Fanny Kelly

ARRIVAL OF “PORCUPINE”—A LETTER FROM CAPTAIN MARSHALL—HOPES OF RESCUE—TREACHERY OF THE MESSENGER—EGOSEGALONICHA—THE TABLES TURNED—ANOTHER GLEAM OF HOPE—THE INDIAN “WHITE TIPI”—DISAPPOINTED—A WHITE MAN BOUND AND LEFT TO STARVE—A BURIAL INCIDENT.

Before the Indians left this camping-ground, there arrived among us an Indian called Porcupine. He was well dressed, and mounted on a fine horse, and brought with him presents and valuables that insured him a cordial reception.

After he had been a few days in the village, he gave me a letter from Captain Marshall, of the Eleventh Ohio Cavalry, detailing the unsuccessful attempts that had been made to rescue me, and stating that this friendly Indian had undertaken to bring me back, for which he would be rewarded.

The letter further said that he had already received a horse and necessary provisions for the journey, and had left his three wives, with thirteen others, at the fort, as hostages.

My feelings, on reading this letter, were indescribable. My heart leaped with unaccustomed hope, at this evidence of the efforts of my white friends in my behalf; but the next instant, despair succeeded this gleam of happy anticipation, for I knew this faithless messenger would not be true to his promise, since he had joined the Sioux immediately after his arrival among them, in a battle against the whites.

My fears were not unfounded. Porcupine prepared to go back to the fort without me, disregarding my earnest prayers and entreaties.

The chief found me useful, and determined to keep me. He believed that a woman who had seen so much of their deceitfulness and cruelty could do them injury at the fort, and might prevent their receiving annuities.

Porcupine said he should report me as dead, or impossible to find; nor could I prevail on him to do any thing to the contrary.

When reminded of the possible vengeance of the soldiers on his wives, whom they had threatened to kill if he did not bring me back, he laughed.

“The white soldiers are cowards,” he replied; “they never kill women; and I will deceive them as I have done before.”

Saying this, he took his departure; nor could my most urgent entreaties induce the chief to yield his consent, and allow me to send a written message to my friends, or in any way assure them of my existence. All hope of rescue departed, and sadly I turned again to the wearisome drudgery of my captive life.

The young betrothed bride of the old chief was very gracious to me. On one occasion she invited me to join her in a walk. The day was cool, and the air temptingly balmy.

“Down there,” she said, pointing to a deep ravine; “come and walk there; it is cool and shady.”

I looked in the direction indicated, and then at the Indian girl, who became very mysterious in her manner, as she whispered:

“There are white people down there.”

“How far?” I asked, eagerly.

“About fifty miles,” she replied. “They have great guns, and men dressed in many buttons; their wagons are drawn by horses with long ears.”

A fort, thought I, but remembering the treacherous nature of the people I was among, I repressed every sign of emotion, and tried to look indifferent.

“Should you like to see them?” questioned Egosegalonicha, as she was called.

“They are strangers to me,” I said, quietly; “I do not know them.”

“Are you sorry to live with us?”

“You do not have such bread as I would like to eat,” replied I, cautiously.

“And are you dissatisfied with our home?”

“You have some meat now; it is better than that at the other camping-ground. There we had no food, and I suffered.”

“But your eyes are swollen and red,” hinted she; “you do not weep for bread.”

These questions made me suspicious, and I tried to evade the young squaw, but in vain.

“Just see how green that wood is,” I said, affecting not to hear her.

“But you do not say you are content,” repeated she. “Will you stay here always, willingly?”

“Come and listen to the birds,” said I, drawing my companion toward the grove.

I did not trust her, and feared to utter a single word, lest it might be used against me with the chief.

Neither was I mistaken in the design of Egosegalonicha, for when we returned to the lodge, I overheard her relating to the chief the amusement she had enjoyed, in lying to the white woman, repeating what she had said about the fort, and inventing entreaties which I had used, urging her to allow me to fly to my white friends, and leave the Indians forever.

Instantly I resolved to take advantage of the affair as a joke, and, approaching the chief with respectful pleasantry, begged to reverse the story.

“It was the squaw who had implored me to go with her to the white man’s fort,” I said, “and find her a white warrior for a husband; but, true to my faith with the Indians, I refused.”

The wily Egosegalonicha, thus finding her weapons turned against herself, appeared confused, and suddenly left the tent, at which the old chief smiled grimly.

Slander, like a vile serpent, coils itself among these Indian women; and, as with our fair sisters in civilized society, when reality fails, invention is called in to supply the defect. They delight in scandal, and prove by it their claim to some of the refined conventionalities of civilized life.

Porcupine had spread the news abroad in the village that a large reward had been offered for the white woman, consequently I was sought for, the motive being to gain the reward.

One day an Indian, whom I had seen in different places, and whose wife I had known, made signs intimating a desire for my escape, and assuring me of his help to return to my people.

I listened to his plans, and although I knew my position in such a case to be one of great peril; yet I felt continually that my life was of so little value that any opportunity, however slight, was as a star in the distance, and escape should be attempted, even at a risk.

We conversed as well as we could several times, and finally arrangements were made. At night he was to make a slight scratching noise at the tipi where I was, as a sign. The night came, but I was singing to the people, and could not get away. Another time we had visitors in the lodge, and I would be missed. The next night I arose from my robe, and went out into the darkness. Seeing my intended rescuer at a short distance, I approached and followed him. We ran hastily out of the village about a mile, where we were to be joined by the squaw who had helped make the arrangements and was favorable to the plan for my escape, but she was not there. White Tipi (that was the Indian’s name) looked hastily around, and, seeing no one, darted suddenly away, without a word of explanation. Why the Indian acted thus I never knew. It was a strange proceeding.

Fear lent me wings, and I flew, rather than ran, back to my tipi, or lodge, where, exhausted and discouraged, I dropped on the ground and feigned slumber, for the inmates were already aroused, having just discovered my absence. Finding me apparently asleep, they lifted me up, and taking me into the tent, laid me upon my own robe.

The next evening White Tipi sent for me to come to his lodge, to a feast, where I was well and hospitably entertained, but not a sign given of the adventure of the previous night. But when the pipe was passed, he requested it to be touched to my lips, then offered it to the Great Spirit, thus signifying his friendship for me.

In this month the Indians captured a white man, who was hunting on the prairie, and carried him far away from the haunts of white men, where they tied him hand and foot, after divesting him of all clothing, and left him to starve. He was never heard of afterward.

There were twin children in one of the lodges, one of which sickened and died, and in the evening was buried. The surviving child was placed upon the scaffold by the corpse, and there remained all night, its crying and moaning almost breaking my heart. I inquired why they did this. The reply was, to cause the mate to mourn. The mother was on one of the neighboring hills, wailing and weeping, as is the custom among them. Every night nearly, there were women among the hills, wailing for their dead.