CAPTIVITY AMONG THE SIOUX, AUGUST 18 TO

SEPTEMBER 26, 1862.*

BY MRS. N. D. WHITE.

The story I bring to you includes what I saw and what occurred to myself and family during the most terrible Indian massacre that was ever known in our fair country. Fifteen thousand square miles of territory were overrun by the savages, and their trails in Minnesota were marked by blood and fire, while men, women, and innocent children were indiscriminately butchered or made prisoners.

I was born in the town of Alexander, Genesee county, New York, February 10th, 1825, my maiden name being Urania S. Frazer; and I was married to Nathan Dexter White, October 1st, 1845. The photograph reproduced in Plate XIV was taken at the completion of fifty-three years of our married life. We remained in New York state about two years, and then emigrated to Columbia county, Wisconsin, where we lived fifteen years. In the spring of 1862 we again turned our faces westward, and June 28th found us in Renville county, Minnesota.

Little did we think how soon we should pass through the terrible ordeal that awaited us. We commenced the erection of our log cabin at the base of the bluff in the valley of Beaver creek, near its opening into the wide Minnesota river valley, with stout hands and willing minds, looking hopefully forward to better times, for we thought we had selected the very heart of this western paradise for our home. Truly it was beautiful, even in its wild, uncultivated condition, with its gigantic trees in the creek valley, its towering bluffs, and the sweet-scented wild flowers. A babbling brook formed a part of the eastern boundary of our land, and its broad acres of prairie made it

*Read at the monthly meeting of the Executive Council, November 14,

desirable enough to have satisfied the wishes of the most fastidious lover of a fine farm. We had just got settled in our new log house when the Sioux Indians who lived near us began to be uneasy.

Little Crow's village was situated about six miles from our house, across the Minnesota river. His warriors numbered about eight hundred. These Indians, with their families, by reason of the scarcity of buffaloes and other wild game, were largely dependent upon their annuities. They were supplied with provisions from the commissary stores at the Lower Sioux Indian Agency, near Little Crow's village; and they also received their annuities from the agent at this point. The summer of that eventful year was to all appearances very favorable to them, so far as crops were concerned. Their many cornfields, of nearly a thousand acres, bore promise of rich yield. But Little Crow was all the time, as was afterward proven, working upon his warriors in such a manner as to keep them excited and bloodthirsty. Indian treachery came to the surface. We frequently saw them on the tops of the bluffs overlooking our dwelling. They seemed to be watching for something. When questioned, they said they were looking for Ojibways. I think they must have held war meetings or councils, for we often heard drums in the evening on their side of the Minnesota river several weeks before the outbreak.

Reports came to us that some of the Indians had made a raid upon the commissary stores at the Upper Agency; but we paid little attention to it, thinking it only a rumor.

The annuity was to have been paid in Juné; but, owing to the civil war that was then raging between the United and Confederate States, the money was delayed. The Indians were compelled to ward off starvation by digging roots for food. Three or four weeks previous to the outbreak, we could see squaws almost every day wandering over the prairie in search of the nutritious roots of the plant known to the French voyageurs as the "pomme de terre." With a small pole about six feet long, having one end sharpened, they dug its tap-root, which they called tipsinah, somewhat resembling a white English turnip in color, taste, and shape.

Many of the Indians had pawned their guns for provisions. My husband had taken several in exchange for beef cattle.

Among them was Little Crow's gun. This manner of dealing with the white man was not satisfactory to them; and especially to be compelled thus to part with their guns was very hard. Knowing the treachery of the Indians, none of us should have been surprised when this desperate outbreak overwhelmed us; and yet, when the eighteenth day of August, 1862, came, with its cloudless sky, not one of the scattered settlers was prepared for the carnage and death which these cunning plotters designed for them. So secretly had each Indian performed his allotted part in the working up of this terrible tragedy in which they were to be the heartless actors and we the helpless victims.

At this time nearly every farmer was busy making hay; but my husband fortunately was on a trip to Blue Earth county, about sixty miles southeast of us. I say fortunately, because every man stood in great danger of being killed; and in all probability that would have been his fate, if he had been with us, as no men among the settlers were taken prisoners.

FLIGHT, AMBUSH, AND MASSACRE.

The first outbreak, the attack on our fleeing party, and the beginning of my captivity, were on Monday, August 18th; and I was released thirty-nine days afterward, on September 26th.

