When in our great haste to escape into the slough, that morning, I had torn the binding of my skirt very badly, and, since that, I had been obliged to hold it together with my hand. I now had a double task to perform with my left hand: first, to hold my skirt from dropping, not wishing to lose it, because it was all the clothes I had on, excepting a short loose sack and a chemise; and, second, I was obliged to hold up my right hand and arm with my left, for I could not let it hang by my side without great pain, neither was there strength enough left in it to hold itself up. Therefore, I felt over the waist of Mrs. Smith’s dress for some pins to fasten on my skirt with, but without success. I then moved to the body of Mrs. Ireland, and found two pins, which I used, so that they were of invaluable service. I also discovered the youngest child of Mrs. Ireland, lying upon the breast that had ever nourished it. I bent down my head and listened; the soft, low breathing showed how sweetly she slept, upon that cold, cold bosom. I left her, as I did the rest, being unable to carry anything, and she being unable to walk, and under two years of age. I looked around, and, in the darkness, found another lifeless form, stretched upon the ground, a few steps from me. My eyes had become accustomed to the darkness, so that I could see, indistinctly. I found that it was my poor little boy, Giles, shot through the breast by the Indians. He appeared to have died without a struggle; I seemed to see a smile wreath his cold lips and a dimple on his cheeks, and I fancied the angel spirit was watching me as I bent over that little house of clay. I could not wish him back, for he had gone to the land where suffering is unknown. I now left him as I found him, and proceeded to where my attention was attracted by the heavy breathing of some one. I found it was a child, and, stooping down, I examined it by feeling, as well as I could. Alas! to my unspeakable grief and horror, I found it was my own little Freddy! What tongue can tell the anguish that I felt, to reflect on the cruel treatment I had seen him receive, and that he had been left to suffer for hours. I thought, “O! that I had found him dead!” He lay upon his face with his clothes torn nearly off; he was quite warm, and breathed very hard, with a dreadful rattling in his throat. I knew that he was then dying, and could not live long. I wished to lie down and die beside my sweet boy, but an after reflection seemed to say, “No, you must not do it; you still have something for which to live, for are not Merton and little Johnny somewhere on the vast prairie, and, at this moment, hungry, wet, cold, and in danger of wolves?” Knowing this, could I lie down in the rain and die, without, at least, trying, with all my remaining strength, to find them, and give them what poor comfort I could? Oh! no; and I accordingly left the little sufferer, praying that God would soon release him from pain.