Chapter 5

THE COURT-HOUSE OF THE MILITARY COMMISSION.

After the departure of the white captives, the Indian trial proceeded, but for good reasons the General concluded to move the camp down to the Lower Agency on the Red Wood River. The Indian camp, mostly made up of women and children, had been moved from Yellow Medicine to this place, where the trial still progressed.

It was really amusing to sit by and listen to the testimony given in by the Indians through their interpreter. They were nearly all like the white criminals of to-day—innocent. I will only record a few. Cut-Nose, for instance, will be a fair example of others, who were as guilty wretches as ever escaped the immediate vengeance of an outraged people.

The bloody old chief tried to play the innocent by saying he was not in the battles to hurt anyone. He was most always there, but he was engaged in some innocent pastime, such as feasting on roast beef and green corn, while his comrades of the paint and feathers were killing people by the score. If he fired at all it was at random and nobody was hurt. He would steal, but that was for the benefit of his wife; she insisted upon his doing something towards the support of herself and their Indian kids; but as for killing anyone, oh! no, he could not think of that for a minute.

We have his picture here, and his looks are a “dead giveaway;” and, besides, twenty-seven murders were traced directly to him, and his protestation of “me good Injun” all went for nought. He was a notoriously bad Indian; he was so adjudged by the commission, who condemnedhim to death, and he finally dangled at one end of a hempen cord.

CUT-NOSE.Who killed twenty-seven persons, and was hanged.

Another one, prematurely gray, thought this ought to be evidence in his favor, and others protested that they were too weak to face fire; others, that their lives were threatened and they were compelled to go on the war path; others, that they slept while their more wakeful companions fought; and one old man who said he was fifty years olda great many years ago, thought he might be excused, but a boy swore straight against him and said, “I saw that man kill my mother,” which solemn words settled the prisoner’s fate.

This Indian was “Round Wind,” but it was afterwards shown that he was not there and he was reprieved just before the day set for the execution.

Among the Indian prisoners were some who had been enlisted in the “Renville Rangers,” and had deserted to their friends—our enemies. These rangers were all Indians and half-breeds, and it was largely from this fact that the Indians conceived the idea that all the white men had left the state and that the time was propitious for the Indians to strike to regain their territory.

It was proven conclusively that these men had been in all the battles, and at Wood Lake one of them had taken the first scalp, and this from an old man and a former comrade in his company. For this he received one of the two belts of wampum which had been promised by Little Crow as a reward for killing the first white man. These men all offered excuses, but the evidence was so overwhelmingly against them that they also were condemned to death.

It was necessary to make an indiscriminate capture of the Indians and then investigate their several cases to find out the guilty ones, because, there were many among them who no doubt had been compelled to participate in the fights we had with them at Birch Coolie and Wood Lake, and only kept with the hostiles from policy and to save the lives of the white people. To these and a good old squaw, well known in St. Paul and other parts of the Union as “Old Betz,” over 400 persons owe their lives.

“Old Betz” has gone to her reward in the happy hunting grounds, having lived over seventy-five years. She was a good woman and a good friend to the early settlers of Minnesota. Others who were friendly to the whites and loyal to their great father at Washington were liberated, and the guilty placed under strong guard.

OLD BETZ.

CHAPTER XXIII.

CAPTURE OF RENEGADE BANDS—MIDNIGHT MARCH.

General Sibley was apprised by his scouts that there were several lodges of Indians up around Goose Nest Lake, and also near the mouth of the Lac-qui-Parle River, and he dispatched Lieutenant-Colonel Marshall with two hundred and fifty men (having six days’ rations) to bring them in. The little expedition started at midnight. They did not find Indians at the point designated, but struck across the country, and by a forced march of forty-five miles, found two lodges. They took the young men prisoners, but the women and children were placed in charge of the old men and sent away with instructions to report at Camp Release, which they did in due time. Colonel Marshall heard of twenty-seven lodges at a place described as Two Wood Lake, but upon arriving there, found the place deserted, the enemy leaving behind for the benefit of other Indians, a sign indicating that they had left two days before. In order to catch them, the infantry were instructed to follow, while the cavalry, with a howitzer, pushed on as fast as possible, and about midnight on the 16th the detachment came up to the Indians, who, unsuspecting, were enjoying their sleep. The barking of the dogs awoke them, and they realized that something unusual was about to occur. Peering out through the openingof their tepees, they saw horsemen and at once suspected they were soldiers. The half-breed scouts called upon them to surrender and they would not be harmed. Some of the younger men started to run away, but they were overtaken and all made prisoners. In their conversation with the interpreter they said they would have given themselves up, but were afraid to do so. They said they knew that starvation stared them in the face, because a cold winter was at hand, their provisions were all gone, and that for the sake of their families they were glad to be caught. They said also that Little Crow and some of his immediate followers had gone farther north, near Devil’s Lake.

