What exhibitions of their pride and passion I have seen; what ideas of their intelligence and humanity I have been compelled to form; what manifestations of their power and ability to govern had been thrust upon me. The treatment received was not such as to enhance in any wise a woman’s admiration for the so-called noble red man, but rather to make one pray to be delivered from their power. Compelled to travel many days in succession, and to experience the gnawings of hunger without mitigation, every day had its share of toil and fear. Yet while my temporal wants were thus poorly supplied, I was not wholly denied spiritual food. It was a blessed consolation that no earthly foe could interrupt my communion with the heavenly world. In my midnight, wakeful hours, I was visited with many bright visions. He walks with thee, that angel kind, And gently whispers, be resigned; Bear up, bear on, the end shall tell, The dear Lord ordereth all things well. CHAPTER XI. MEET ANOTHER WHITE FEMALE CAPTIVE—SAD STORY OF MARY BOYEAU—A CHILD ROASTED AND ITS BRAINS DASHED OUT—MURDER OF MRS. FLETCHER—FIVE CHILDREN SLAUGHTERED—FATE OF THEIR MOTHER. It was about this time that I had the sorrowful satisfaction of meeting with a victim of Indian cruelty, whose fate was even sadder than mine. It was a part of my labor to carry water from the stream at which we camped, and, awakened for that purpose, I arose and hurried out one morning before the day had yet dawned clearly, leaving the Indians still in their blankets, and the village very quiet. In the woods beyond I heard the retiring howl of the wolf, the shrill shriek of the bird of prey, as it was sweeping down on the unburied carcass of some poor, murdered traveler, and the desolation of my life and its surroundings filled my heart with dread and gloom. I was so reduced in strength and spirit, that nothing but the dread of the scalping-knife urged my feet from task to task; and now, returning toward the tipi, with my heavy bucket, I was startled to behold a fair-faced, beautiful young girl sitting there, dejected and worn, like myself, but bearing the marks of loveliness and refinement, despite her neglected covering. Almost doubting my reason, for I had become unsettled in my self-reliance, and even sanity, I feared to address her, but stood spell-bound, gazing in her sad brown eyes and drooping, pallid face. The chief stood near the entrance of the tipi, enjoying the cool morning air, and watching the interview with amusement. He offered me a book, which chanced to be one of the Willson’s readers, stolen from our wagons, and bade me show it to the stranger. I approached the girl, who instantly held out her hand, and said: “What book is that?” The sound of my own language, spoken by one of my own people, was too much for me, and I sank to the ground by the side of the stranger, and, endeavoring to clasp her in my arms, became insensible.