Читать книгу With Sully into the Sioux Land - Joseph Mills Hanson - Страница 4

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Al had almost reached the nearest reeds when he heard a shot off to his left and looking in that direction saw Spot, the cow, sink to her knees and then topple over on her side. An Indian with rifle held aloof, exulting over this piece of slaughter, was galloping toward her. Al crouched low and ran into the reeds.

"Mother! Mother!" he called, softly, for the Indian was too far away to hear.

"Here," answered his mother's voice, not far off, and in a moment he had crept to her. Annie, crying softly, was beside her, and they were lying well hidden in a dense thicket of reeds close to the creek.

"Where is your father?" whispered Mrs. Briscoe, the instant he reached her, gazing at him with wide, terror-stricken eyes.

"Why, he—he—can't come now," Al faltered.

"He is killed," said Mrs. Briscoe, simply, in a lifeless voice.

Her son did not look at her.

"Yes," he said, almost inaudibly.

It seemed to him that the end of all things was closing down upon them. His mother did not weep; she was past tears. She did not even move, but her face was almost like chalk.

"And Tommy?" she asked presently.

"The Indians have carried him away," answered Al.

Mrs. Briscoe bowed her head upon her knees.

"Oh, my little boy, my baby boy!" she moaned. "Why should I live any longer with them gone?"

Al, stunned by the tragedies of the past few minutes, had nearly reached the lowest depths of despair. He felt numb and helpless, but at his mother's heartbroken cry a sudden rush of vitality and determination reanimated him. He recalled his father's words: "Remember that your first care must be your mother and your little brother and sister." He leaned forward and put his arm around his mother's shoulders.

"Mother," he said, "don't say that. You must live for Annie's sake and mine,—and Tommy's. We shall get him back; they will not hurt him, he is so young and bright. When we reach the fort the soldiers will send out after him."

By a mighty effort Mrs. Briscoe controlled herself. Her son's words had aroused her.

"You are right, Al," she said. "I must live for you and Annie and Tommy. But can we start for the fort now?"

"I am afraid we shall have to stay here till dark," he replied. "The Indians are still around. I will crawl up where I can get a look."

Leaving the musket beside his mother he crept up through the reeds until, by raising his head cautiously, he could see the house, about three hundred feet away at the top of the slope. An Indian was coming out of the barn leading Chick and Monty, both animals rearing and plunging wildly, for a horse brought up in civilization fears an Indian as much as he does a wolf. Al also saw columns of smoke beginning to arise from the roofs of the house and barn and realized with a terrible pang that his father's body was about to be incinerated in the ruins of his home. He felt a mad desire to rush from his concealment upon the savages and to fight them single-handed. But he restrained himself, for he realized that he would have no chance even against the four who were certainly there and who, for all he knew, might now have been joined by others. He lay there watching until the house and barn were wrapped in flames. Then two of the Indians rode out in opposite directions and making wide detours, circled around toward the swampy tract. Then he crept hastily back to his mother and gave her the revolver, the two empty chambers of which he had already re-loaded, himself taking the musket.

"They are going to search for us, mother," he whispered. "We must keep perfectly still. If they should find us and I should be hit, shoot Annie and then yourself. Never let them take you alive. But if there are only four of them we still have a good chance."

No more was said, and for a long time they lay quiet, their ears sharpened to unnatural keenness, listening to the snapping of reeds in the marsh to the east and west of them but never very close. The conviction at last came upon Al that their hunters, few in number, were afraid rather than anxious to find them, and he began to breathe easier. After more than an hour had elapsed he heard horses splashing in the creek above their hiding-place, and presently he crept again to the edge of the reeds. The house and barn were smouldering heaps of ashes, and the wagon was gone. No one was around the ruins but presently he saw, far off on a rise of the prairie to the eastward several horsemen, mere specks in the distance. He conjectured that it was the party which had wrought their ruin, bound for the Millers, their nearest neighbors, seven miles away. He wished ardently that he might warn the Millers but it was out of the question, so he went back to his mother and sister, and through the remaining hours of the afternoon and until darkness fell they lay in their concealment. Then very cautiously, under cover of the darkness, he piloted them across the creek, over several hills and low places, and so at last, two or three miles south of the claim, into the faintly marked road leading away to Fort Ridgely.