The game having been successfully bagged, Colonel Marshall hastened with the prisoners back to Camp Release, where everything was in readiness for a move down to Red Wood.

Among the Indians was a negro by the name of Godfrey. He had never known any other people and was totally ignorant concerning his parentage; but he was among them, taking part in all their battles, and a very active part, too, for the charge against him was “murder,” in that with his own hand he had killed seven white men, women and children. He said he was not guilty. It is often thus—guilty men are innocent in their own estimation. Mr. O-ta-kle (Godfrey), was in his own opinion one of this sort. Certain it was, he had been enthusiastic over the prospect of the excitement that would follow a general uprising, for he put on a breech-clout and decorated his black face and legs in all the gorgeous hues of Indian war paint. He could “whoop” as loud and yell as fiercely as the best of them, and when the Indians returned from oneof their raids he was accounted one of the bravest of their warriors. He admitted that he had killed seven; this he did, however, to his Indian comrades, when it would, if a fact, add feathers to his coronet and renown to his cruel record; but, when confronted by the men who could pass judgment against him if found guilty, he was the most innocent creature in all the world. In his hesitating, broken way of speaking, he gave a minute account of his whereabouts. There was no direct evidence against him, excepting his own confession to his comrades that he was with the Indians in all their raids and that he had killed seven people. In his earnest denial of the fact, he had such an honest look, and spoke with such a truthful tone, that the court, although prejudiced against him, were inclined to listen to his story with a reasonable degree of favor; yet he was finally found guilty and sentenced to be hanged, the verdict being accompanied with a recommendation that his punishment be commuted to imprisonment for ten years. He did not go to prison, but was sent to a reservation and compelled to stay there. Who he was, or where he came from, no one seemed to know, and he could remember nothing beyond his life among the Indians.

CHAPTER XXIV.

HOMEWARD BOUND.

“We start for home to-morrow morning,” were the gladsome words passed around the camp-fire on the evening of the 22d of October. The nights were getting chilly, and the shortening days indicated that the autumn was fast passing away, and that warmer quarters than our tents would soon be an absolute necessity. The contemplation of the homeward march was a pleasure, for there were ties of friendship there that forbade procrastination. A sad thought came over us as we remembered the poor fellows who had given up their lives—their waiting ones at home would wait in vain.

“Reveille.”

Reveille sounded early one morning, and after a hurriedbreakfast of coffee and hard tack, the headquarters bugle sounded “strike tents,” and the city of canvas was soon razed to the ground. With the captives and prisoners we took up our line of march for Yellow Medicine, where the commission appointed by the General tried and condemned 305 Indians to hang.

The morning we left Camp Release the sun shone brightly, the sky was clear, but there was frost in the air; and, as we were on very short rations and only one blanket each, we were in high glee as we marched out to the music of the band. I think our steps were more than the regulation twenty-eight inches, for we were headed towards God’s country—home. About four p. m. the fierce fall wind veered around in our faces, and coming as it did off the burnt prairie, our faces soon presented the appearance of men from the interior of Africa. We were black in the face. At five o’clock we went into camp. It was pitch dark, with the wind blowing a hurricane, and in the darkness, infantry, cavalry, and artillery were one interminable mass of troops and order was impossible. So the orders were: “By company, left wheel, halt;” “stack arms;” “break ranks,” with orders to pitch tents and get under cover. To make fires and cook supper was impossible, so we supped on raw salt pork, hard tack, and cold water. The Sibley tents blew down as fast as put up, and in this condition we crawled under them to get the best protection possible from the fierce northern blast. Some of the men had found potato cellars that had been dug in the hillside by the Indians, and taking possession of them were thus afforded good, warm quarters and plenty of potatoes to eat. In this respect they were much more fortunate than the rest of us who were on the outside and had all we could doto keep from freezing to death. The storm abated somewhat by morning, so we could make our fires, which we did, and availed ourselves of the Indian potatoes, and with salt pork, hard tack and coffee made a hearty breakfast and were soon on the march again.

The exposure of that night gave many of us the rheumatism, and it took several hours’ march to get ourselves limbered up, but the day was bright and we were homeward bound. We made a good day’s march, and pitched our tents in the valley of the Red Wood.

The Indian camp, consisting principally of women and children, had been previously removed to this place from Yellow Medicine, where the quartermaster had erected a large board prison to hold the captive red men, who had all been condemned by the Commission. The papers had been sent on to President Lincoln for his final decision, and we were here awaiting developments.

