Section 4

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Section four of Across the Plains in eighteen forty four
by Catherine Sager Pringle. This LibriVox recording is in the
public domain. Chapter three in Captivity. The night of November
twenty ninth, eighteen forty seven found me, a girl of
thirteen years, sitting in company with two sisters and two

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half breed girls, upon a bed in the chamber of
a large adobe house. On the floor lay a white
man with his arm broken. A fearful scene had been
enacted during the day. Savage fury had swept over whitman's station,
and we thought that we, only, of all who awoke

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to busy life in the morning, remained alive. When the
woman who had supplied the place of mother to us
for several years had been induced by what proved to
be false promises to leave for a place of safety,
we expected soon to join her and accompany her to
the fort. But the roar of musketry that soon shook

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the house left us in utter despair. We were convinced
of the treachery of the savages, and hope, which a
moment before had lifted our hearts to almost buoyancy, now
fled entirely. The wounded man exclaimed treachery. Treachery, children prepare

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for the worst. With hearts filled with fright, we awaited
the coming of the murderers, and cold chills seized me
as I thought of the dreadful knives I had seen
them using upon their victims during the day. We were
too much palsied with terror to even cry, but stood

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listening with pale cheeks and distended eyes to every move below.
Soon we heard the savages splitting kindling. Then one called
for fire. We now thought our doom was to die
by fire, and that our home would be our funeral pile.

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But strange to say, I experienced a feeling of releaf
at the thought anything. Rather than meet again those fierce
savages with their knives, we listened in vain for the
roar of the flames. We heard instead someone addressing the Indians.

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The speech continued for some time, and then all was still.
They had evidently left the premises. Three of the children
were very sick. Their clothing was wet with blood from
lying on the bed with Missus Whitman after she was wounded.
We had no fire or light, and we did not

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even think to get warmth by wrapping bedding around I
tried to soothe the children to sleep, reasoning to myself
that if we could lose consciousness in slumber, that the
roof of the burning house would fall upon us and
we would not know it. We still thought that they
would fire the building. The sick children were suffering for

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water and begged for it continually. I remember taking up
a cupful the day previous for a young lady who
was lying ill. I directed my sister where to find it,
but in searching for it in the dark, she knocked
it down and spilt it. The disappointment seemed to add
to their thirst, and their pleadings for a drink were heartrending.

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I begged of the wounded man to let them have
some from a pitcher he had brought up with him,
but he said it was bloody and not fit to drink.
The hours dragged slowly along, and from exhaustion, the children
fell asleep, one after the other, until the man and
I were the only ones awake. I sat upon the

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side of the bed, watching hour after hour while the
horrors of the day passed and repassed before my mind.
I had always been very much afraid of the dark,
but now I felt that the darkness was a protection
to us, and I prayed that it might always remain.

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So I dreaded the coming of the daylight again, I
would think with a shudder of the dead lying in
the room below. I heard the cats racing about and squalling,
with a feeling that seemed to freeze the blood in
my veins. I remember yet how terrible the striking of

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the clock sounded. Occasionally mister Kimball would ask if I
were asleep. Hours were passed in this manner. When sleep
came and locked my senses in its friendly embrace. About
three o'clock, I awoke with a start. As I moved
my hand, I felt a shaggy head and shrieked with alarm.

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Kimball spoke and told me not to be alarmed, that
it was he. He had become cold and tired, lying
on the floor and was sitting up to rest, but
had to lean against the bed because he was so faint.
We conversed for some time, our voices awakening the children
who renewed their calls for water. Day began to break,

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and mister Kay told me to take a sheet off
the bed and bind up his arm, and he would
try and get them some I arose, stiff with cold
and with a dazed, uncertain feeling. He repeated his request.
I said, mother would not like to have the sheets
torn up. Looking at me, he said, child, don't you

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know your mother is dead and will never have any
use for the sheets. I seemed to be dreaming, and
he had to urge me to comply with his request.
I took a sheet from the bed and tore off
some strips, which, by his directions, I wound around his arm.
He then told me to put a blanket around him,

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as he might faint on the way and not be
able to get up and would suffer with the cold.
Taking a pair of blankets from the bed, I put
them around him, tying them around the waist with a
strip off the sheets. I then placed his hat on
his head and he went downstairs. We waited long for him,