It is needless to enter into the details of that long and nerve-wracking journey. Not a moment of it was free from the dreadful fear of encountering enemies in the darkness, and, exhausted by excitement and grief, they dragged their way through the night, stopping every few yards to listen or peer into the gloom. Annie, utterly worn out, sometimes fell to the ground asleep, and then Al and Mrs. Briscoe had to take turns carrying her. Here and there at wide intervals around the vast circle of the horizon appeared a far distant, dull, yellow glow which they knew only too well must arise from other wrecked and burning homes like their own. Now and then the exhaustion of Mrs. Briscoe and Annie compelled them to sink down for a few moments' rest and it was almost daybreak when they finally reached a point which Al knew must be close to the cabin of the Olsens, about eight miles from Fort Ridgely, though they could see nothing of the house in the darkness. Evidently, therefore, it had not been burned, else they could have discerned the smouldering embers. Al saw the first faint streaks of dawn in the East and, realizing that they dared go no further by daylight, he led the way to a small clump of timber which he remembered, lying about a quarter of a mile east of the Olsens' buildings. He found a safe hiding-place for his mother and sister in a dense thicket of bushes under the trees, within a few feet of which he could himself lie and have a clear view of the Olsen house and its immediate vicinity. Here they remained until probably ten o'clock in the morning, Al all the time keeping a close watch on the house. Not a person nor an animal was about the place save a few chickens which he could see scratching in the yard, and he concluded that the Olsens must have been warned, perhaps by Mr. Briscoe himself on his homeward ride, and had escaped to the fort the day before. The Briscoes had not tasted food since the previous noon, and though neither his mother nor Annie would confess to being hungry, Al knew that they all needed nourishment in order to be able to continue their journey after nightfall. He determined to creep up to the deserted house in the hope of finding some food there, if nothing more than a few eggs in the log stable. Handing the revolver to his mother and dragging the musket along beside him, he made his way with painful slowness across the strip of open prairie between the woods and the house. On his way he saw nothing to alarm him, though he noted that just west of the house was a rise in the prairie, evidently concealing a depression beyond, into which he could not see. But no tree tops were visible over the rise, and he did not believe that any Indians would attempt to hide in an open valley. He made a hurried search through the house, which consisted of a single room, and was rewarded by finding a scant half-loaf of very stale bread. Nothing else could he find, for the family had evidently taken all their possessions, including food, in their flight. He was just about to start to the stable in a search for eggs when his heart suddenly seemed to stop beating at the sound of galloping hoofs just back of the house. To his startled ears it sounded like a hundred horses. His only thought was to get back to his mother and sister and, seizing the musket, he dashed out of the doorway and leaped away toward the trees, casting only one glance behind. It showed him a group of eight or ten mounted Indians just riding up on the other side of the house. His apprehension was such that he did not notice that they were dressed in civilized garments until he heard a voice shout in English and in a reassuring tone;

"Wait, boy, wait! we no hurt you!"

He ventured another glance behind and saw all the party save one standing still, their rifles held aloft in sign of peace. The remaining one was still riding toward him but his rifle was also held up. Al realized that they could easily have shot him in his tracks had they wished, and their failure to do so encouraged him. He halted while the lone Indian rode up to him, dismounted and extended his hand, which Al hesitatingly took. But the grasp was hearty and firm.

"We no hurt you," repeated the Indian. "We Christian Indian from Yellow Medicine. We hunting for whites to save from the bad M'dewakantons that make the much kill. We take you to Fort Ridgely. More white people there?" He pointed to the timber toward which Al had been running.