The condemned Indians were sent under strong guard to Camp Sibley, on the banks of the Red Wood River. They were chained together and kept in a structure built for the purpose, and their squaws, who were camped on the outside, were allowed to cook for them under the supervision of a guard, to prevent them from smuggling knives or a weapon of any kind on the inside of the enclosure.

CAMP LINCOLN.

After a week or ten days we again took up the line of march to a destination known only to the General and his Staff, but which proved to be that the Seventh Minnesota, under Colonel William R. Marshall, should proceed with the prisoners to Mankato, and the Sixth Minnesota, under Colonel Crooks, should report at Fort Snelling for further orders. The two regiments marched together until we reached a point some way below New Ulm. Nothing of importance took place until we reached this place. The General having heard that the citizens had determined to kill every redskin regardless of consequences if they could possibly get hold of them, took precaution against it. It was said that every house was supplied with hot water, hot soft soap and anything and everything that ingenuity could invent to inflict sudden and sure punishment, and death if possible, to those that had brought such woe to them. For this reason the General changed his course somewhat, and making a detour to the right, escaped the necessity or perhaps bloodshed, in trying to save his captives from the hands of this justly furious people. Men and women turned out en masse and hurling imprecations, flourishing butcher knives, table knives, and even scissors, axes, pitchforks—in fact, every sort of weapon—seemed determined to get at them, and abused soldiers and Indians alike because they were held at bay. They followed us for two or three miles before they became convinced that the General was determined at all hazards to uphold the supremacy of the government in protecting these blood-stained captives from the furies of a people who had suffered so much at the hands of some of their tribes in the murder of their innocent women and children.

At a point below New Ulm the command was divided, a portion taking all the condemned men to Mankato, and the balance of the command proceeding to Fort Snelling.

At Mankato, as the days wore away and there was some doubt as to what the final decision of President Lincoln would be, great fear was entertained that there would be a general uprising of the people, and an attempt made to override military and civil law by wresting the Indiansfrom the soldiers and instituting a general massacre of them, irrespective of their guilt or innocence, but Colonel Stephen Miller, the post commander, having determined that law and not lawlessness should prevail, used the utmost vigilance to defeat any such undertaking.

CHAPTER XXV.

PROTESTS—PRESIDENT LINCOLN’S ORDER FOR THE EXECUTION.

The Indians did not seem to feel cast down; some in fact appeared rather to enjoy the situation; others, again, were more serious, and were probably speculating as to the probable outcome of the unfortunate condition of affairs. The soldiers did not relish the idea of guarding them, and one night a conspiracy, which I overheard, was formed to create a false alarm in the camp and in the excitement fall on the Indians and murder them. The plot leaked out and the plan miscarried, as it should, for it would have been rank murder to have executed it. Among the prisoners there were many who really were not guilty, but had been caught in bad company. The prisoners were arraigned upon written charges specifying the criminating acts, and these charges were signed by General Sibley, and with but few exceptions were based on information furnished by Rev. S. R. Riggs, who had long been a missionary among them. The majority of the prisoners were condemned to death, and the news reaching the East, far away from the scene of the outrages, petitions went in from many New England cities, imploring the President to exercise clemency toward this unfortunate people. He yielded to theclamor in so far as only to include the very worst characters among them.

Bishop Whipple said: “There are times when the Christian laborer has a right to ask for the sympathy, the prayers and the co-operation of our fellow-citizens, and to make a strong appeal in behalf of this most wretched race of heathen men on the face of the earth. The responsibility,” he says, “is great, the fearful issues are upon us, and as we are to settle them justly or unjustly we shall receive the blessing or curse of Almighty God. Many of these victims of savage ferocity were my friends. They had mingled their voices with mine in prayer; they had given to me such hospitality as can only be found in the log cabin of the frontier; and it fills my heart with grief, and blinds my eyes with tears, when I think of their nameless graves. It is because I love them and would save others from their fate that I ask that the people shall lay the blame of this great crime where it belongs, and rise up with one voice to demand the reform of the atrocious Indian system, which has always garnered for us the same fruit of anguish and blood.”

Thousands of miles away from the scene of the outrages perpetrated against the inoffensive white settlers, protests were sent in to the President from all sorts of humanitarians, imploring him to stay the sentence that condemned to death so many human beings. The provocation to indiscriminately condemn and hang was very great, for thousands of innocents had been ruthlessly murdered; no moments of warning were given them; no former kindnesses seemed to be remembered by the Indians, and their hands were steeped in their friends’ blood, and there seemed no palliating circumstances. The enormity of the outbreak and the fiendish cruelty of the redskins were appalling; the people were paralyzed with astonishment and fear, and the witnesses, no doubt mistaken and prejudiced, gave such positive testimony that the commission felt satisfied in pronouncing them guilty of murder in the first degree; but would this have been the case if these prisoners had been white instead of red?

