My Captivity Among the Sioux Indians. Fanny Kelly
still were standing, and feathers, flour, the remnants of much that was but half destroyed, lay scattered about the ground.
Mr. Kelly, with faltering steps, supported by the strong arm of Andy, was among the first to search the spot; his intense distress for the unknown fate of his family urged him on, although he dreaded to think of what the bloody spot might disclose to him.
The dead bodies of Mr. Sharp, Mr. Taylor, and our colored servant, Franklin, were discovered lying where they had fallen. Poor Frank had been shot by an arrow that pierced both his legs, pinning them together, in which condition he had been murdered by the ruthless wretches by having his skull broken.
Both Mr. Sharp and Mr. Taylor left large families at home to mourn their loss. Mr. Larimer came up with an arrow wound in one of his limbs. He had passed the night in trying to elude his savage pursuers, and was very tired and exhausted, and very much distressed about his wife and son, a robust little fellow of eight or nine years.
But Mr. Wakefield was nowhere to be seen. After searching the brushwood for some time, and a quarter of a mile distant from the scene of attack, they discovered him still alive, but pierced by three arrows that he had vainly endeavored to extract, succeeding only in withdrawing the shafts, but leaving the steel points still deeply imbedded in the flesh. Mr. Kelly took him and cared for him with all the skill and kindness possible. No brothers could have been more tenderly attached to each other than they. He then procured a comfortable a conveyance as he could for them, and picked up a few relics from our demolished train. Among them was a daily journal of our trip, from the time we were married until the hour that the Indians came upon us. This he prized, as he said, more than he did his life.
The next thing that was necessary to do, after the wounded were cared for, was to bury the dead and a wide grave was dug and the four bodies solemnly consigned, uncoffined, to the earth. A buffalo robe was placed above them, and then the earth was piled on their unconscious breasts.
At that time the question of color had occasioned much dissension, and controversy ran high as to the propriety of allowing the colored people the privilege of sitting beside their white brethren. Poor Franklin had shared death with our companions, and was not deemed unworthy to share the common grave of his fellow victims. They lie together in the valley of Little Box Elder, where with saddened hearts our friends left them, thinking of the high hopes and fearless energy with which they had started on their journey, each feeling secure in the success that awaited them, and never, for a moment, dreaming of the grave in the wilderness that was to close over them and their earthly hopes. They were buried on the desolate plain, a thousand miles away from their loved wives and children, who bemoan their sad, untimely fate.
Mr. Kelly found part of his herd of cattle grazing near by ; Mr. Sharp's were still tied to the stake where he had carefully secured them. The Indians had taken our horses, but left the cattle, as they do when they are on the war path, or unless they need meat for present use. They shot some of them, however, and left them to decay upon the plain. Many arrows were scattered upon the ground, their peculiar marks showing that their owners had all belonged to one tribe, though of different bands. They were similar in form and finish; the shafts were round and three feet long, grooved on their sides, that the blood of the victim might not be impeded in its outward flow; each had three strips of feathers attached to its top, about seven inches in length, and, on the other end, a steel point, fastened lightly, so as to be easily detached in the flesh it penetrates. The depth of the wound depends on the distance of the aim, but they sometimes pass quite through the body, though usually their force is exhausted in entering a few inches beyond the point.
The wounded being made as comfortable as circumstances would allow, the train left the spot in the evening, and moved forward to an encampment a mile distant from the sad place, where the journey of our lost companions had ended forever, whose visions of the golden land must be a higher and brighter one than earthly eyes can claim.
Early next day the travelers arrived at Deer Creek Fort, where Mr. Kelly found medical aid for the wounded, and procured a tent to shelter them, and devoted himself to alleviating their sufferings, and, with the assistance of the kind people of the fort, succeeded in arranging them in tolerable comfort.
Captain Rhineheart was commanding officer at Deer Creek, and ordered the property of the deceased to be delivered over to him, which Mr. Kelly did.
The story of the attack and massacre had traveled faster than the sufferers from its barbarity. The garrison had learned it before the train arrived, through some soldiers returning from Fort Laramie, where they had been to receive money from the paymaster, who had heard an account of the attack on the road, and had a passing glimpse of the terrible field of slaughter.
The evening that the large train arrived at the fort, the officers gave a ball, and the emigrant women were invited, from the trains camped in the vicinity, to join in these inappropriately timed festivities.
The mother of the child, who had so narrowly escaped death, having lost her own wardrobe in her efforts to escape the pursuit of the Indians, borrowed a dress from a lady who resided at the fort, and attended the entertainment, dancing and joining in the gayeties, when the burial of their companion and our poor men had just been completed, and the heavy clone of our calamity had so lately shrouded them in gloom. Such are the effects of isolation from social and civil influence, and contact with danger, and familiarity with terror and death.
People grow reckless, and often lose the gentle sympathies that alleviate suffering, from frequent intercourse with it in its worst forms.
Chapter IV
Beginning of My Captivity
The facts related in the preceding chapter concerning matters occurring in Mr. Kelly's experience, and adventures after the attack upon our train, were related to me after my restoration to freedom and my husband, by him.
I now return to the narration of my own terrible experiences.
I was led a short distance from the wagon, with Mary, and told to remain quiet, and tried to submit; but oh, what a yearning sprang up in my heart to escape, as I hoped my husband had done! But many watchful eyes were upon me, and enemies on every side, and I realized that any effort then at escape would result in failure, and probably cause the death of all the prisoners.
Mrs. Larimer, with her boy, came to us, trembling with fear, saying, "The men have all escaped, and left us to the mercy of the savages.”
In reply, I said, "I do hope they have. What benefit would it be to us, to have them here, to suffer this fear and danger with us? They would be killed, and then all hope of rescue for us would be at an end.”
Her agitation was extreme. Her grief seemed to have reached its climax when she saw the Indians destroying her property, which consisted principally of such articles as belong to the Daguerrean art. She had indulged in high hopes of fortune from the prosecution of this art among the mining towns of Idaho. As she saw her chemicals, picture cases, and other property pertaining to her calling, being destroyed, she uttered such a wild despairing cry as brought the chief of the band to us, who, with gleaming knife, threatened to end all her further troubles in this world. The moment was a critical one for her. The Indians were flushed with an easy-won victory over a weak party; they had "tasted blood," and it needed but slight provocation for them to shed that even of defenseless women and children.
My own agony could be no less than that of my companion in misfortune. The loss of our worldy possessions, which were not inconsiderable, consisting of a large herd of cattle, and groceries, and goods of particular value in the mining regions, I gave no thought to. The possible fate of my husband; the dark, fearful future that loomed before myself and little Mary, for whose possible future I had more apprehension than for my own, were thoughts that flashed through my mind to the exclusion of all mere pecuniary considerations.
But my poor companion was in great danger" and perhaps it was a selfish thought of future loneliness in captivity which induced me to intercede that her life might be spared.