Part 5

On Monday morning of the ninth day, that we had staid at Mr. Brown’s, very early, Mrs. Hurd cooked two young chickens, and Uncle Tommy, taking them for his provisions, started for New Ulm, telling us to be of good cheer, for, if he had no bad luck, he would reach the town sometime that night, and by Tuesday night, we might look for some one after us. I could not keep from shedding tears, as he left us, for now I seemed more lonely than ever, and I hardly dared to hope that he would succeed in bringing us succor. I still thought that it would ultimately be my lot to be murdered by the savages, and my constant prayer was, that God would give me strength to die like a Christian. I determined that if they came and murdered me, they should not have their ears delighted by a single groan, or cry. Having found some newspapers in an old trunk, I tried to read, thinking it would relieve the tedium of the hours, and divert my sad heart. But the first story I found, was something horrible about Indians! I threw the paper from me, for my mind was already filled with such dreadful scenes, as none of the writers of fiction have described. All the afternoon of Tuesday we looked long and eagerly for some one to come to our relief, until after dark, when I retired and slept for some hours. At about midnight we were awakened by the barking of the dogs and I asked Mrs. Hurd what they could be barking at. “It may be the cattle,” replied she, “but they act as if afraid of something.” She arose and went to the window, but could see nothing. The dogs now barked more savagely than ever, running out a short distance, then back against the door. This frightened us very much, as we thought it must be Indians, or the dogs would not act so. But, thought I, whether it be enemies or friends I must arise and dress, if I have strength, though it may be the last time. So I began putting on my clothes, still asking Mrs. Hurd if she saw anything, when, just as I was about dressed, she exclaimed, “My God! Cook, is that you?” Then I knew that it was some one whom she knew. I knew their voices when I heard them speak. It proved to be a young man named Cook, who lived at Lake Shetak, and some time before the outbreak had gone to Crystal Lake, to work in harvest: and my neighbor, Mr. Wright, who was also gone at the time. They came into the house, pressed our hands warmly, with tears running down their faces, while Mrs. Hurd and I wept aloud for joy! Immediately after them, a number of soldiers entered, and when Mr. Wright took out some matches, and lit a lamp, the sight that met their eyes caused the eyes of all the brave boys to grow dim with tears. Some of them, tired and worn out, had lain down on the floor to rest, but their leader, Lieut. Roberts, told them that was no place to rest; that they must get up and stand guard. They remained but a few minutes in the house, when he went out and stood guard with the rest of them.

We now learned that Uncle Tommy had succeeded in getting to New Ulm, about noon, on Tuesday, and at once made known our condition to Capt. Dane. Thereupon the Captain ordered fourteen men under Lieut. Roberts, as commander, to prepare to start as soon as possible to our relief. It was almost sunset before they were ready to start, when, lo! Mr. Wright and Mr. Cook came into town, and, learning the facts, volunteered to attend them as guides. They reached our place at midnight, and, fearful that the sight of them all would frighten us, the guides came on alone to rouse us. They had brought some crackers and tea for us; they went out and caught, killed and cooked some chickens for the soldiers, refusing all assistance from Mrs. Hurd; and, having prepared a good meal, of chickens, potatoes and tea, a part of the soldiers came in and ate, while the rest stood guard. After the first half of the soldiers were fed, the other portion were also relieved and furnished a good warm supper. I drank a cup of tea, but could eat scarcely any.