The boy hesitated a moment. The Indian's appearance and words, and still more his manner, inspired his confidence, and he found a brighter hope springing up within him than he had felt since his father's death. But should he trust his mother and Annie to these Indians when they had just suffered so terribly at the hands of others of the same race? Perhaps they were deceiving him in order to draw the rest of his party into their power and would then kill or torture them all. But, on the other hand, if the Indians were hostile he was already at their mercy, so his protection was lost to his mother and sister. Could they make their way to the fort alone if he should deny their presence now and go with the Indians himself, either to safety or death? He did not believe they could. But something kept telling him he must trust the Indian who stood before him, so friendly and earnest. He was every inch an Indian but his face lacked the expression of savage ferocity borne on the faces of the war party which had attacked them the day before. It seemed softened by better influences, and Al could hardly believe that he was treacherous. He took his difficult resolution.

"Yes," he answered. "There are more over there."

The Indian smiled. "Good," said he. "We take you all to the fort. You go get them." Then he added a little proudly, "We save since yesterday, one, two, six white family."

Al went into the woods and informed his mother that rescuers had come to them and, without mentioning their character, led her and Annie out. Mrs. Briscoe was much alarmed when she first saw the party of Indians assembled to meet them, but the latter greeted her so kindly and sympathetically that she soon felt easier. Three of the red men dismounted in order that she and Annie and Al might ride; and so, with the Indians leading their ponies, the cavalcade started southward at once in the direction of the fort. Al found that his confidence had not been misplaced, for in less than two hours they rode into the fort, safe but very weary and depressed.

Fort Ridgely was nothing more than a collection of buildings,—quarters for troops, storehouses, stables, and the other structures necessary for a permanent military establishment, standing on an exposed hill surrounded by ravines and having no stockade or other defences whatever around it; for it was designed merely as a cantonment and supply depot and not as a defensive fortification. When the Briscoes entered it on that afternoon of August 19, it presented a scene of confusion and distress hard to imagine. It was thronged with refugees,—men, women, and children, from all the surrounding country, many of them destitute of everything save the clothes they wore. Some were wounded or badly burned in escaping from houses set on fire by their assailants; and others were arriving now and then who had escaped almost miraculously from the devastated section about the Lower Agency or from more distant points in other directions. These people were being fed from the stores in the Government warehouse; and the post barracks were not large enough to accommodate them, for, fortunately, more troops had arrived since the day before.

Mrs. Briscoe soon found a friend in the warm-hearted Mrs. Olsen, who, as Al had conjectured, had come in on the previous day with her husband and children after having received warning of the uprising from Mr. Briscoe. Mrs. Olsen burst into tears on learning of the sad fate of the man to whom they very likely owed their own lives, and of the carrying off of poor little Tommy. She instantly brought them food, and after they had refreshed themselves, she insisted on Mrs. Briscoe and Annie taking her bed in their covered wagon and resting, at least until more commodious quarters could be found for them. Having seen his mother and sister thus as comfortably cared for as present circumstances would permit, Al started out to look for another place for them which would not so greatly inconvenience the Olsens, and to learn what could be done about sending pursuers after the Indians who had carried away Tommy.

Making his way among the groups of people, many of them disconsolate and weeping, and among the wagons, the animals, and the heaps of household goods scattered in confusion over the open parade ground in the centre of the fort, Al suddenly felt a hand slap his shoulder while a familiar voice said,

"Hello, Al Briscoe! When did you get here?"

He looked around and saw Wallace Smith, a young fellow of about his own age, whom he had met at the fort several times during the past year when he had come in after supplies. Wallace's father kept a general merchandise store just outside the fort, at which the Briscoes had done most of their trading, and it was toward this store that Al was walking when he encountered Wallace.

"I just came in with my mother and sister," returned Al, shaking hands, and then he related briefly the events of the last twenty-four hours. Wallace was very sympathetic and at once took Al to the store. Here Mr. Smith told him that he would find a place for Mrs. Briscoe and Annie to sleep that night, in one of the rooms occupied by his own family above the store. As for Al, he could sleep in the store itself, in company with a number of men who were to be accommodated there. But when Al mentioned his hope of having an immediate pursuit made after Tommy's captors, Mr. Smith shook his head.

"I'm afraid you will find it can't be done now, my boy," he said. "There are too few men here. But you can see the commanding officer and ask him."

The boys, accordingly, left the store and walked toward the headquarters building.

"Can't the Indians capture this place pretty easily" asked Al, looking about. "I don't see what there is to keep them back."