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but he came not and we never saw him again alive.
It was now fully light and we heard the Indians arriving.
They were calling mister Osborne, and we heard utensils jingling,
and concluded that mister Osborne's family had been spared and
were getting breakfast. Soon we heard approaching footsteps and someone

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ascending the stairs. We huddled together and almost held our breath,
not knowing what would happen to us. It was Joe
Lewis and several Indians. He told us that we would
not be hurt, that he was going to take us
to the fort as soon as he could get up
a team. Saying this, he left. The Indians remained. They

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were mostly young men. They asked me what made the
children cry? I replied, they are hungry and want water.
One of them went for water and one for food.
They soon returned, one bearing a bowl of water and
the other a plate of cold victuals. They directed me

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to gather up our clothes in readiness to go to
the fort, bringing a large basket for me to put
them in. They also brought a loaf of bread for
me to put in, saying we would get hungry. We
had none of us yet ventured downstairs. The water was
consumed and the children were begging for more. I tried
to get some of the natives to go for more,

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but they seemed to think they had done enough and refused.
I could not bear to hear the piteous calls for water,
so taking the bowl, I went down. I found my
shoes where had left them a day before, putting them on.
I went to the river after water, having obtained it.
I was returning some Indians were sitting upon the fence.

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One of them pointed his gun at me. I was
terribly frightened, but walked on. One sitting near him knocked
the gun up and it went off in the air.
I went to the children with the water. There were
no Indians in the house, and we ventured down to
look at things. The Indians had spread whilts over the corpses. Marianne,

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my sister, lifted the quilt from doctor Whitman's face and said, oh, girls,
come and see father. We did so and saw a
sight we will never forget. Passing into the kitchen, we
found the mangled body of brother John. We were crying

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bitterly when Joe Stanfield stepped out of the pantry and
ordered us to hush, that the Indians would be mad
and kill us if they saw us taking on. So
the savages were now crowding in and we again retreated upstairs.
Joe Stanfield had told us to go over to the
other house, as the other women and children were there,

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but we were afraid to leave our own retreat as
we passed through the sitting room. Many native women were
in it. They wept over us and loaded us down
with clothing which they were collected. The Indians came up
and urged us to leave, so, mustering courage, I took

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one child and my sister one. As Marianne was not
strong enough to carry the other one and would not
stay with her, we were under the necessity of leaving her,
promising to return as soon as we could. Upon reaching
the room below, we found the kitchen to be full
of savages and were afraid to pass through, so we

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went out through the Indian room. At the outer door,
we passed the corpse of Francis. We were met about
halfway by the girls. For several moments, we all wept,
and then some of them relieved us of our loads.
On reaching the house, I fainted. As soon as consciousness returned,

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I informed them that Helen was still at the house
and I would have to return for her. Several volunteered
to go with me. We found her screaming with fright
and calling for me. We were now captives of a
horde of savages. The house we were held captive in

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was a large, square adobe building containing five rooms, one
being a bedroom and the other's large living rooms. Each
of these rooms had two families living in it. The
Indians supplied us with plenty of food. Every morning they
would come from their village a mile or two away
and stay until late at night. We had to prepare

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food for them, of which they would make us eat first,
for fear that we had put poison in it. The
women seldom came around. When night came and the beds
were made down, the Indians would take possession of them,
and we would frequently have to sit up until midnight
before they would leave the house. On the fifth of December,

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my little sister, six years old, died. Three days afterwards,
hell And died. There were two young men at the
station who were sick with a fever at the time
of the massacre. These men were not killed at that time.
One of them spent the night of the twenty ninth
of November alone in his room, not knowing that anyone

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else was alive aside from himself. They had both been
removed to the house where we were staying. One evening,
we were startled by the savages attacking these men as
they lay in their bed. We all rushed outside, supposing
that we were all to be killed. An Indian told
us to come back that only the two were to

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be killed. Late that evening, there was a knock at
the door, and a voice in English called the name
of one of the young women, named Mary Smith. It
proved to be her father, who with his family and
another family had arrived from a sawmill where they were employed.
They had been brought down to be murdered, but word

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had come from the fort that no more Americans were
to be slaughtered. It came too late to save the
two young men, who had been dead several hours. These
men were set at running the gristmill. One evening, an
Indian came to the house and seemed to be looking
for someone. We learned that it was miss Beauley. She

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was sick with agu and was lying in bed. He
went to the bed and began to fondle over her.
She sprang up and sat down behind the stove. He
sat down by her and tried to prevail upon her
to be his wife. She told him that he had
a wife and that she would not have him. Finding