INTERIOR OF INDIAN JAIL.

No doubt General Sibley himself was surprised when he learned of the indiscriminate condemnation of these prisoners, and was glad not to be held responsible for their hanging.

It is a fact that there were Indians found with arms in their hands in nearly all the battles, but their object was to protect the women and children prisoners, and they said they must make a show of fighting whether they did or not in order to accomplish this. It would have been a great stain on the fair name of our country if this wholesale hanging had occurred, and President Lincoln acted wisely in overruling the recommendation of the commission, which he did to such an extent as to sanction the execution of thirty-nine of the condemned men, and the balance to be further held as prisoners until he should designate a reservation to which they should be sent. During the time the preparations were being made to carry out the President’s order the people were clamorous. They were not satisfied with the modification of the President’s order, and grave rumors were abroad that there would be a vigorous effort made to take the Indians from the soldiers and have a wholesale execution, but the military authorities prevented it.

The President acted wisely in this matter. In fact, the state of the public mind was such and the pressure within our lines was exercised to such a degree that the President could do nothing less. If all the condemned Indians had been executed the impression wouldhave gone abroad that the great government of the United States was putting to death its prisoners of war, and this would have done much toward bringing about a recognition of the Southern Confederacy.

The President’s order was as follows:

“Executive Mansion,“Washington, December 6, 1862.“Brigadier-General H. H. Sibley, St. Paul, Minn.:“Ordered, that the Indians and half-breeds sentenced to be hanged by the military commission, composed of Colonel Crooks, Lieutenant-Colonel Marshall, Captain Grant, Captain Bailey and Lieutenant Olin, and lately sitting in Minnesota, you cause to be executed on Friday, the 19th day of December, instant.“The other condemned prisoners you will hold subject to further orders, taking care that they neither escape nor are subjected to any unlawful violence.“Abraham Lincoln,“President of United States.”

“Executive Mansion,“Washington, December 6, 1862.

“Brigadier-General H. H. Sibley, St. Paul, Minn.:

“Ordered, that the Indians and half-breeds sentenced to be hanged by the military commission, composed of Colonel Crooks, Lieutenant-Colonel Marshall, Captain Grant, Captain Bailey and Lieutenant Olin, and lately sitting in Minnesota, you cause to be executed on Friday, the 19th day of December, instant.

“The other condemned prisoners you will hold subject to further orders, taking care that they neither escape nor are subjected to any unlawful violence.

“Abraham Lincoln,“President of United States.”

The execution was carried out on the 26th of December, 1862. Thirty-eight were hanged.

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE EXECUTION—THE NIGHT BEFORE.

The date of the execution was fixed for December 26, 1862. On the 22d instant the condemned prisoners were separated from the others, and on the same day Colonel Stephen Miller (afterwards Governor), who was in command, through the interpreter, Rev. Mr. Riggs, called upon the condemned and announced the decision of the Great Father at Washington. He said:

Tell these thirty-nine condemned men that the commanding officer of this place has called to speak to them on a serious subject this afternoon. Their Great Father at Washington, after carefully reading what the witnesses testified to in their several trials, has come to the conclusion that they have been guilty of murdering his white children; and, for this reason, has directed that each be hanged by the neck until dead next Friday at ten a. m.That good ministers, both Catholic and Protestant, are here, and can commune with them for the remaining four days they have to live.That I will now cause to be read the letter from their Great Father at Washington, first in English and then in their own language.Say to them, now, that they have so sinned against their fellow-men, that there is no hope for clemency except in the mercy of God, through the merits of the blessed Redeemer; and that I earnestly exhort them to apply tothat, as their only remaining source of comfort and consolation.

That good ministers, both Catholic and Protestant, are here, and can commune with them for the remaining four days they have to live.

That I will now cause to be read the letter from their Great Father at Washington, first in English and then in their own language.

Say to them, now, that they have so sinned against their fellow-men, that there is no hope for clemency except in the mercy of God, through the merits of the blessed Redeemer; and that I earnestly exhort them to apply tothat, as their only remaining source of comfort and consolation.

