Chapter I: Part 1

THRILLING INCIDENTS

IN THE

INDIAN WAR OF 1862;

BEING A

PERSONAL NARRATIVE

OF THE

OUTRAGES AND HORRORS

WITNESSED BY

MRS. L. EASTLICK,

IN MINNESOTA.

MINNEAPOLIS, MINN.:
ATLAS STEAM PRESS PRINTING COMPANY.
1864.

PREFACE.

In presenting this pamphlet to the public, I have given merely a plain, unvarnished statement of all the facts that came under my own observation, during the dreadful massacre of the settlers of Minnesota. Mine only was a single case among hundreds of similar instances. It is only from explicit and minute accounts from the pen of the sufferers themselves, that people living at this distance from the scene of those atrocities can arrive at any just and adequate conception of the fiendishness of the Indian character, or the extremities of pain, terror and distress endured by the victims. It can hardly be decided which were least unfortunate, those who met an immediate death at the hands of the savages, or the survivors who, after enduring tortures worse than death, from hunger, fear, fatigue, and wounds, at last escaped barely with life.

My object in publishing my story is two-fold: I wish to inform the public as to the extent of the wrongs inflicted upon the innocent Minnesotians; and I also hope and expect to realize from the proceeds of its sale sufficient pecuniary aid to enable me to return from my temporary home in Grant County, Wisconsin, to my desolate home in Minnesota--to the region where I left the bodies of my husband and three children, on the bloody sod where they fell.

MRS. L. EASTLICK.

PLATTEVILLE, WIS., APRIL 1, 1864.

NARRATIVE.

I was born in the year 1833, in Broome county, New York. When I was about one year old, my father, Mr. Giles Day, moved from that State to Trumbull county, Ohio. Here I remained with my parents, till I reached the age of fifteen, when I went with my brother’s family to Seneca county, where I became acquainted with John Eastlick. In the year 1850 we were married, and we remained there until 1854, when we removed to Indiana. My husband was a poor man, and seeing a little family growing up around him, he began to feel keenly the need of a home. Thinking he could obtain a homestead cheaper by going further west, we removed to Illinois in the spring of 1856. But here it was entirely out of our power to purchase, as the price of land was still higher than in the place we had left. My husband now began to talk of going to Minnesota. In the year 1857, our wagon was loaded once more, and we emigrated to Minnesota, accompanied by one of our neighbors, named Thomas Ireland.

It was our intention to go to Bear Valley, but, on account of cold wet weather setting in, we were obliged to stop in Olmsted county. Here we staid until 1861, when my husband thought he could better his condition by going to Murray county,--a distance of two hundred miles. I felt a little fear of going there, knowing that there were a great many Indians in that and the adjoining counties; still, I was willing to accompany my husband wherever he thought he could best provide for his family. We started on our journey in the fall, taking nothing with us but our clothing, bedding, cattle, &c. Mr. Ireland again moved in company with us; his family consisted of his wife and four children. My husband chose to settle by a small lake, called Lake Shetek, where we arrived on the 5th of November. We found that there was already a small settlement here: but, after our arrival there were only eleven settlers in all. The lake was about five miles long, with a belt of timber running along the east side of it, where all the settlers had located themselves.

My husband chose a beautiful spot for our home, situated about midway between the two ends of the lake. In the spring of 1862, he built a house and put in crops, and we began to feel quite happy and contented in our new home. I no longer felt any fear of the Indians: quite a number of them had lived by the lake all winter, and had been accustomed to come to our home almost every day. Whenever any of them came, they invariably begged for something to eat, which was never refused them. We never turned them away, as did many of our neighbors, and in return they appeared to be very friendly, and played with our children, and taught them to speak the Indian language a little. In the spring, they left the lake, and we saw no more of them for two or three months.

About the last of July Mr. Eastlick left home to work during harvest. He returned on the 17th of August, and said he had met sixteen Indians, naked, and painted red, who seemed very friendly, and talked some time with him. He seemed very much oppressed at heart, after his return, as if some secret anxiety weighed heavily on his mind. I have since thought that he must have seen or heard something that convinced him there was great danger ahead. I heard him say often to Mr. Rhodes, who had come home with him, that it would be a good plan to build a fort. But when I asked him if there was danger to be apprehended from the Indians, he answered evasively, to relieve my anxieties though his own were so great, by saying he thought there was no danger, but that it would do no harm to build a fort.

