enough to make us comfortable, and, though there was nothing that would make bread, we were still very thankful. In the garden, Mrs. Hurd and Merton dug some potatoes, and found plenty of such vegetables as onions, turnips, cabbage, beets, tomatoes and melons. Mrs. Hurd then cooked some potatoes, fried some pork and onions, and we all made a hearty meal, which was the first one I had had since Tuesday night. As soon as dark, we all gladly went to bed, and found clothes enough to keep us quite comfortable. I slept but little, however, for I felt not so safe here as on the prairie, and fear of the red-skins kept sleep from my eyes.

Here we remained at Mr. Brown’s house, from Sunday p. m. till Wednesday night, when the mail-carrier returned. He reported that all the settlers on the Cottonwood river were driven away by the Indians, or killed; that he had gone in sight of New Ulm, on foot, leaving his horse some miles behind; that he could see the ruins of a great many burnt houses there, and people, of some kind, walking about the street, but could not determine whether they were Indians or whites; that as he was traveling along, on foot, he suddenly came upon six Indians, two of whom shot at him and pursued him; that he ran and concealed himself in a slough, till his pursuers were weary of hunting for him, and gave up the search. He came back and reached Brown’s on Tuesday night, but, on listening for us, he heard nothing, so he concluded that we were either killed by the Indians, or had gone away, and, perhaps, the house contained Indians, so he went to the corn-field and staid there for the rest of the night, and part of the next day, till he ventured to come to the house. After hearing this tale, we all knew we were not safe a moment in the house. But now I was no longer able to walk; my wounded foot had become much inflamed and swollen. So our kind protector put me upon his horse and took Johnny and myself to a thicket, about a fourth of a mile from the house. He also brought the feather bed and placed it for me to lie upon, among some wild plum bushes. Having done all he could to render us comfortable, he shook hands and bade me farewell, saying that he never expected to see me again. He started to return to Sioux Falls, to send some soldiers to rescue us, and, if he had good luck in getting through, he thought the soldiers could reach us in one week from that day. When he left me I wept like a child, for he had been so very kind to me, he seemed like a brother, and, now that he was gone, I felt that the last of my hopes was gone with him. I knew I could not get away without help, and I feared lest the Indians should come along and find us: if they did our lives would not be worth a farthing. After cooking a pail of potatoes, some meat and parched corn, Mrs. Hurd came to me; Uncle Tommy and Merton also came, bringing some bed clothes to cover us with. But the night proved so sultry, that we could not bear to cover our faces, and the mosquitoes seemed to draw the last drop of blood from our veins. I slept but very little, during this long and tedious night. The prospect was discouraging beyond measure, and I feared that the mail-carrier would never reach his destination. But I afterwards learned that when he reached Sioux Falls, the settlers there had all been murdered by the savages, as also all of the soldiers but two, who escaped: finally, however, he reached Fort Clark in safety.

Next morning, Thursday, we arose and made our breakfast of cold potatoes, and meat. We dared not speak aloud from fear that Indians might be near. It was some trouble to keep the little ones quiet, sometimes, but usually they were very still. Johnny now got so that he began to walk a little again, but when I first overtook him, he was unable to stand alone. About ten o’clock, Mr. Ireland said he could not stand it any longer, and would go to the house. He was much better now than he had been, before: but, one night, while we were staying at the house, Mrs. Hurd and myself thought he was dying, from the wounds through his lungs. He set out for the house, but had gone but a little way, when we heard the barking of dogs. This seemed to us proof that Indians, with their dogs, were upon us, and we expected to hear the report of a gun that should be the first fired at poor Uncle Tommy. No one can imagine what we then suffered with fear. Presently the dogs came crackling through the bushes, and stopped, when in sight of us, looking intently at us. I feared they would bark, and bring Indians about us, but they did not. They turned back and were gone some time. Next time, they came close to us, lay down about a rod from us, and finally went away again. They were large, coal-black dogs, and did not look cross, but quite the reverse. I told Mrs. Hurd that if they came to us again, I would try to make friends with them, and, perhaps, they would not betray us. Sometime after noon, they came the third time; the largest one came close to me and looked very wistful. Not daring to speak, I merely snapped my fingers at him, on which he came up, showing all a dog’s signs of joy, and licking my face and hands. Glad to see a friendly disposition shown us, by even a dog, I caressed him and gave him some meat. Presently the crackling of the brush was again heard. Looking up, in dismay, we caught sight of an object, that looked like an Indian, a blanket over his head. A terrible fright seized us all: my heart beat so loud that I thought he must hear it; but he soon appeared from behind some bushes, and proved to be no one but Mr. Ireland. His coming cheered us now, as much as it had, just before, frightened us. He said the dogs probably had belonged to Mr. Brown, for they seemed at home at the house. He tried his best to persuade us to go there, but we steadily refused. He had eaten some potatoes, corn, &c., and brought us some of the parched corn: he soon returned to the house, to stay there alone.

I spent this night, like the preceding one, without sleep; and Mrs. Hurd, also, spent a most miserable night, for she was sick, and vomited a great many times. In the morning she was much better. Uncle Tommy came out early from the house, and begged us again to go there with him. I had about concluded to go, and run the risk of being killed by the Indians, for, if we staid there, we should, of a certainty, be tortured by the mosquitoes, and, perhaps, die after all. Mrs. Hurd, also, concluded to accompany him. I managed to get out of the brush alone, but could go no farther without help. The others all having a load to carry, left me behind, on the ground. Merton came back, after he had borne Johnny to the house, and helped me a little. I placed my hand upon his shoulder, and, using him thus, as a staff, I got on a short distance; but was, at last, obliged to get down on my hands and knees, and thus crawl to the house, where I at once threw myself upon a bed. After resting awhile, I thought, perhaps, I might be able to sit up, to dress my wounded foot, but I was too faint and weak to succeed, until afternoon, when I dressed my wounds. The one upon my arm was beginning to heal fast, but my heel was badly swollen, and in a very bad condition. I did not walk again for several weeks. During the rest of the time that we staid here, the days wore slowly away: we remained in silence, most of the time, and, even the little ones, were seldom allowed to laugh or play. I began to think I should never live to get away, though the others were now able to walk some miles. Mrs. Hurd was very anxious to start for New Ulm, and thought every day, that my foot would next morning be well enough to start: but each successive morning brought the same disappointment. Finally I advised Mrs. Hurd and Mr. Ireland to go, and wait no longer for me: that if they remained we might all be murdered, and, if they left, it might be the means of saving _their own_ lives, at least. But they refused to leave me, helpless, which was very generous in them. Still I thought it not right, to risk their lives, for the sake of keeping me company. So Mr. Ireland finally proposed that, if we would all stay at the house, he would go to New Ulm, and, if he could find men enough there, he would have them come after us. We promised him to stay at the house, and await the coming of help, if he felt able to walk to New Ulm. “Then,” he exclaimed, “I _will_ go, and have you all rescued, or die in the attempt!” He began at once to prepare for the journey.