Rev. Mr. Riggs, the interpreter, had been a missionary among them for twenty-five years, and he had known them intimately, and it pained him sorely to be obliged to convey to them as an interpreter the words that were to condemn them to death. In so doing he said:

I have known you for many years; I have pointed you to the cross; endeavored to prayerfully convince you that allegiance to God, and the Great Father at Washington, was your duty. I have with a broken heart witnessed your cruelty to inoffensive men, women and children; cruelty to your best friends. You have stained your hands in innocent blood, and now the law holds you to strict accountability. It pains me to inform you that your Great Father in Washington says you must die for your cruelty and murders, and I am directed to inform you that on the 26th day of February you will be hanged by the neck until you are dead, and may God have mercy on your souls.

The prisoners received the sentence rather coolly; some smoking their pipes composedly during its reading, one of them knocking the ashes out of his pipe, and another putting in his a fresh supply of kinnikinnick. On Tuesday evening they held a death dance, accompanied by wild Indian songs, and there were some fears that the excitement might cause an attempt to make an escape or create a panic; so, precautionary measures were taken. The Indians’ friends and families were permitted to visit them and take a last farewell. It was a solemn time even to the white soldiers, for it was plainly evident that while there was a lack of such demonstration as would be witnessed among the whites under similar circumstances, yet to the observant eye only, it was plain to be seen that deep,deep grief had taken possession of their hearts. There were few tears; no hysterics, but profound sorrow was depicted on the countenances as the parting word was said, and messages sent to children and friends. Some were completely overcome; others in bravado laughed and joked as if it were an every-day occurrence. One said: “Yes, tell our friends that we are being removed from this world over the same path they must shortly travel. We go first.”

Many spoke in a mournful tone; in fact, the majority of them desired to say something, and with one or two exceptions they seemed to be penitent. Why should they not? Their white brethren under like circumstances are accorded religious privileges. They repent and accept the invitation, “Come unto Me all ye who are weary and heavy laden and I will give you rest.” The thief on the cross repented. Could not an ignorant, misguided Indian under religious instruction receive light and repent?

The night before the execution Colonel Miller received a stay for one of the condemned, as strong doubt existed as to his participation in the murders, and he was finally pardoned.

It has been said that in the excitement of the preparations for the execution that the wrong man was pardoned. He was guilty, but the innocent man suffered in his stead. The last night was spent by the prisoners in quite a jolly camp-fire, chatting merrily and smoking to their hearts’ content.

Father Ravoux, a Catholic priest from St. Paul, remained with them all night administering consolation and communion, and the more serious of them listened attentively to his words of comfort. In the morning, as thehour for the execution approached, and while Father Ravoux was speaking to the Indians, the provost marshal entered and whispered something to the good priest, who in turn spoke in French to one of the half-breeds, and he repeated it in Dakota to the Indians, who were all lying down around the prison. The information he gave was that the hour had arrived when they were to march to the gallows. In a moment every Indian stood erect, and as the provost marshal opened the door they fell in behind him with the greatest alacrity. Indeed, a notice of release, pardon or reprieve could not have induced them to leave their cells with more apparent willingness than this call to death. At the foot of the steps there was no delay. Captain Redfield mounted the drop, at the head, and the Indians crowded after him, as if it were a race to see who would get there first. They actually crowded on each other’s heels, and as they got to the top, each took his position, without any assistance from those who were detailed for that purpose. They still kept up a mournful wail, and occasionally there would be a piercing scream. The ropes were soon arranged around their necks without the least opposition being offered. The white caps, which had been placed on the tops of their heads, were now drawn down over their faces, shutting out forever the light of day from their eyes. Then ensued a scene that can hardly be described and can never be forgotten. All joined in shouting and singing, as it appeared to those who were ignorant of the language. The tones seemed somewhat discordant, and yet there was harmony in it. It was not their voices alone, but their bodies swayed to and fro, and their every limb seemed to be keeping time. The drop trembled and shook as if all were dancing. The most touching scene onthe drop was their attempt to grasp each other’s hands, fettered as they were. They were very close to each other, and many succeeded. Three or four in a row were hand in hand, and all hands swaying up and down with the rise and fall of their voices. One old man reached out on each side, but could not grasp a hand; his struggles were piteous and affected many beholders.

Those who understood their manners and language said that their singing and shouting was necessary to sustain each other. Each one shouted his own name and called on the name of his friend, saying in substance: “I am here! I am here!”

The supreme moment arrived, and amid an immense concourse of citizens and soldiers the drop fell, and thirty-eight human beings, whose hands were steeped in innocent blood and who had spread such desolation and sorrow to thousands of happy homes, were ushered into the presence of their Maker.

The arrangements were under the immediate supervision of Captain Burt, of the Seventh Regiment, and they were so complete that there was not the slightest hitch.