On Monday following, I went to the lower end of the lake to carry some butter to Mrs. Everett, when, on my return home, I met six Indians with their squaws and “_teepes_” or lodges. One of the Indians was “Pawn,” with whom I was acquainted. I bowed, without speaking, as I passed him, but he wished me to stop; more, I think, for the sake of seeing the pony I was driving than myself. He came up, shook hands with me and greeted me by saying “ho! ho! ho!” meaning “how do you do?” He talked with me for some time, and said he was going to build his “teepe” at Wright’s, and wait for some more Indians that were coming to go on a buffalo hunt in the course of a few days.

On the morning of August 20th, I arose and prepared breakfast as usual for my family, which consisted of my husband, myself, Mr. Rhodes, who boarded with us, and our five children. The children were all boys: the oldest was aged eleven years, and the youngest, fifteen months. My husband and Mr. Rhodes had just sat down to the breakfast table, when my oldest boy, Merton, came to the door, saying “Charley Hatch is coming, as fast as he can run!” Hatch was a young man who lived with his brother-in-law, Mr. Everett, and, thinking that perhaps some one was sick, or hurt, I ran to the door. As soon as he came near enough to me, I saw that he was very pale and quite out of breath. “Charley, what is the matter?” I asked. He shouted--“The Indians are upon us!” “It cannot be possible,” said I. “It is so,” said Charley, “they have already shot Vought!” He then went on to relate all he knew about it: but first let me relate the manner in which the Indians commenced their attack upon our settlement, as we afterwards found out the facts. They entered our neighborhood at the head of the lake, and begun operations upon the farm owned by Mr. Myers. They tore down a fence and rode into his corn, breaking it down and destroying it. As Mrs. Myers happened to be sick at the time, Mr. Myers had risen quite early to wait upon her, when he discovered what the Indians were doing. He called to them and told them if they did not leave he would whip them, and asked if he had not always used them well. They owned that he had. He then told them there was plenty of room for them outside of his field. One Indian outside the fence shouted to the rest, in his own tongue, saying that Myers was a good man. He then rode away as fast as possible, and all the rest followed him.

Thence they went on to the house of Mr. Hurd, who, in company with Mr. Jones, had started on a journey to the Missouri river, about the first of June, and, who never having been heard of afterwards, were supposed to be murdered by the Indians. Mr. Hurd had left a German, named Vought, to attend to things in his absence. When the Indians approached the house Mrs. Hurd, who was out milking, hastened into the house. The Indians followed her into the house, and with pretended friendship, asked for some tobacco. Mr. Vought gave them some, and they began to smoke, when Mrs. Hurd’s babe awoke, and began to cry; Mr. Vought took the child in his arms, and walked out into the yard. Just as he was turning to go into the house, one of the Indians stepped to the door, raised his gun and deliberately shot him through the breast. They then began to plunder the house, telling Mrs. Hurd that if she made any noise they would kill her, too, but if not, they would permit her to escape, and return to her mother. They broke open and destroyed trunks, chests, beds, and all the other furniture of the house, scattering the contents upon the ground. After compelling her to see her home despoiled of all her household treasures, the savages sent her away, showing her what direction she must take, and threatening that if she tried to go to any of the neighbors, or make any outcry, to warn them, they would follow and murder her. She was obliged to leave by an unfrequented path, with two small children, the oldest of which was three years of age, and the youngest not yet a year. After leaving Mrs. Hurd, the Indians proceeded to the residence of Mr. Cook, who was at the house at the time, while his wife was away in the corn-field, keeping birds away from the corn. The Indians divided their force, a part going to the house and the rest to the field. On coming up to Mrs. Cook in the corn-field, they asked to see her husband’s gun, which she had been using. She handed it over, and they kept it, refusing to give it back, and telling her that she might go to her mother, for they were going to kill off all the white men in the country. Those that went to the house requested Mr. Cook to give them some water. As there was none in the house, he was obliged to take the pail and go to the spring, to supply their wants. But when about half way across the yard, one of the cowardly villains shot him through the back. Mrs. Cook staid around the premises, concealed from the Indians, till they had plundered to their hearts content and taken their departure; then, returning to the house and finding the corpse of her husband lying upon the ground, she determined not to leave, without first alarming the settlement. After going through brush and timber until her clothes were badly torn, and wading along the edge of the lake until she was wet through, she reached the lower part of the settlement undiscovered by the Indians.

