During the year 1851 news reached California, that in the spring of that year a family by the name of Oatman, while endeavoring to reach California by the old Santa Fe route, had met with a most melancholy and terrible fate, about seventy miles from Fort Yuma. That while struggling with every difficulty imaginable, such as jaded teams, exhaustion of their stores of provisions, in a hostile and barren region, alone and unattended, they were brutally set upon by a horde of Apache savages; that seven of the nine persons composing their family were murdered, and that two of the smaller girls were taken into captivity.

One of the number, Lorenzo D. Oatman, a boy about fourteen, who was knocked down and left for dead, afterward escaped, but with severe wounds and serious injury.

But of the girls, Mary Ann and Olive Ann, nothing had since been heard, up to last March. By a singular and mysteriously providential train of circumstances, it was ascertained at that time, by persons living at Fort Yuma, that one of these girls was then living among the Mohave tribe, about four hundred miles from the fort. A ransom was offered for her by the ever-to-be-remembered and generous Mr. Grinell, then a mechanic at the fort; and through the agency and tact of a Yuma Indian, she was purchased and restored to civilized life, to her brother and friends. The younger of the girls, Mary Ann, died of starvation in 1852.

It is of the massacre of this family, the escape of Lorenzo, and the captivity of the two girls, that the following pages treat.

A few months since the author of this book was requested by the afflicted brother and son, who barely escaped with life, but not without much suffering, to write the past history of the family; especially to give a full and particular account of the dreadful and barbarous scenes of the captivity endured by his sisters. This I have tried to do. The facts and incidents have been received from the brother and sister, now living.

These pages have been penned under the conviction that in these facts, and in the sufferings and horrors that befell that unfortunate family, there is sufficient of interest, though of a melancholy character, to insure an attentive and interested perusal by every one into whose hands, and under whose eye this book may fall. Though, so far as book-making is concerned, there has been brought to this task no experience or fame upon which to base an expectation of its popularity, yet the writer has sought to adapt the style to the character of the narrative, and in a simple, plain, comprehensive manner to give to the reader facts, as they have been received from those of whose sad experiences in adversity these pages give a faithful delineation. In doing this he has sought plainness, brevity, and an unadorned style, deeming these the only excellences that could be appropriately adopted for such a narrative; the only ones that he expects will be awarded. It would be but a playing with sober, solemn, and terrible reality to put the tinselings of romance about a narrative of this kind. The intrinsic interest of the subject-matter here thrown together, must have the credit of any circulation that shall be given to the book. Upon this I am willing to rely; and that it will be sufficient to procure a wide and general perusal, remunerating and exciting, I have the fullest confidence. As for criticisms, while there will, no doubt, be found occasions for them, they are neither coveted nor dreaded. All that is asked is, that the reader will avail himself of the facts, and dismiss, as far as he can, the garb they wear, for it was not woven by one who has ever possessed a desire to become experienced or skilled in that ringing, empty style which can only charm for the moment, and the necessity for which is never felt but when real matter and thought are absent.

That all, or any considerable portion, of the distress, mental and physical, that befell that unfortunate family, the living as well as dead, can be written or spoken, it would be idle to claim. The desolation and privation to which little Mary Ann was consigned while yet but seven years old; the abuse, the anguish, the suffering that rested upon the nearly two years’ captivity through which she passed to an untimely grave; the unutterable anguish that shrouded with the darkness of despair five years of her older sister; the six years of perpetual tossing from transient hope to tormenting fears, and during which unceasing toil and endeavor was endured by the elder brother, who knew at that time, and has ever since known, that two of his sisters were taken into captivity by the Indians; these, all these are realities that are and must forever remain unwritten. We would not, if we could, give to these pages the power to lead the reader into all the paths of torture and woe through which the last five years have dragged that brother and sister, who yet live, and who, from hearts disciplined in affliction, have herein dictated all of what they have felt that can be transferred to the type. We would not, if we could, recall or hold up to the reader the weight of parental solicitude or heart-yearnings for their dear family that crowded upon the last few moments of reason allowed to those fond parents, while in the power and under the war-clubs of their Apache murderers. The heart’s deepest anguish, and its profoundest emotions have no language. There is no color so deep that pen dipped therein can portray the reality. If what may be here found written of these unspoken woes shall only lead the favored subjects of constant good fortune to appreciate their exempted allotment, and create in their hearts a more earnest and practical sympathy for those who tread the damp, uncheered paths of suffering and woe, then the moral and social use prayed for and intended in these pages will be secured.

Yreka, 1857.

R. B. Stratton.