Fanny Kelly

APPEARANCE OF JUMPING BEAR—I PREVAIL ON HIM TO CARRY A LETTER TO THE FORT—A WAR SPEECH—INTENDED TREACHERY—RESUME OUR JOURNEY TO THE FORT—SINGULAR MEETING WITH A WHITE MAN—“HAS RICHMOND FALLEN?”—ARRIVAL AT THE FORT—I AM FREE!

“Jumping Bear,” who rescued me from the revengeful arrow of the Indian whose horse the chief shot, one day presented himself to me, and reminded me of my indebtedness to him in thus preserving my life.

Trembling with fear, I listened to his avowal of more than ordinary feeling, during which he assured me that I had no cause to fear him—that he had always liked the white woman, and would be more than a friend to me.

I replied, that I did not fear him; that I felt grateful to him for his kindness and protection, but that unless he proved his friendship for me, no persuasion could induce me to listen.

“Will you carry a letter to my people at the fort, delivering it into the hands of the great chief there? They will reward you for your kindness to their sister; they will give you many presents, and you will return rich.”

“I dare not go,” he replied. “Nor could I get back before the warriors came to our village.”

“My people will give you a fast horse,” said I, “and you may return speedily. Go now, and prove your friendship by taking the letter, and returning with your prizes.”

I assured him that the letter contained nothing that would harm him or his people; that I had written of him and of his kindness, and of his good will toward them. After many and long interviews, the women of the lodge using their influence, I at last prevailed upon him to go, and invoking the bright moon as a witness to my pledge of honor and truth, he started on his journey, bearing the letter, which I believed was to seal my fate for weal or woe. In the moonlight I watched his retreating form, imploring Heaven to grant the safe delivery of the little messenger, upon which so much depended.

Daring and venturesome deed! Should he prove false to me, and allow any one outside the fort to see the letter, my doom was inevitable.

Many days of intense anxiety were passed after his departure. The squaws, fearing that I had done wrong in sending him, were continually asking questions, and it was with difficulty I could allay their anxiety, and prevent them from disclosing the secret to the other women.

The contents of the letter were a warning to the “Big Chief” and the soldiers of an intended attack on the fort and the massacre of the garrison, using me as a ruse to enable them to get inside the fort; and beseeching them to rescue me if possible.

The messenger reached the fort, and was received by the officer of the day, Lieutenant Hesselberger, and conducted to the commander of the post, Major House, and Adjutant Pell, who had been left there to treat with the Indians on my account.[2]

General Sully was absent at Washington, but every necessary precaution was taken to secure the fort.

Jumping Bear received a suit of clothes and some presents, and was sent back with a letter for me, which I never received, as I never saw him again. These facts I learned after my arrival at Fort Sully.

The night before our departure from the Blackfeet village, en route for the fort, I was lying awake, and heard the chief address his men seriously upon the subject of their wrongs at the hands of the whites. I now understood and spoke the Indian tongue readily, and so comprehended his speech, which, as near as I can recollect, was as follows:

“Friends and sons, listen to my words. You are a great and powerful band of our people. The inferior race, who have encroached on our rights and territories, justly deserve hatred and destruction. These intruders came among us, and we took them by the hand. We believed them to be friends and true speakers; they have shown us how false and cruel they can be.

“They build forts to live in and shoot from with their big guns. Our people fall before them. Our game is chased from the hills. Our women are taken from us, or won to forsake our lodges, and wronged and deceived.

“It has only been four or five moons since they drove us to desperation, killed our brothers and burned our tipis. The Indian cries for vengeance! There is no truth nor friendship in the white man; deceit and bitterness are in his words.

“Meet them with equal cunning. Show them no mercy. They are but few, we are many. Whet your knives and string your bows; sharpen the tomahawk and load the rifle.

“Let the wretches die, who have stolen our lands, and we will be free to roam over the soil that was our fathers’. We will come home bravely from battle. Our songs shall rise among the hills, and every tipi shall be hung with the scalp-locks of our foes.”

This declaration of hostilities was received with grunts of approval; and silently the war preparations went on, that I might not know the evil design hidden beneath the mask of friendship.