Having wandered somewhat from my own tale, and brought the story of their ravages up to near the time when they appeared at our place, I will return to Charley Hatch’s account. Charles had gone, early in the morning, to the head of the lake, on an errand. He rode a horse as far as Mrs. Cook’s, but here he hitched his horse and proceeded on foot to the house of Mr. Hurd, where he found the murdered body of Vought. He returned to Mr. Cook’s where he had left the horse, but on coming in sight of the house, he saw several Indians around it, and heard the report of a gun. This so frightened the horse that it broke loose and ran away, and while the Indians were trying to catch it Charles got away unseen. He came down the lake and warned all the neighbors, and when he came to our house he was nearly exhausted. He asked for a horse, to ride to the lower end of the lake, to warn the rest of the settlers. Mr. Rhodes had two horses there, and was willing he should do so. Charles asked us for the bridle several times, but we were all so horror-stricken and mute with fear and apprehension that we stood for some minutes like dumb persons. At last I seemed to awake as from a horrible dream, and began to realize the necessity of immediate and rapid flight. I sprang into the house and got the bridle for him, urging him to hurry away with all speed. He started off, and bade us follow as fast as we could to Mr. Smith’s house.

On this, my husband caught little Johnny, our youngest, in his arms, took his two rifles, and started, telling myself and the children to hurry as fast as we could. I took some of my clothes, but my husband told me to leave them. I asked him if I could not get my shoes, even, but he said “no, we have no time to spare,” so I started, barefooted, to follow Mr. Eastlick. Rhodes called to me, and asked if I was not going to carry anything. So I went back, and he gave me some powder, shot and lead. I took it in the skirt of my dress, and started as fast as I could run; and that was but slowly, for my limbs felt very weak, and I felt as if I should fall to the ground. My load seemed very heavy, and the pieces of lead kept falling to the ground every few rods. I felt so perfectly unnerved with fear that I gave up and told John, my husband, that I could not go much further. He urged me to keep on, and support myself by holding to his coat. This I did not do, but told him if he would go slowly, I would try to get to Mr. Smith’s with him.

When we came in sight of the house my strength began to return a little, but on coming up, we saw no appearance of any one being at home. My husband called “Smith!” several times, and, receiving no answer, he concluded that they were all gone on to Mr. Wright’s. We hurried on and soon overtook them. When we came in sight of the house we could see the same Indians that had camped there on Monday, as before mentioned. They motioned us to hurry along, pretending to be much frightened, and when we came near the house a squaw met us first, and asked what was the matter. I told her that some Indians had killed Vought, and we expected they would kill all of us, upon which she professed great sympathy for us, and even pretended to weep. We entered the house and found Mrs. Wright very cool and collected. She encouraged us very much by telling us that those Indians that were there would fight for us. Soon all the nearest neighbors gathered in. Mr. Duly and Uncle Tommy Ireland came without their families. Mr. Ireland was obliged to leave his wife and children behind, for the Indians had been shooting at him but not at his family. When the Indians arrived at the road that led to our house and Mr. Duly’s, they left off pursuing Mr. Ireland and went to our houses in search of more plunder.

Mr. Duly’s wife was much exhausted, from running, so he left her concealed with the children in the bushes. Old “Pawn” volunteered to go after them, so a party consisting of “Pawn,” Mr. Duly, Mr. Ireland, and some squaws, set out to bring in the missing women and children. They soon met Mrs. Ireland and her children, and, a little further on, they found Mrs. Duly and her children, accompanied by Mrs. Cook. They all came to Mrs. Wright’s, where we were, when Mrs. Cook, with tears rising from her eyes, told us of the sad fate of her husband. My heart was touched with sympathy for my dear friend. I threw my arms about her neck, and begged her not to weep, telling her that, perhaps, ere night, I should be left a widow, with five fatherless children, and that would be still worse, for she had no children. Mrs. Wright gave her some dry clothes, and she was soon made comfortable.

