The sky now became overcast with heavy clouds, and a furious rain-storm, accompanied with thunder and lightning, was coming on. Soon the rain descended in torrents. The Indians now hurried and caught their ponies, and made all preparations for starting away. We expected to be all taken along with them, as prisoners, but we were disappointed, for, as it afterwards proved, some were taken, while others were put to death, or left in a dying condition. Those of us who afterwards escaped, were for a long time in such a plight that death seemed inevitably to stare us in the face. One Indian started, taking Mrs. Cook, as his prisoner; another took one of Mr. Ireland’s daughters; while a third started off, leading by the hand Mrs. Duly and myself, neither of whom made any resistance. I stopped, however, and looked around to see if my children were coming, and to tell them to follow me. Little Freddy, one of my boys, aged five years, arose out of the grass, at my call, and started to come. Then, for the first time, I observed a hideous old squaw, who had just joined the Indians: she ran after him, and felled him to the ground, with a blow upon the head from something she carried in her hand. Weak, wounded, and tightly held by my captor, as I was, I could only stand and look on at the scene which follows, while such anguish racked my soul as, I pray God, that _you_ ye mothers who read this, may never feel. The old hag beat him for some minutes upon the back part of the head, till I thought she had killed him. She stepped back a few paces, when the little innocent arose, and again started for me: but, oh! what a piteous sight for a mother to behold! The blood was streaming from his nose, mouth and ears. The old squaw, not yet satisfied, again knocked him down, and pounded him awhile; then took him by the clothes, raised him as high as she could, and, with all her force, dashed him upon the ground. She then took a knife and stabbed him several times. I could not stop or return, for my captor was by this time dragging me away, but my head was turned around, and my eyes riveted upon the cruel murder of my defenceless little ones. I heard some one call out, “Mother! mother!!” I looked, and there stood little Frank, my next oldest child, on his knees, with hands raised toward heaven, calling, “Mother!” while the blood was streaming from his mouth. Oh! who could witness such a sight, and not feel their hearts melt with pity! None but the brutal Indians could. He had been shot in the mouth, knocking out four of his teeth--once through the thigh, and once through the bowels. But what could I do? Nothing, but gaze in silent horror on my children while they were being murdered by savages. I was well aware that any interference of mine, even were I capable of making it, would only occasion greater cruelty. In the meantime, the Indians had been killing several women and children, but I did not notice it at the time. I could not take my