“Positions of honor were given to the most interested. For instance, the cutting of the rope was assigned to William J. Daly, of Lake Shetek, who had three children killed and his wife and two children captured, and who were at this time in the hands of Little Crow, on the Missouri, and were afterward ransomed by Major Galpin at Fort Pierre.”

The quotation I make here is from a book in the public library, and I found penciled on the margin by one of those persons who take advantage of the courtesies extended by public libraries, the following:

“So should every remaining Indian be ’elevated'!” Nay!Nay! scribbler. We cannot tell why one man’s face is black and another red, while yours and mine are white. Would you mete out the same measure to the whites? Innocency among the Indians, per capita, is not more rare than among their more favored white brethren, and we are brethren of a different hue. Punish the guilty, be he white or black, but protect the innocent.

After the bodies had hung for about half an hour, the physicians of the several regiments present examined them and reported that life was extinct. The bodies were carried away in United States mule teams and dumped in one common grave, dug in the sand bar in front of the city, the half-breeds in one corner of the hole so they might be found by their friends if they so desired. There may be times and circumstances when a Christian people can afford to act as we expect the benighted to do; but it has not arrived yet. No matter what the crime, the penalty has been paid, and after the spirit has gone to God to be adjudged, it is part of our civilization to be decent in our conduct toward all that remains mortal. It is not necessary to make a great display, but that we perform our duty according to our law. We have taken a life in accordance with a human law, and in justification of it we quote, “An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.” No matter how atrocious the deed, after the penalty has been paid we cannot as a Christian people, apologize for our acts of barbarism to the inanimate clay.

After the mandate of the President had been executed the telegraph flashed to Washington the following:

“St. Paul, Minn., December 27, 1862.“To the President of the United States:“I have the honor to inform you that the thirty-eightIndians and half-breeds, ordered by you for execution, were hung on yesterday at Mankato, at ten a. m. Everything went off quietly, and the other prisoners are well secured.“Henry H. Sibley,“Brigadier-General.”

“St. Paul, Minn., December 27, 1862.

“To the President of the United States:

“I have the honor to inform you that the thirty-eightIndians and half-breeds, ordered by you for execution, were hung on yesterday at Mankato, at ten a. m. Everything went off quietly, and the other prisoners are well secured.

“Henry H. Sibley,“Brigadier-General.”

With this the curtain drops on this bloody drama, and thus ended the great Indian campaign of 1862.

CHAPTER XXVII.

SQUAWS TAKE LEAVE OF THEIR HUSBANDS.

The condemned men, and the others who were to be deported after the execution took place, were called upon to bid good-bye to their wives and children, who were to be taken down to Fort Snelling. The wives were allowed a few at a time to go inside the jail and with the children have words of conversation with the husband and father. After a reasonable time they took leave of them. There were no hysterics, no sobs, no tears, but the heart-beats and the thoughts were there. Love? Yes. How deep, no white on-looker could tell. It was a supreme moment to the poor Indian and his dusky wife. Their roads were very divergent from this time, and in low tones they answered in their own tongue. Some of the soldiers made slighting remarks, but there are those among educated whites who have no serious moments, no serious thoughts; they have not time to be serious, and no inclination; but this was a serious time for those poor creatures; they knew the hour had arrived when they must say good-bye forever on earth to their red-skinned partners in life’s joys and sorrows. No hand shake; no embrace; no crying; but a sorrowful, affectionate look, and they turn their back on them forever.

The women and children are taken down to Fort Snelling,and in a camp prepared for them they are put for the winter, and a strong guard placed about them to prevent any outrages being committed. The night the news was carried to them of the execution the wails of the poor creatures could be heard for a long distance away: “Rachael mourning for her children and would not be comforted, because they were not.”

Much sorrow was expressed for them because we could but feel that they were unfortunate creatures, endowed with all the attributes of human beings.

The mortality among them was very great and hundreds died before the winter of suspense had passed away.

In April, 1863, the camp was broken up and the remaining ones were placed in a steamer for St. Louis, from whence they were to be sent up the Missouri River to the Crow Creek agency. Some died on the way, and as they left their homes and looked for the last time on their native hills, a dark cloud was crushing out their hearts. Soon after landing at Crow Creek every tepee had its sick and anxious hearts—mothers and children far away from their dead.

The deported ones joined their families in time, and as the years glide on they have had time for reflection, and the events, as they undoubtedly come trooping back to them, furnish food for thought.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

CAPTURE AND RELEASE OF JOE BROWN’S INDIAN FAMILY.

We knew Major Brown well. He was known to nearly all early settlers, because he came to Minnesota when the white people were very few. He felt that it was not well for man to live alone, a white man especially, and so he took unto himself a dusky bride. He was in government employ and a big white chief among his new found wife’s people and to whom he was a friend.