The men had, by this time, prepared the house as well as possible for defending ourselves against our pursuers, by opening crevices in numerous places, to be used as loop-holes for the rifles. They gave us weapons, such as axes, hatchets, butcher-knives, &c., and sent us all up stairs, where we had a good look-out from the windows. The men told the Indians who still staid by us, that they could take their stand in the stable, not liking to trust them in the house. They said they would fight to the last for the white people, but that they had no ammunition, whereupon two guns and a quantity of ammunition were furnished them. I told my husband I had no confidence in them. He replied that he did not know as they could do any better than to trust them; if they proved friends, we should need their help very much, but he said he should keep an eye on them. He then asked an Indian who could talk a little English, if he would fight for the whites. He replied that “he didn’t know.” Our enemies now made their appearance. We could see them around the house of Mr. Smith, shaking some white cloths, and making a great noise. Now and then an Indian would mount his pony, ride out into the field, fire a gun, and then turn and ride back as fast as he could. They performed in this manner a long time, occasionally shooting an ox or cow, running loose in the field. The Indians that were with us said that if we would all fire our guns it would frighten them away. Accordingly they all went out, Mrs. Wright with the rest. Her husband being gone at the time, down below Mankato, she had slung the powder-horn and shot-pouch over her shoulder, and loaded his gun. They all fired together, but the Indians, who reserved their fire till after all the rest had fired. I went to my husband, and begged of him not to discharge his gun again until after the Indians had fired. I think they reserved their charges to shoot the white men, when their weapons were all empty, but were too cowardly to do it, when the time came to act. These volleys of musketry did not seem to alarm the savage troop in the least. Old “Pawn” then said he would go and meet them, and see how many there were, and what they wanted. But before he had gone far, several Indians came towards him as fast as they could ride. He stopped, and they called to him: he then went up to them, and stopped there talking with them for some time. He finally came running back, and reported that there were two hundred hostile Indians coming, and if we would go peaceably away, they would not harm us; but if not, they would burn down the house over our heads. Upon this, the men held a short council: the majority of them decided that it was best to leave the house. So we all started, across the prairie, except Charley Hatch and Mr. Rhodes. These latter were sent with two horses to the house of Mr. Everett, a distance of half a mile, to get a wagon to carry the women and children, and some flour and quilts, for we all expected to sleep on the prairie that night. Alas! some of our group slept before night--yes, slept the sleep that knows no waking. The two men overtook us in going the distance of half a mile, and the women and children all got into the wagon, except Mrs. Wright, myself, and my two oldest boys, Merton and Frank. In all, there were thirty-four of us, including men, women and children. We traveled over a mile in this manner, when the appalling cry was raised, that the Indians were upon our track. The Indians, who had pretended to be friendly at the house, had deserted us, and joined their fellow savages in their demoniac quest of blood and plunder. All was terror and consternation among us: our merciless foes were in sight, riding at their utmost speed, and would soon be upon us. All now got into the wagon that could. Mrs. Smith held the reins, while I, sitting on the fore end of the wagon box, lashed the horses with all my strength, but, with such a load, the poor brutes could not get along faster than a walk. The Indians were fast gaining on us, and the men, thinking it was only the horses they wanted, bade us leave the wagon. We accordingly all jumped out, and ran along as fast as possible, while the men fell in behind, to give the women and children what protection they could. Some one asked if they should shoot at the Indians, or not: my husband declared that he would shoot the first one that touched the horses. When almost within gunshot, they spread themselves out, in a long line, and approached, yelling and whooping like demons. They fired upon us, but the first round did not touch us. They had now come up to our team; one of them sprang from his pony, caught the horses by the bit, and turned them around. Four of our men now fired upon them, and the one who held the horses fell dead.

After the first fire from the savages, two of our men ran away from the rest, keeping the road for some distance; they were called to come back, and one of them turned around as if he was coming back. But there were two or three Indians pursuing them, and close on their track, so he went on, some distance, then turned and fired upon his pursuers. One Indian snapped three caps at him, and then turned and rode back. The two men made their escape without a scratch; one went to Dutch Charley’s, and warned his family; the other went to Walnut Grove, and warned two young men there, and they all made good their escape.

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.

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.