Wallace looked serious. "Well, I don't know," he answered. "The officers seem to think we can stand them off if they come, and I'm afraid they surely will. Most of the men are busy now putting the buildings in shape for defence. There are about a hundred soldiers of the Fifth Minnesota Infantry here, for Lieutenant Sheehan was recalled by a messenger sent yesterday, and he got back with his men a little while ago. He is in command now. Have you heard about Captain Marsh?"

Al had not.

"Why, he marched for the Lower Agency yesterday morning with forty-five men, as soon as he heard of the outbreak there. They were ambushed by the Indians at the ferry across the Minnesota and, though they seem to have fought splendidly, all the men were killed except fifteen, who finally got back here. Captain Marsh himself was drowned in trying to swim the river. So, you see, there is a third of our force cut off at one blow. But a messenger was sent after Major Galbraith,—he is the agent, you know, at the Upper Agency,—at the same time that one went for Lieutenant Sheehan. Major Galbraith started yesterday for St. Paul with a company of half-breed recruits for the Union army. They are called the Renville Rangers. They ought to be back here pretty soon and will add fifty more men. Then there are a good many refugees, probably one hundred, who can fight, and we have several cannon, with a regular army sergeant in charge of them. The Indians, you know, are deadly afraid of cannon. So we ought to be able to make a pretty good defence, though I wish there were a stockade."

"Did you say that Major Galbraith's company is made up of half-breeds?" inquired Al, remembering with a shudder the evil face of the wretch who had shot his father and whom he himself had killed.

"Yes. But most of them are reliable fellows, otherwise they would not be willing to leave their country and go South to fight the rebels."

By this time they had reached the headquarters building, and Al saw, standing in front of it, five or six of the Indians who had brought them in.

"Who are those Indians, Wallace?" he asked. "They are some of the party who rescued us."

Wallace looked closely at the red men, who were standing idle with their ponies, evidently waiting for some one who was inside the building.

"Why, those are Sissetons from the Upper Agency," he said. "Probably John Otherday, Solomon Twostars or some of the Renvilles are with them. They have been going around the country all to-day and last night, warning white people and bringing them in and there are other parties of Sissetons and Wahpetons doing the same thing; though it's mighty dangerous business, for the hostiles are almost as bitter against them as against the whites. Very few of the Upper Indians seem to have joined the uprising. They are mostly Christians, you know, and their conduct shows the great work of the missionaries."

The boys entered the headquarters building, and though Lieutenant Sheehan was surrounded by many men, all urgently anxious to transact their business with him, Al presently found an opportunity to tell him of Tommy's capture and to ask that men be sent after him. The officer listened intently to the story and when it was finished, laid his hand kindly on Al's shoulder.

"My boy," said he, with much emotion, "God knows, I wish I could send men after your brother instantly; I know how you feel and especially how your mother must feel, and I would gladly do it for your poor father's sake, for he was a gallant officer in the Mexican War. But there are two dozen people here already who have lost members of their families in the same way; and for many of them the situation is much worse than yours, because those they have lost are grown and are likely to be killed or tortured by the Indians, while your brother is a child, and I don't believe they will hurt him. But I have had to tell every one the same thing; I can do nothing now. This place is likely to be attacked by a thousand or more Indians at any moment and we have not one-tenth enough men to defend it properly. Not a man can be spared from here now, for it will be all we can do to save ourselves and all these women and children from massacre. Probably in a few days we shall have hundreds of troops from St. Paul and the East, and then we can go after these infernal red murderers and punish them and rescue their living victims. But, meantime, you must be prepared to stand with the rest of us in defending your mother and little sister. And I think you are a lad who will do your share." He glanced approvingly at Al's straight figure and steady eyes.

"I shall try to, sir," answered Al.

"I know you will," said the Lieutenant. "You had better go and help the men who are working on the storehouse."

He pointed to the building mentioned and then turned to several men who were waiting for him; while Al, very much downcast at his failure but still feeling a little more hopeful of Tommy's safety because of Lieutenant Sheehan's words, walked out again with Wallace.