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that persuasion nor threats availed, he seized her and dragged
her out of the house and tried to place her
upon his horse. He failed in this also. She told
him that she would tell the chief of his conduct
the next day. He said he would not let her
do so. She replied that she would call loud enough

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for him to hear her and come to see what
was the matter. He tried to stop her screams by
placing his hand over her mouth. The contest lasted for
some time, when becoming enraged, he threw her with violence
upon the ground. After perpetrating his hellish designs upon her,
he ordered her to go to the house. The poor

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heart broken girl came in, shaking with agitation. One of
the women sent Eliza and I to get some medicine
for her. It was in another room. The fiend was
in there and wanted to know what we wanted of
the medicine. We told him it was for a sick child.
We carried it in well, pleased with our ruse. A

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few days after this, a chief of the Yumatillas sent
for and carried miss b there and held her as
his wife. The evening after she left, the other came
with a wagon and a team. He had ropes and
men to assist him to carry her to his lodge.
Previous to this, the Indians had held a council to
decide what to do with their prisoners. Many speeches were made.

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The savage mentioned above said he could see no use
in bothering with them. The easiest and quickest way to
get rid of them was to kill them. He sat down,
and Annez Perce arose and gave him such a scathing
rebuke that he cowed down and had no more to say.
They decided to keep us during the winter and then

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send us below in the spring. We were informed of
this with the assurance that we would all be killed
if our countrymen attempted our rescue. A few evenings after this,
another council was held, at which we were required to
be present. This council was for the purpose of setting
before the young women the policy of taking chiefs for

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their husbands to protect them from violence. The poor girl
had to submit to the decrees of their captors. The
remembrance of these things takes all admiration for the noble
red man from those who had the experience. Our captors
kept us busy making them shirts out of the goods

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taken at the station. We knew that the Indians were
planning an expedition to the Dows. It was no unusual
thing for one to come and demand a shirt made
against a set time. As he was going to the dows.
We would make the shirt, he would come and get it,
bid us goodbye, and leave, but in a day or

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so be back with another shirt to make. We learned
that this was a ruse adopted to have their sewing
done first. Sometimes it was done to see if we
would sew upon the sabbath. One Sabbath evening a fellow
came and wanted us to make him a shirt that evening.
We refused, telling him but it was the sabbath. He

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became very abusive, so we commenced the shirt, and seeing this,
he left. We then laid it aside, and next day
complained to the chief and he forbid them bringing us
work to do. Upon the sabbath. The Indians generally stayed
around until near midnight. After they would leave, some of
the vagabonds would come in and harass us, and managed

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to frighten us thoroughly for their own amusement. To prevent this,
we adopted the plan of hiring some of the influential
men to stay with us until one or two o'clock.
The one who oftenest performed this service was Beardy. He
had remained in the lodge upon the day of the
massacre till late in the day, when he came upon

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the scene and made a touching appeal for the lives
of the women and children. He was a professor of
religion and was regarded as a good Indian. The ladies
were in the habit of seas, setting him a lunch.
Before he left. One of them had baked some pies
made of dried peaches and which were kept hid from
the other natives. These particularly suited Old Beardy's taste, and

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notwithstanding he had eaten several hearty meals during the day,
he partook freely of them. After reaching home, his stomach
rebelled and rejected the load. Seeing the fruit thrown from
his stomach, he mistook it for blood and concluded that
we had poisoned him, and vowed that our lives should
pay the forfeit. He was sick three days. On the

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fourth he came armed with a band of savages to
wreak vengeance upon our defenseless heads. During the night, an
Indian woman had arrived from Fort Hall. Her husband was
a white man, and she spoke the English language well.
As soon as she heard of the massacre, she started
for the station, and her arrival was very opportune. She

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pleaded our cause with and convinced that he alone was
to blame, that he had only overeaten himself. He was
very much ashamed of the affair, and used to laugh
over it. It came near being a serious joke to us.
It was our custom to gather in some one of

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the rooms to spend the evenings. We felt better when
thus together. One evening I was sitting by the fire
in a room some distance from the one I occupied,
when a stalwart savage came in, seized me by the
arm and dragged me shrieking through the house to our room,
which was empty at the time, accepting the sleeping children.

