violins belonging to the family of Mr. Earle. The burial party sent out by General Sibley from Fort Ridgely found the violins, with the brains and hair of the, poor little innocents still sticking to them, two weeks later. Mr. Henderson was afterward killed at the battle of Birch Coulie, September 2d.

Nine of our number were killed here in this flight, among them being our oldest son, Eugene, then about sixteen years old. Eleven were taken prisoners, among these being myself, my babe, and my daughter, fourteen years old.

Seven made their escape, my twelve-year-old son being among them. They started for Fort Ridgely, a distance of twenty miles, thinking that there they would be safe; but, on arriving near the fort, they could see so many Indians skulking around that they thought it extremely dangerous to make any further effort to reach the fort. They then decided to go to Cedar Lake, a distance of thirty miles north. Their boots and shoes were filled with water in wading through sloughs and became a great burden to them, so that they were compelled to take them off to expedite their flight. Consequently, in traveling through coarse wet grass, the flesh on their feet and ankles was worn and lacerated until the bones were bare in places. They could get no food, and starvation stared at them with its gnawing pangs. They were hatless in the scorching sunshine, and were completely worn out by wading through sloughs and hiding in the tall grass,-in fact, doing anything to make their escape from the Indians.

When within ten or fifteen miles of Cedar Lake, the strongest man of the party was sent ahead for help, to get food for those who were unable to walk much farther. On reaching a rise of ground he turned quickly, motioned to them, and then threw himself in the tall grass. The others of the party knew that this meant danger and hid themselves as quickly as possible. Soon sharp reports of guns came to their ears. They supposed, of course, that the young man was killed; but it was not so. These Indians, five in number, had been away on a visit; and consequently they had not heard of the massacre. They were returning to Little Crow's village. The young man was not seen by these Indians; but the others had been seen before dropping in the grass. They fired their guns for the

purpose of reloading, and soon tracked the party with whom my son was to their hiding places by their trail in the wet grass. My son noticed one of them skulking along on his trail, and watching him very intently. He supposed that the Indian would shoot him; so he turned his face away, and waited for the bullet that was to take his life. What a terrible moment it was to a lad of only twelve years!

But as no shot was fired, he turned his head to see what the Indian was doing. The Indian then asked him what was the matter. Fearing to tell the truth, he told him that the Ojibways were killing all the white people in their neighborhood, and also told how hungry they were.

The Indians gave them some cold boiled potatoes, turning them on the ground, and asked to trade for Little Crow's gun, which one of the party had received from me. Not daring to refuse, they gave them the gun, which was a very handsome one. The Indians now left them, and they managed to reach Cedar Lake, being the first to carry the news of the outbreak to that place. My son traveled from Cedar Lake to St. Peter without further hardship.

The day when the outbreak commenced my husband was on his return from Blue Earth county with Mr. and Mrs. Jacobson, parents of the sick Mrs. Henderson. Late in the afternoon, when within six miles of New Ulm, they met a large number of settlers, men, women, and children, fleeing for their lives, who told them that the Sioux Indians had commenced a desperate raid upon the settlers in the vicinity of New Ulm, that many of them had been killed, and that the Indians were then besieging the village; also that word from Renville county had been received, that all the settlers in the neighborhood of Beaver Creek and Birch Coulie were murdered, if they had failed to make their escape.

Having remained with the fleeing party until morning, my husband started on his return to the home of Mr. Jacobson, a distance of thirty miles. On his way back he saw farms deserted and cattle running at large in fields of shocked grain. At Madelia he found an assemblage of settlers contemplating the idea of making a stand against the Indians. They resolved not to be driven from their homes by the Sioux, thinking

that they could defend themselves by building breast works of logs which were at hand. Consequently my husband remained with them one day, and assisted in the building of the fortification, until reliable information came to them that there were so many Indians engaged in the outbreak that it would be impossible for them to make a successful stand. Therefore, after taking Mr. and Mrs. Jacobson to their home, he started for St. Peter, where he arrived on Saturday, the 23d day of August.

There he met Millard, our twelve-year-old son, who narrated to him the dismal tidings of the outbreak; that his mother, sister, and little baby brother, were taken off by the Indians; and that Eugene was hit by a bullet in the leg while running in advance of him. He told how Eugene ran about a fourth of a mile after being wounded, then turned a little to one side of the course they were running, and dropped into a cluster of weeds. The Indians were soon upon him with their scalping knives. In casting a look back he saw them apparently in the act of taking his scalp.