As he grew in years his family grew also, and the dusky mother’s household cares increased. Yes, they lived in a fine stone house, elegantly furnished, down on the Yellow Medicine below the agency, but which came in the way of his red brother’s vengeance, and it was destroyed. The Brown family lived happily in their rather modern home. The Major attended to his official duties, and the wife and boys cultivated the land; but in common with all the others during these sad days, their only safety was in flight. Their home, including books and furniture, was totally destroyed. The father was a fugitive and his family prisoners. They did not suffer as some others did, because the wife and mother was a full blood and was related to theSisseton tribe and had powerful friends among them. Their capture, captivity, and final release, as related by Samuel Brown, the fifteen-year-old boy, is an interesting recital. He says:

On Monday, the 18th day of August, I went to Yellow Medicine with my sister Ellen upon an errand. We met on the way an Indian named Little Dog, who told us that the Indians had killed a family at Beaver Creek, and were going to kill the whites as far as St. Paul, and that we must not tell any one about it, or they would kill us. He said he warned us at the risk of his own life. This was about noon. Soon after our arrival at Yellow Medicine an old squaw told us that we had better be getting away, as there would be trouble. We asked many of the other Indians about it, but they said they had heard of nothing of the kind. Another squaw afterward told us that she thought it must be the Yanktonais who were coming down to take the agency. We left them about half-past three o’clock. George Gleason had just left with Mrs. Wakefield and her children for below. When we reached home we told mother what we heard. She was very much scared and did not sleep any that night. About four o’clock next morning I heard some one outside calling in a loud voice a number of times for my mother, and then I heard Charles Blair, my brother-in-law (a white man), ask what was the matter, and the man, who was a half-breed named Royer, said that four hundred Yanktonais had arrived at the upper agency and were killing everybody. We then became very much alarmed, and had our oxen yoked at once to the wagon, put everything in we could, and started for Fort Ridgely. We had all the neighbors warned, and they went with us. They had three wagons, with oxteams. Four or five white men overtook us on the road, among them Garvey’s cook (Garvey was the trader wounded at the agency, and who afterward died at Hutchinson.)

When we had gone about five miles we saw some men two miles ahead, near the bank of the river, but supposed they were farmers. The Yanktonais, whom we were afraid of, lived above us. We thought nothing about the men until we saw an Indian on a hill ahead of us. He beckoned to others, and before we knew it we were surrounded. De-wa-nea, of Crow’s band, and Cut-Nose and Shakopee, three of the worst among the Lower Indians, came to us first. We were in the head wagon. Mother told them who we were, and they said we must follow them, and that we were all as good as dead. De-wa-nea said that the whites had taken him prisoner a good many times and that it was now his turn. He wanted the rest of the Indians to kill us all. There was an Indian in the party, John Moore’s brother-in-law, who took our part, and he and his friends saved us from the others. This Indian had once come to our house when he was freezing and my mother took him in and warmed him. He told the other Indians that he remembered this, and that we should live. They insisted that my brother Angus should shoot one of the white men, but he refused to do so. Each of the Indians had one of the whites picked out to shoot as they came up. My mother said they were poor men and it would do no good to kill them. John Moore’s brother-in-law said they should live if she wanted them to. The Indians made a great fuss about it, and said she ought to be satisfied with what she had got, but afterwards consented and told the men tostart off. The women stayed with us. After the men had got off a little, Leopold Wohler, who had a lime-kiln at the agency, came back to the wagon after his boots, and an Indian told him if he didn’t go away he would kill him. He started off with one boot, and came back again for the other, and the Indian drove him away again with the same threat. He went a short distance and came back again to kiss his wife. The Indians then became very much enraged, and acted so fiercely that he was glad to escape without further difficulty. There were ten Indians close to us, and twenty-five or thirty near, running into the houses. They made Angus and Charles Blair, who were riding horses, give them up. De-wa-nea put on my sister’s bonnet and began singing a war song. He was very merry. He said the Indians were now going to have a good time, and if they got killed it was all right; that the whites wanted to kill them off, and were delaying the payment in order to do it by starvation, and that he preferred to be shot. We saw three men and a woman on the road terribly hacked up. This party had committed the murders. The men had been mowing together; their scythes and pitchforks were lying near by. Cut-nose showed us his thumb, from which a piece had been bitten near the nail, and he said it was done by one of these men while he was working the knife around in his breast; that he was very hard to kill, and he thought he would never die.