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Placing a chair, he told me to sit down. He
then began to court me for his friend. The friend
soon came in, and I was compelled to listen to
their love speeches. A half breed present came in and
told them not to try to carry me away. They
said they did not intend to, They only wanted to

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amuse themselves. I could not see the fun, but sat
shivering with fright and cold. I begged them to let
me go to the fire. They refused and wrapped a
blanket around me. They made my life a torment to me,
and so afraid was I of being carried off by them,

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that I was tempted to end my troubles by jumping
into the mill pond. My fellow prisoners sympathized with me
and laid many plans for eluding them. Joe Stanfield proposed
that I should go to the straw stack and sleep,
but this the women would not allow, as they were
suspicious of him. Some proposed that I go to Joe

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Finley's lodge in company with one of mister Young's sons.
This was also abandoned. Mister Young and his wife then
laid a plan by which they thought I could elude them.
During the day, their extra beds were thrown upon the bedstead.
In the evening, the old gentleman was in the habit
of lying on the front of the bedstead. The girls

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were to watch their chance when the Indians would be
out of the room and take me in. I was
then to get over behind the pile of bedding and
lie down. A few evenings afterwards, they came, and the
plan was carried out with complete success. I lay quiet,
and although they searched the house, they failed to find
me and left, giving vent to their chagrin in loud whoops.

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Soon after, one of them came again. I went to
bed and was asleep, as was everyone else. I felt
some one pulling me by the arm. Starting up. I
confronted my enemy. He wanted me to sit by the
fire with him. I refused. He tried coaxing and threats,

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but in my desperation I lost all fear of him
and fought with teeth and nails. He said if I
would sit and talk with him, he would go away,
but I would not. The contest lasted for some time.
Then he raised his whip and said he would whip me.

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But I cared not and still fought him, calling upon
other Indians who were sleeping near to help me. They
paid no heed, but the white men, getting tired of
the row, jumped up when he left and never came back.
The Indians called me a brave girl that would thus
fight a man. Knowing how treacherous the nature of the

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savages was, we lived in constant fear of their murdering
us We watched for their coming in the morning, and
only felt safe when they departed at night. It was
my custom to take my sister, who was three years
old and was prostrated by a long and severe illness,
in my arms and sit down behind the stove every

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morning us await their coming, resolved to die with her
in my arms should they murder us. Occasionally I would
go over to my desolated home. What a scene was
presented there, Mutilated furniture, feathers, ashes, straw, and blood all

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come mingled in one indiscriminate mass. Desolation reigned where once
had been peace and harmony. Amid all the anguish and
turmoil of those dark days. There would sometimes things occur
that were ludicrous enough to make us for a moment
forget sorrow and indulge in a hearty laugh. One day,

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an Indian brave came riding to the house with a
large map of the world thrown over his horse for
a blanket. At another time, the voices of the children
would be heard singing hymns, accompanied by the natives who
blessed childhood that can thus throw off sorrow and gloom.
On the twenty sixth of December, word came that three

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boats had arrived at the fort. This news caused great
excitement both to captors and captives, and a messenger was
dispatched to learn the particulars. In a few hours he
returned with the information that the great chief of the
Hudson's Bay Company had come and wanted the Indians to
meet him in council next day. The greatest excitement prevailed

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among the captors and their captives. While the hope of
rescue was feebly entertained, it was overshadowed by the thought
of another terrible massacre, in which we would be the victims.
Our captors left for their village, but in the course
of a few hours returned in their hideous war paint

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and armed to the teeth. They remained a short time
to finish their preparations, and then departed for the fort.
It was just nightfall when they left. Oh what anxious
days those were. How slowly the hours seemed to drag along.
On the evening of the second day, we were overjoyed

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at receiving Miss Beauley again. She gave us a graphic
account of her life during her absence. We slept but
little that night, and as soon as daylight appeared, we
started for the fort. All of us wept as we
drove away from that scene of suffering. Wept for joy
at our escape and for sorrow for those who had

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been slain and could not go with us. As we left,
an Indian woman came from the lodge near by and
told us to hasten for our lives, that her people
had repented and were coming to kill us. We made
all the speed we could, and as darkness came on
the welcome walls of the fort loomed dimly before us,

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and we were soon inside, but did not feel safe
until a week afterwards we reached the settlements. Thus ended
our captivity among the Indians, and as section four and
of Across the Plains in eighteen forty four by Catharine
Sagre Pringle read by Carrol Pelster,