That night, as if in preparation for the work he had planned, the gracious chief beat his poor tired squaw unmercifully, because she murmured at her never-ending labor and heavy tasks.

His deportment to me was as courteous as though he had been educated in civilized life; indeed, had he not betrayed so much ignorance of the extent and power of the American nation, in his address to his band, I should have thought him an educated Indian, who had traveled among the whites. Yet in his brutal treatment of his squaw, his savage nature asserted itself, and reminded me that, although better served than formerly, I was still among savages.

When morning came to my sleepless night, I arose, still dreading lest some terrible intervention should come between me and the longed-for journey to the abodes of white men.

The day before leaving the Blackfeet village, I gave all my Indian trinkets to a little girl who had been my constant companion, and by her gentle and affectionate interest in the captive white woman, had created within me a feeling akin to love. She was half white, and was grand-daughter of a chief called Wichunkiapa, who also treated me with kindness.

The morning after the chief’s address to his warriors, the savages were all ready for the road, and, mounting in haste, set up their farewell chant as they wound in a long column out of the village.

I have frequently been asked, since my restoration to civilization, how I dressed while with the Indians, and whether I was clothed as the squaws were. A description of my appearance as I rode out of the Indian village that morning, will satisfy curiosity on this point.

My dress consisted of a narrow white cotton gown, composed of only two breadths, reaching below the knee, and fastened at the waist with a red scarf; moccasins, embroidered with beads and porcupine quills, covered my feet, and a robe over my shoulders completed my wardrobe.

While with the Ogalallas, I wore on my arms great brass rings that had been forced on me, some of them fitting so tight that they lacerated my arms severely, leaving scars that I shall ever retain as mementos of my experience in Indian ornamentation. I was also painted as the squaws were, but never voluntarily applied the article.

It was winter, and the ground was covered with snow, but so cold was the air that its surface bore the horses’ feet on its hard, glittering breast, only breaking through occasionally in the deep gullies.

It was two hundred miles from the Blackfeet village to Fort Sully, in the middle of winter, and the weather intensely cold, from the effects of which my ill-clad body suffered severely. I was forced to walk a great part of the way, to keep from freezing. Hoping for deliverance, yet dreading lest the treacherous plans of the Indians for the capture of the fort and massacre of its garrison might prove successful, and my return to captivity inevitable, I struggled on, striving to bear with patience the mental and bodily ills from which I suffered. My great fear was that my letter had not fallen into the right hands.

On our journey we came in sight of a few lodges, and in among the timber we camped for the night. While in one of the lodges, to my surprise, a gentlemanly figure approached me, dressed in modern style. It astonished me to meet this gentlemanly-looking, well-mannered gentleman under such peculiar circumstances. He drew near and addressed me courteously.

“This is cold weather for traveling. Do you not find it so?” he inquired.

“Not when I find myself going in the right direction,” I replied.

I asked him if he lived in that vicinity, supposing, of course, from the presence of a white man in our camp, that we must be near some fort, trading-post, or white settlement.

He smiled and said, “I am a dweller in the hills, and confess that civilized life has no charms for me. I find in freedom and nature all the elements requisite for happiness.”

Having been separated from the knowledge and interests of national affairs just when the struggle agitating our country was at its height, I asked the question:

“Has Richmond been taken?”

“No, nor never will be,” was the reply.

Further conversation on national affairs convinced me that he was a rank rebel.

We held a long conversation, on various topics. He informed me he had lived with the Indians fourteen years; was born in St. Louis, had an Indian wife, and several children, of whom he was very proud; and he seemed to be perfectly satisfied with his mode of living.

I was very cautious in my words with him, lest he might prove a traitor; but in our conversation some Indian words escaped my lips, which, being overheard, rumor construed into mischief. What I had said was carried from lodge to lodge, increasing rather than diminishing, until it returned to the lodge where I was. The Indians, losing confidence in me, sent the young men, at midnight, to the camp of the white man, to ascertain what had been said by me, and my feelings toward them.

He assured the messengers that I was perfectly friendly, had breathed nothing but kindliness for them, and was thoroughly contented; had so expressed myself, and there was no cause to imagine evil.

This man trafficked and traded with the Indians, disposing of his goods in St. Louis and in eastern cities, and was then on his way to his home, near the mouth of the Yellowstone River.