Cut-nose afterward went to a wagon and told a Scotch girl who was in it that he wanted her for his wife, and to get out and follow him. She refused, and he then drew his knife and flourished it over her, and she got out and went away with him. That was the last I saw of him untilwe got to camp. He was called Cut-nose because one of his nostrils had been bitten out. This was done by Other Day in a quarrel.

When we reached the camp of the Red Creek Indians, four miles above the Redwood River, they told us that the Agency Indians had sent word for all to come down there, and that those who did not come would be taken care of by the “Soldiers’ Lodge.” They were then about starting, and an Indian made Augus and myself hitch up a mule team which he said he had taken from Captain Marsh’s men the day before. He said they had just heard a cannon at the fort and they wanted to go down and whip the whites there. This was about noon. We then went down to John Moore’s house (this was where Other Day’s horse was stolen), and they put us upstairs, where they had two or three women captives. We were there about an hour, when three Indians told us to come up to their camp on the hill, where we were to stop with John Moore’s mother, or grandmother. We followed them, and when we got halfway up suddenly missed them. We supposed they hid from us, and we wandered on. We met a German woman who had seven or eight children with her, all under eight years of age,—two on her back, one under each arm and two following behind. They came along with us. We went to Moore’s relative, but she said she knew nothing about us and couldn’t take us, and that we had better go down to Crow’s Village. We started, not knowing where to go, when a squaw, who was crying about the troubles, met us, and took us home with her. The Indians sent our team back to camp. They gave Augus and I blankets and moccasins, and we put them on and went down to see Little Crow. He told us to bring our folks down there, and noone should hurt us. This was Tuesday evening, about seven o’clock. He was in his own house, and the camp was pitched around it. We went back and brought our folks down. Little Crow put us up in the top room of the house, and gave us buffalo robes and everything to make us comfortable. He brought us a candle as soon as it was dark; he was very kind to us; he said he would take as good care of us as he could, but he didn’t believe he could keep Charley Blair alive until morning. He gave him a breech clout and leggings, which he put on.

During the night an Indian or a half-breed came in the room downstairs where Crow was, and told him that we ought to be killed. We overheard what they said. The man was very ugly, and said no prisoners ought to be taken, and that we were related to the Sissetons, and had no claim on the Lower Indians, and there was no reason why we should be spared. He said he wanted Crow to call a council about it immediately. Crow told him that he saved us because we were his friends, and that he would protect us; that it was too late to hold a council that night, and he compelled him to leave.

He gave us plenty to eat, and came up several times during the night to see how we were getting along. We begged him to let Charley Blair go. He said he couldn’t; that the Indians knew he was there, and would kill him (Crow) if he allowed it. We coaxed him for a couple of hours, when he consented, and brought an Indian, who took Charley down to the river and left him in the brush. He made his escape from there to the fort. Crow told us not to say anything about it, for the Indians would kill him, and that he did it because he had known our folks so long. He said the young men started the massacre, andhe could not stop them. A week after that Akipu, an Upper Indian, came down from the Yellow Medicine Agency and took us up with him. From that time until our deliverance we remained with our relatives, and were well treated by them.

The foregoing recital is just as the boy gave it, and in subsequent conversations with the father it was substantially verified.

Major Brown, after recovering his family, lived for a few years, and did much toward assisting the Government in adjusting the many claims brought against it by persons who had suffered so much at the hands of the Indians. He died a number of years ago, but the members of his family live and are much respected in the community in which they live.

CHAPTER XXIX.

GOVERNOR RAMSEY AND HOLE-IN-THE-DAY.

Alexander Ramsey, of Minnesota, is the last of the famous coterie of war governors; a band that will be immortal. Curtin, of Pennsylvania; Dix, of New York; Dennison, of Ohio; Morton, of Indiana; Randall, of Wisconsin; Yates, of Illinois; Blair, of Michigan; Andrew, of Massachusetts; and Kirkwood, of Iowa;—a notable group, stalwart, rugged patriots with hearts beating as one. Comprehending the danger that menaced the nation, confronted with no easy task, these grand old stalwarts pledged their states to uphold, with men and money, the general government. They have passed away honored by a grateful country and beloved by the men who responded to their call. Governor Ramsey alone remains, and in the National Grand Army encampment held in St. Paul in 1896 he was a central figure. Passed, as he has, beyond the allotted time of man, measure full and running over, he saw the salvation of his country, proud of the part Minnesota’s sons took in its restoration, and proud to meet them after the smoke of battle had cleared away. Governor Ramsey, being in Washington at the time of the first call for troops, promptly responded in person to the President, and tendered a regiment from Minnesota, and it was accepted; and it was thefirst to be accepted. He immediately telegraphed to Adjutant General William Henry Acker to at once issue a call for one regiment of three months men.

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