My husband's team of horses and his carriage were pressed into military service at St. Peter. He went with General Sibley's forces from St. Peter to Fort Ridgely, intending to go with them on their expedition against the Indians. But it fell to his lot to remain at the fort until after our release.

CAPTIVES TAKEN TO LITTLE CROW'S VILLAGE.

When I was captured, my captor seized me by the shoulders, turned me quickly around, and motioned for me to turn back. At this I screamed, partly for the purpose of calling Mr. Earle's attention to see that I was a prisoner, and he looked around. This I did thinking that he might escape and give the tidings to my relatives and friends.

Just before I was captured, my son Eugene, who was afterward killed, passed me and said, “Ma, run faster, or they will catch you." This was the last time I heard him speak or saw him, and he must have been killed soon afterward.

It was now near the middle of the day; the heat of the sun was very intense; and we (the captives) were all suffering for drink. I sat down a moment to rest, and then thought of my

dress, which had become very wet while wading through a slough; so I sucked some water from it, which relieved my thirst a little.

We captives and a few of the Indians walked back to the house of Mr. J. W. Earle. The Indians entered the house, and delighted themselves by breaking stoves and furniture of various kinds and throwing crockery through the windows. After they had completed the destruction of everything in the house which they did not wish to appropriate for their own use, we were put into wagons and ordered to be taken to Little Crow's village.

Members of families were separated and taken to different places, seemingly to add to our suffering by putting upon us the terrible agony of wondering where the other prisoners were and what was to be their fate. During this ride we passed several houses belonging to settlers who had been killed or had fled to save their lives. The Indians entered these houses and plundered them of many valuables, such as bedding and clothing. On our way to the Minnesota bottomland we had to descend a very steep bluff, where, by our request, the Indians gave us the privilege of walking down.

After reaching the foot of the bluff, our course was through underbrush of all kinds. The thought of torture was uppermost in my mind. I supposed that was why such a course was taken. There was no road at all, not even a track. We were compelled to make our way as best we could through grape vines, prickly ash, gooseberry bushes, and trees. After much difficulty in bending down small trees in order to let our wagons pass over them, we finally reached the Minnesota river with many rents in our clothing and numerous scratches on

our arms.

When fording the river, we were all given a drink of river water, some sugar, and a piece of bread. The sugar and bread were taken from the house of one of my neighbors. Just as we were driving into the water, the wagon containing my daughter with other captives was disappearing beyond the top of the bluff on the other side of the river. I thought again, What will befall her?

We soon reached Little Crow's village, where we were kept about a week. The village numbered about sixty tepees, be

sides Little Crow's dwelling, a frame building. Mrs. James Carrothers, Mrs. J. W. Earle and a little daughter, myself and babe, were taken to Little Crow's. On entering the house the object that first met my gaze was Little Crow, a large, tall Indian, walking the floor in a very haughty, dignified manner, as much as to say, "I am great!" However, his majesty condescended to salute us with "Ho," that being their usual word of greeting. The room was very large. The furniture consisted of only a few chairs, table, and camp kettles. A portion of the floor at one end of the room was raised about one foot, where they slept on blankets. His four wives, all sisters, were busily engaged packing away plunder which had been taken from stores and the houses of settlers. They gave us for our supper bread and tea. Soon after tea, Mrs. Carrothers and myself were escorted to a tepee where we remained until morning, when we were claimed by different Indians.

I have reason for believing that an emissary from the Confederate States had been among these Indians urging and encouraging them to their fierce outbreak and warfare against the innocent settlers. I heard Little Crow say, on the first day of my captivity, after he had been looking over some papers, that he was going to sell the Minnesota valley to the Southern States. An Indian told Mrs. James Carrothers, on the day of our capture, that they expected to sell Minnesota to the South. Mrs. Carrothers could speak the Sioux language.

It happened to be my lot in the distribution of the prisoners to be owned by Too-kon-we-chasta (meaning the "Stone Man") and his squaw. They called me their child, or "big papoose." Their owning me in this manner saved me probably from a worse fate than death; and although more than a third of a century has elapsed since that event, strange as it may appear to some, I cherish with kindest feelings the friendship of my Indian father and mother. Too-kon-we-chasta was employed by General Sibley as a scout on his expedition against the Indians in the summer of 1863. He now lives across the Minnesota river from Morton, in Redwood county, on a farm. He and his squaw called on me several times when we were living near Beaver Falls. They manifested a great deal of friendship. There is a wide difference in the moral character of Indians.