Early in the forenoon of the last day’s travel, my eager and anxious eyes beheld us nearing the fort. The Indians paused and dismounted to arrange their dress and see to the condition of their arms. Their blankets and furs were adjusted; bows were strung, and the guns examined by them, carefully. They then divided into squads of fifties, several of these squads remaining in ambush among the hills, for the purpose of intercepting any who might escape the anticipated massacre at the fort; the others then rode on toward the fort, bearing me with them.

A painfully startling sight (the last I was destined to see), here met my gaze. One of the warriors, in passing, thrust out his hand to salute me. It was covered by one of my husband’s gloves, and the sight of such a memento filled me with inexpressible dread as to his fate. Nothing in the least way connected with him had transpired to throw any light upon his whereabouts, or whether living or dead, since we had been so suddenly and cruelly separated. All was darkness and doubt concerning him.

Mr. Kelly had been a Union soldier, and happening to have his discharge papers with me at the time of my capture, I had been able to secrete them ever since, treasuring them merely because they had once belonged to him and contained his name.

Now, as we approached the place where his fate would be revealed to me, and, if he lived, we would meet once more, the appearance of that glove, on the savage hand, was like a touch that awakened many chords, some to thrill with hope, some to jar painfully with fear.

In appearance I had suffered from my long estrangement from home life. I had been obliged to paint daily, like the rest of my companions, and narrowly escaped tattooing, by pretending to faint away every time the implements for the marring operation were applied.

During the journey, whenever an opportunity offered, I would use a handful of snow to cleanse my cheeks from savage adornment; and now, as we drew nearer the fort, and I could see the chiefs arranging themselves for effect, my heart beat high, and anticipation became so intense as to be painful.

Eight chiefs rode in advance, one leading my horse by the bridle, and the warriors rode in the rear. The cavalcade was imposing. As we neared the fort they raised the war song, loud and wild, on the still, wintry air; and, as if in answer to its notes, the glorious flag of our country was run up, and floated bravely forth on the breeze from the tall flag-staff within the fort.

My eyes caught the glad sight, and my heart gave a wild bound of joy; something seemed to rise in my throat and choke my breathing. Every thing was changed; the torture of suspense, the agony of fear, and dread of evil to come, all seemed to melt away like mist before the morning sunshine, when I beheld the precious emblem of liberty. How insignificant and contemptible in comparison were the flaunting Indian flags that had so long been displayed to me; and how my heart thrilled with a sense of safety and protection as I saw the roofs of the buildings within the fort covered by the brave men who composed that little garrison.

The precious emblem of liberty, whose beloved stripes and stars floated proudly out, seemed to beckon me to freedom and security; and as the fresh breeze stirred its folds, shining in the morning light, and caused them to wave lightly to and fro, they came like the smile of love and the voice of affection, all combined, to welcome me to home and happiness once more.

An Indian hanger-on of the fort had sauntered carelessly forward a few minutes previous, as if actuated by curiosity, but in reality to convey intelligence to his fellow-savages of the state of the fort and its defenses.

Then the gate was opened, and Major House appeared, accompanied by several officers and an interpreter, and received the chiefs who rode in advance.

Meanwhile, Captain Logan (the officer of the day), a man whose kind and sympathetic nature did honor to his years and rank, approached me. My emotions were inexpressible, now that I felt myself so nearly rescued. At last they overcame me. I had borne grief and terror and privation; but the delight of being once more among my people was so overpowering that I almost lost the power of speech, or motion, and when I faintly murmured, “Am I free, indeed free?” Captain Logan’s tears answered me as well as his scarcely uttered “Yes,” for he realized what freedom meant to one who had tasted the bitterness of bondage and despair.

As soon as the chiefs who accompanied me entered the gate of the fort, the commandant’s voice thundered the order for them to be closed.

The Blackfeet were shut out, and I was beyond their power to recapture.

After a bondage lasting more than five months, during which I had endured every torture, I once more stood free, among people of my own race, all ready to assist me, and restore me to my husband’s arms.

Three ladies, residing at the fort, received me, and cheerfully bestowed every care and attention which could add to my comfort and secure my recovery from the fatigues and distresses of my past experience.