Fanny Kelly

LAST DAYS WITH THE OGALALLA SIOUX—MASSACRE OF A PARTY RETURNING FROM IDAHO—A WOMAN’S SCALP—A SCALP DANCE—SUSPICIOUS CIRCUMSTANCE—ARRIVAL OF BLACKFEET INDIANS—NEGOTIATIONS FOR MY RANSOM—TREACHERY.

My last days with the Ogalalla Sioux Indians were destined to be marked by a terrible remembrance.

On the first of October, while the savages lingered in camp about the banks of the Yellowstone River, apparently fearing, yet almost inviting attack by their near vicinity to the soldiers, a large Mackinaw, or flat-boat, was seen coming down the river.

From their hiding-places in the rocks and bushes, they watched its progress with the stealthy ferocity of the tiger waiting for his prey.

At sundown the unsuspecting travelers pushed their boat toward the shore, and landed for the purpose of making a fire and camping for the night.

The party consisted of about twenty persons, men, women, and children. Suspecting no danger, they left their arms in the boat.

With a simultaneous yell, the savages dashed down upon them, dealing death and destruction in rapid strokes.

The defenseless emigrants made an attempt to rush to the boat for arms, but were cut off, and their bleeding bodies dashed into the river as fast as they were slain. Then followed the torture of the women and children.

Horrible thought! from which all will turn with sickened soul, and shuddering, cry to Heaven, “How long, O Lord! how long shall such inhuman atrocities go unpunished?”

Not a soul was left alive when that black day’s work was done; and the unconscious river bore away a warm tide of human blood, and sinking human forms.

When the warriors returned to camp, they brought their frightful trophies of blood-stained clothes and ghastly scalps.

My heart-sick eyes beheld the dreadful fruits of carnage; and, among the rest, I saw a woman’s scalp, with heavy chestnut hair, a golden brown, and four feet in length, which had been secured for its beauty. The tempting treasure lost the poor girl her life, which might have been spared; but her glorious locks were needed to hang on the chief’s belt.

Nearly all the flat-boats that passed down the Yellowstone River to the Missouri, from the mining regions, during that season, were attacked, and in some instances one or more of the occupants killed. The approach of this boat was known, and the Indians had ample time to plan their attack so that not a soul should escape.

That night the whole camp of braves assembled to celebrate the fearful scalp dance; and from the door of my tent I witnessed the savage spectacle, for I was ill, and, to my great relief, was not forced to join in the horrid ceremony.

A number of squaws occupied the center of the ring they formed, and the pitiless wretches held up the fresh scalps that day reaped in the harvest of death.

Around them circled the frantic braves, flourishing torches, and brandishing weapons, with the most ferocious barks and yells, and wild distortions of countenance.

Some uttered boasts of bravery and prowess, and others lost their own identity in mocking their dying victims in their agony.

Leaping first on one foot, then on the other, accompanying every movement with wild whoops of excitement, they presented a scene never to be forgotten.

The young brave who bore the beautiful locks as his trophy, did not join in the dance. He sat alone, looking sad.

I approached and questioned him, and he replied that he regretted his dead victim. He brought a blood-stained dress from his lodge, and told me it was worn by the girl with the lovely hair, whose eyes haunted him and made him sorry.

After being cognizant of this frightful massacre, I shrank more than ever from my savage companions, and pursued my tasks in hopeless despondence of ever being rescued or restored to civilized life.

One day I was astonished to notice a strange Indian, whom I had never seen before, making signs to me of a mysterious nature.

He indicated by signs that he wanted me to run away with him to the white people. I had become so suspicious, from having been deceived so many times, that I turned from him and entered the chief’s tent, where, despite his cruelty and harshness to me, I felt comparatively safe.

I afterward saw this Indian, or rather white man, or half-breed, as I believe him to have been, though he could not, or would not speak a word of English. His long hair hung loosely about his shoulders, and was of a dark brown color. He had in no respect the appearance of an Indian, but rather that of a wild, reckless frontier desperado. I had never seen him before, though he seemed well known in the camp.

One thing that perhaps made me more suspicious and afraid to trust any one, was a knowledge of the fact that many of the Indians who had lost relatives in the recent battles with General Sully, were thirsting for my blood, and would have been glad to decoy me far enough away to wreak their vengeance, and be safe from the fury of the old chief, my task-master.

This stranger came one day into a tent where I was, and showed me a small pocket bible that had belonged to my husband, and was presented to him by his now sainted mother many years before. His object was to assure me that I might trust him; but such an instinctive horror of the man had taken possession of me that I refused to believe him; and at last he became enraged and threatened to kill me if I would not go with him.

I plead with him to give me the bible, but he refused. How dear it would have been to me from association, and what strength and comfort I would have received from its precious promises, shut out, as I was, from my world and all religious privileges and surrounded by heathen savages.

Soon after the foregoing incident, the old chief and his three sisters went away on a journey, and I was sent to live with some of his relatives, accompanied by my little companion, Yellow Bird. We traveled all day to reach our destination, a small Indian village. The family I was to live with until the return of the chief and his sisters, consisted of a very old Indian and his squaw, and a young girl.

I had a dread of going among strangers, but was thankful for the kindness with which I was received by this old couple. I was very tired, and so sad and depressed, that I cared not to ask for any thing, but the old squaw, seeming to understand my feelings, considerately placed before me meat and water, and kindly ministered to my wants in every way their means would allow.

I was with this family nearly three weeks, and was treated with almost affectionate kindness, not only by them, but by every member of the little community. The children would come to see me, and manifest in various ways their interest in me. They would say, “Wasechawea (white woman) looks sad; I want to shake hands with her.”

