Meanwhile, Captain Logan (the officer of the day), a man whose kind and sympathetic nature did honor to his years and rank, approached me. My emotions were inexpressible, now that I felt myself so nearly rescued. At last they overcame me. I had borne grief and terror and privation; but the delight of being once more among my people was so overpowering that I almost lost the power of speech, or motion, and when I faintly murmured, “Am I free, indeed free?” Captain Logan’s tears answered me as well as his scarcely uttered “Yes,” for he realized what freedom meant to one who had tasted the bitterness of bondage and despair. As soon as the chiefs who accompanied me entered the gate of the fort, the commandant’s voice thundered the order for them to be closed. The Blackfeet were shut out, and I was beyond their power to recapture. After a bondage lasting more than five months, during which I had endured every torture, I once more stood free, among people of my own race, all ready to assist me, and restore me to my husband’s arms. Three ladies, residing at the fort, received me, and cheerfully bestowed every care and attention which could add to my comfort and secure my recovery from the fatigues and distresses of my past experience. CHAPTER XXII. RETROSPECTION—A BORDER TRADING POST—GARRISON HOSPITALITY—A VISIT FROM THE COMMANDANT OF FORT RICE—ARRIVAL OF MY HUSBAND—AFFECTING SCENE. At first, and some time afterward, at intervals, the effects of my life among the savages preyed upon my mind so as to injure its quiet harmony. I was ill at ease among my new friends, and they told me that my eyes wore a strangely wild expression, like those of a person constantly in dread of some unknown alarm. Once more free and safe among civilized people, I looked back on the horrible past with feelings that defy description. The thought of leaving this mortal tenement on the desert plain for the wolves to devour, and the bones to bleach under the summer sun and winter frosts, had been painful indeed. Now, I knew that if the wearied spirit should leave its earthly home, the body would be cared for by kind Christian friends, and tenderly laid beneath the grass and flowers, and my heart rejoiced therein. Hunger and thirst, long days of privation and suffering, had been mine. No friendly voices cheered me on; all was silence and despair. But now the scene had changed, and the all-wise Being, who is cognizant of every thought, knew the joy and gratitude of my soul. True, during the last few weeks of my captivity, the Indians had done all in their power for me, all their circumstances and condition would allow, and the women were very kind, but “their people were not my people,” and I was detained a captive, far from home, and friends, and civilization. With Alexander Selkirk I could say, “Better dwell in the midst of alarms, than reign in this horrible place.”