At length morning began to dawn, and we were soon ready to start. They placed the feather bed in a light two horse wagon, which they had brought, also, some quilts and a buffalo robe. I was then helped in, with Mrs. Hurd and our children. The Lieutenant ordered the men to mount their horses, and eight to ride in advance of the wagon while the rest were to act as rear guard. All being now ready, we started, and I gladly bid adieu to the lonely house in which I had suffered so much. I saw one of the soldiers dismount, and go to the corn-crib, but thought no more of it. But, after proceeding some three miles, a soldier rode ahead, and told the Lieut. there was a man left behind, upon which he ordered back three men in search of him. When about five miles from Mr. Brown’s, Lieut. Roberts rode back to our wagon, and told the driver to turn out of the road, pointing a little distance ahead of us. Thinking it a bad place in the road, I looked in the direction he pointed, and beheld the body of an old grey-haired man, lying in the road. I was forced to turn my eyes from the sickening spectacle. This was the body of Mr. Brown, whose family were all murdered here. We soon crossed a little run, where stood their wagon, the goods thrown out, books and clothing scattered on the ground, as, also, were two feather beds, which the soldiers carried away with them. Near the wagon we found the body of Mrs. Brown: her head was split open, and a few feet from her lay a tomahawk. In this place the soldiers found, in all, the bodies of four men and two women. We made all haste to pass by and leave this horrid scene of death, but its memory will never leave us. Soon after, the three soldiers overtook us, having seen nothing of their missing comrade. But it was thought that he had gone back upon the north side of the Cottonwood river: they had gone up the river by that route, but, thinking it safer to return by the south side, they had done so. But, as this intention was not announced until after leaving Brown’s, the man who was left, named Gilfillan, being entirely ignorant of the change of route, had started back by the same road he came. It was just growing light a little, in the east, when we started, and, it was too dark for him to see which way we returned. On the next day, a company of soldiers went out from New Ulm in search of him, as I afterwards learned. They found him on the south side of the Cottonwood, about six miles from town. He had been shot through the breast, and, afterwards, his head severed from his body. The savages had beaten it to pieces until there was not a piece of the skull left as large as a man’s hand. From the appearance of the grass, he had fought bravely for his life, for it was wallowed down for rods around; at least, so the soldiers reported. They buried him where they found him, and left the place with sad hearts.

When about ten miles on our way, we found two wagons standing in the road; the white covers were torn off, and dresses and other clothes hanging on the bows. Some of these the soldiers put into the wagon for our use. Not far from the wagons, in the grass, lay the body of a man with his scalp torn off. Every house that we passed showed unmistakable signs of having been plundered by the redskins. As we passed one farm, about forty head of cattle, far off in the field, were attracted by the noise: they started for us, seeming to feel the need of a master, and ran at full speed, bellowing like mad, up to the fence; then followed along in the field, until they came to a cross-fence, where they were obliged to halt. We reached New Ulm a little after noon, and drove to Capt. Dane’s head-quarters, which was a large hotel. The porch was filled with soldiers who came out to see us. A man named Robertson helped me out of the wagon, and asked me if I could walk, to which I replied, that perhaps I could, if he would give me some assistance. He then, seeing that it gave me great pain to touch my sore foot to the floor, took me up in his arms, carried me into the house and up two flights of stairs, to a room where he laid me upon a bed. Here I saw Uncle Tommy, who was delighted to see us. We were attended by a young man named Hillsgrove, and two ladies, who dressed my wounds, brought us wine to drink, and took the best possible care of us. The ladies lived some thirty miles from that place, and soon left for their home. I learned that the Indians had attacked the place some three different times, had burned some fifteen or twenty houses, and killed quite a number of men, but that, after much hard fighting, the whites had succeeded in driving them away. The women and children had left the town. The soldiers here were very kind to us: Lieut. Roberts gave Mrs. Hurd and myself each a dollar. I was as proud of this as a little child, and wondered what I should purchase with it. I could think of a great many things that I needed, but could not decide what I needed most, so I put it away, feeling very grateful to the donor. Capt. Dane gave us some clothes that he found. Mr. Wright found a piece of calico, which he brought to us, and divided between Mrs. Hurd and myself, and which was sufficient for a dress for each of us.

On the morning of the fifth of September, a party of us, consisting of Mrs. Hurd, and myself, with our children, Mr. Ireland and Mr. Wright, started for Mankato. Capt. Dane kindly sent some fifteen or twenty of his soldiers as our escort part of the way. About sunset we reached South Bend, where we thought we had better stay over night, but, on stopping to see what accommodations could be obtained, we found the hotels crowded to overflowing, and there was no chance for us. But the wagon had hardly stopped, before it was surrounded by men asking questions as to who we were, &c. On learning my name, they exclaimed, “Is this the little hero that traveled from Lake Shetak, carrying his little baby brother? We had heard about him, but supposed they had starved to death upon the prairie before this.” They became quite excited about the boy, and crowded each other hither and thither to get a sight of him. We drove on a short distance to a grocery, where the men of our party stopped to refresh themselves with a glass of beer, when a man came running after us in great haste. On coming to our wagon, he asked, “Is this the boy that ran away from the Indians, and carried his brother?” “Yes,” said I. “Give me your hand, my brave little man,” said he, shaking his hand warmly: “and is this the child he carried so far?” On being told it was, he took Johnny in his arms, and kissed him several times: then, after we had started on, he walked half a mile beside our wagon, talking to Mrs. Hurd and myself.