I soon began to adapt myself to my new surroundings, and became more happy and contented than I had ever yet been since my captivity began. My time was occupied in assisting the motherly old squaw in her sewing and other domestic work.

There was but once a cloud come between us. The old chief had given orders that I was not to be permitted to go out among the other villagers alone, orders of which I knew nothing. Feeling a new sense of freedom, I had sometimes gone out, and on one occasion, having been invited into different tipis by the squaws, staid so long that the old Indian sent for me, and seemed angry when I returned. He said it was good for me to stay in his tent, but bad to go out among the others. I pacified him at last by saying I knew his home was pleasant, and I was happy there, and that I did not know it was bad to go among the other tents.

The old chief returned, finally, and my brief season of enjoyment ended. He seemed to delight in torturing me, often pinching my arms until they were black and blue. Regarding me as the cause of his wounded arm, he was determined that I should suffer with him.

While in this village “Man-Afraid-of-His-Horses” arrived, and I was made aware of his high standing as a chief and warrior by the feasting and dancing which followed. He was splendidly mounted and equipped, as also was another Indian who accompanied him.

I have since learned from my husband that the treacherous chief made such statements of his influence with the hostile Indians as to induce him to purchase for them both an expensive outfit, in the hope of my release. I saw and conversed with him several times, and though he told me that he was from the Platte, he said nothing of the real errand on which he was sent, but returned to the fort and reported to Mr. Kelly that the band had moved and I could not be found.

Captain Fisk had made known to General Sully the fact of my being among the Indians, and the efforts he had made for my release; and when the Blackfeet presented themselves before the General, asking for peace, and avowing their weariness of hostility, anxious to purchase arms, ammunition, and necessaries for the approaching winter, he replied:

“I want no peace with you. You hold in captivity a white woman; deliver her up to us, and we will believe in your professions. But unless you do, we will raise an army of soldiers as numerous as the trees on the Missouri River and exterminate the Indians.”

The Blackfeet assured General Sully that they held no white woman in their possession, but that I was among the Ogalallas.

“As you are friendly with them,” said the General, “go to them and secure her, and we will then reward you for so doing.”

The Blackfeet warriors appeared openly in the village a few days afterward, and declared their intentions, stating in council the determination of General Sully.

The Ogalallas were not afraid, they said, and refused to let me go. They held solemn council for two days, and at last resolved that the Blackfeet should take me as a ruse, to enable them to enter the fort, and a wholesale slaughter should exterminate the soldiers.

While thus deliberating as to what they thought best—part of them willing, the other half refusing to let me go—Hunkiapa, a warrior, came into the lodge, and ordered me out, immediately following me.

He then led me into a lodge where there were fifty warriors, painted and armed—their bows strung and their quivers full of arrows.

From thence, the whole party, including three squaws, who, noting my extreme fear, accompanied me, started toward a creek, where there were five horses and warriors to attend us to the Blackfeet village.

Placing me on a horse, we were rapidly pursuing our way, when a party of the Ogalallas, who were unwilling, came up with us, to reclaim me.

Here they parleyed for a time, and, finally, after a solemn promise on the part of my new captors that I should be returned safely, and that I should be cared for and kindly treated, we were allowed to proceed.

In their parleying, one of the warriors ordered me to alight from the horse, pointing a pistol to my breast. Many of them clamored for my life, but, finally, they settled the matter, and permitted us to proceed on our journey.

After so many escapes from death, this last seemed miraculous; but God willed it otherwise, and to him I owe my grateful homage.

It was a bitter trial for me to be obliged to go with this new and stranger tribe. I was unwilling to exchange my life for an unknown one, and especially as my companionship with the sisters of the chief had been such as to protect me from injury or insult. A sort of security and safety was felt in the lodge of the chief, which now the fear of my new position made me appreciate still more.

Savages they were, and I had longed to be free from them; but now I parted with them with regret and misgiving.

Though my new masters, for such I considered them, held out promise of liberty and restoration to my friends, knowing the treacherous nature of the Indians, I doubted them. True, the Ogalallas had treated me at times with great harshness and cruelty, yet I had never suffered from any of them the slightest personal or unchaste insult. Let me bear testimony to this redeeming feature in their treatment of me.

At the time of my capture I became the exclusive property of Ottawa, the head chief, a man over seventy-five years of age, and partially blind, yet whose power over the band was absolute. Receiving a severe wound in a melee I have already given an account of, I was compelled to become his nurse or medicine woman; and my services as such were so appreciated, that harsh and cruel as he might be, it was dangerous for others to offer me insult or injury; and to this fact, doubtless, I owe my escape from a fate worse than death.

The Blackfeet are a band of the Sioux nation; consequently, are allies in battle. The chief dared not refuse on this account; besides, he was an invalid, and wounded badly.

The Blackfeet left three of their best horses as a guarantee for my safe return.

The chief of the Ogalallas had expressed the desire that, if the Great Spirit should summon him away, that I might be killed, in order to become his attendant to the spirit land.

It was now the commencement of November, and their way seemed to lead to the snowy regions, where the cold might prove unendurable.

When I heard the pledge given by the Blackfeet, my fears abated; hope sprang buoyant at the thought of again being within the reach of my own people, and I felt confident that, once in the fort, I could frustrate their plans by warning the officers of their intentions.

I knew what the courage and discipline of fort soldiers could accomplish, and so hoped, not only to thwart the savage treachery, but punish the instigators.