While I was busily engaged gathering up the clothing for the purpose of doing my washing on the morning of the outbreak, my daughter Julia, fourteen years old, who had been assisting at the house of Mr. Henderson, about a half mile from us, whose wife was very sick, came running in, accompanied by a daughter of Mr. J. W. Earle, and breathlessly told me that the Indians were coming to kill us, and that I must go back with them quick. This frightened me, in fact, it seemed to strike me dumb; but, suddenly recovering my thoughts, I immediately began planning what we should take with us. Soon I came to the conclusion that it would be folly to attempt to take anything. But on moving my husband's overcoat I caught sight of a large pocketbook that contained valuable papers and some money. This I quickly se

cured, and managed to keep it during all my captivity. I caught up my baby boy, five months old, and placed him on one arm, and took Little Crow's gun in the other hand. My daughter also carried a gun. We hurriedly wended our way to the house of the sick neighbor, and thence went to the house of Mr. Earle.

There I found my twelve-year-old son Millard, who had been herding sheep. Having learned of the trouble with the Indians, he had driven the sheep up and put them in the yard. Eugene, my oldest son, had gone out on the prairie to bring in our colts, to keep them from the Indians, because they were collecting all the horses in the neighborhood to ride, as they said, in hunting Ojibways, that being the excuse they gave for this bold robbery. He found that the Indians had already got the colts and were breaking them to ride, having them in a slough, where they could easily handle them. Consequently he came back to the house of Mr. Earle. On his way back he met Mr. Weichman, a neighbor just from the Agency, who told him that the Indians were killing all the white people there.

At the house of Mr. Earle twenty-seven neighbors were assembled, men, women and children. Teams of horses were soon hitched to wagons, and we started on our perilous journey.

The Indians, anticipating our flight and knowing the direction we should be likely to take, had secreted themselves in ambush on either side of the road in the tall grass. On our arrival in the ambush, twenty or thirty Indians in their war paint rose to their feet; they did not shoot, but surrounded us, took our horses by the bits, and commanded us to surrender to them all our teams, wagons, and everything except the clothing we had on. A parley with them in behalf of the sick woman was had by one of our number who could speak the Sioux language. The Indians finally consented that we might go, if we would leave all the teams, wagons, etc., except one team and a light wagon in which Mrs. Henderson and her two children had been placed on a feather bed.

We felt a little more hopeful at getting such easy terms of escape, but our hopes were of short duration; for they soon

became dissatisfied with the agreement they had made and gave notice that they must have our last team, and we were forced to stop and comply with their demand. The team was given up, and the Indians said we might go. Several men took hold of the wagon, and we again started, feeling that there was still a little chance of escape. We had gone only a short distance when we were made fully aware of the treachery that predominates in the Indian character. They commenced shooting at the men drawing the wagon. Mr. Henderson and Mr. Wedge, in compliance with Mrs. Henderson's wishes, held up a pillowslip as a flag of truce; but the Indians kept on firing. The pillowslip was soon riddled. Mr. Henderson's fingers on one hand were shot off, and Mr. Wedge was killed.

Then commenced a flight, a run for life, on the open prairie, by men, women, and children, unarmed and defenceless, before the cruel savages armed with guns, tomahawks, and scalping knives. Imagine, if you can, the awful sight here presented to my view, both before and after being captured, strong men making desperate efforts to save themselves and their little ones from the scalping knives of their merciless foes, who were in hot pursuit, shooting at them rapidly as they ran. Before the Indians passed me, the bullets were continually whizzing by my head. Those who could escape, and their murderous enemies, were soon out of my sight. In one instance, a little boy was shot and killed in his father's arms.

Woe and despair now seized all of us who were made captives. The bravest among us lost courage, being so helpless, defenceless, and unprepared for this act of savage warfare. With blanched faces we beheld the horrible scene and clasped our helpless little children closer to us. Then fearful thoughts of torture crowded into our minds, as Mrs. Henderson and her two children were taken rudely from the bed in the wagon, thrown violently on the ground, and covered with the bed, to which a torch was applied. The blaze grew larger and higher, and I could see no more! My courage sank as I wondered in a dazed, half insane manner, what would be our fate and that of other friends. The two little children, I was afterward told, had their heads crushed by blows struck with