Late in the evening we reached Mankato; here they took Mr. Ireland, Mrs. Hurd, myself, and our children, to the hospital, where supper was soon prepared for us. I was assisted to bed, and the surgeon came and dressed my wounds. We here received excellent care and nursing. Dr. McMahan was the head surgeon, and was very kind to us; indeed, it would almost cure a sick person, to see his good-natured face. In his absence, Dr. Wickersham attended the sick and wounded, and he, too, treated us with kindness. On the next day, which was Saturday, I was told that some of my old neighbors were at the hospital, namely, Mr. Everett and Charles Hatch. They had made their escape, and reached Mankato in very sad plight. Charley had by this time nearly been healed of his wounds, but it was thought doubtful if Mr. Everett ever recovered. On the morning of this day, Mrs. Hurd left for St. Peter and La Crosse; this was the last I saw of her. The ladies of Mankato showed their generosity while I staid there, by giving me clothes for myself and children. I often overheard some one inquiring for the boy that carried his brother so far: soldiers and officers came there in large numbers, thinking it quite a sight to see my Merton, and generally gave him or myself, small sums of money, from a dime to a dollar. When several companies of the 25th Wisconsin Regiment came through the town, on their way to the scene of the Indian war, they remained in town over night. Next morning, they came to the hospital to see me and my children: they crowded my room and the halls, till at last the surgeon, seeing that there were a great many more coming than the house would hold, locked the door against them and refused to let them in. Not being able to see me, then the soldiers clamored for a sight of Johnny. Dr. Wickersham took the child down among them, where he was caressed and passed from hand to hand, causing great amazement at the strength and endurance of the boy that had lugged him fifty miles without food. When they left town, they took Merton along with them some distance, and sent him back with a present of fifteen dollars, all in silver, which was a scarce commodity at that time, and is still more rare now. I shall never cease to remember, with gratitude, the benevolent soldiers of the 25th Wisconsin. The money came very timely, for, until then, I had nothing with which to get clothing for Merton. I had remained at the hospital six or seven weeks, and he was much in need of clothes, for the weather was now growing colder. I was now very tired of staying here, and determined to leave, whether they gave me a discharge or not. My foot had healed so that I began to use it some, but was very lame: the rest of my wounds were all healed.

Three days before I left, the Government sent a new surgeon to take charge of the hospital--viz: Dr. Clark, of Mankato. He at once tried to send me into the kitchen, to work, but I had no intention of paying my board by working in the kitchen, while he drew pay from the Government for keeping me, and so I did not agree to the proposal. Finding he could not drive me to work, he said that if I was going to leave at all, I could do so at once, which I soon afterwards did. On another occasion, a gentleman called and inquired for Dr. Clark. Mr. Ireland told him he was in Mr. Everett’s room, and volunteered to go and call him; went to the door, and, finding it ajar, pushed it open just in time to see Dr. Clark in the act of tipping up a bottle of brandy to take a dram. Clark at once got in a passion, charged Uncle Tommy with hanging around watching him, and, swearing he would not keep a spy about him, he discharged him, on the spot. But Mr. Ireland was unable to get a living, for his arm, that had been shot through, was of no use, so Dr. Wickersham, in the benevolence of his heart, took him to the hotel and paid his board for one week. At the end of this time, Mr. Ireland refused to stay longer, not thinking it right to take advantage of the Dr.’s kind offer. I was not in a condition to travel, for I had no bonnet or shawl. But Mr. Daniel Tyner bought me a bonnet, shawl, a pair of shoes, stockings and gloves, as well as clothing for the children, and gave them all to me. When I asked him what they cost, so as to pay him, if I ever got able; he said that if that was my reason for asking, he would not tell me. I shall ever remember him and the ladies of Mankato, with gratitude.