Thrilling incidents of the Indian war of 1862 : $b being a personal narrative of the outrages and horrors witnessed by Mrs. L. Eastlick in Minnesota — John Shaqi
Thrilling incidents of the Indian war of 1862 : $b being a personal narrative of the outrages and horrors witnessed by Mrs. L. Eastlick in MinnesotaEastlick, L. (Lavina)
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Thrilling incidents of the Indian war of 1862 : $b being a personal narrative of the outrages and horrors witnessed by Mrs. L. Eastlick in Minnesota
Eastlick, L. (Lavina)
Dakota Indians -- Wars -- 1862-1865
As soon as it was dark, I started on my weary journey toward the
timber. I walked some hours, and then laid me down to rest, on the
damp ground. The dew on the grass was very heavy; I thought I could
scoop up some of it with my hand, and obtain relief, but it was in vain
that I tried it. I then took up the bottom of my skirt, and sucked
the moisture from it, until I had partially quenched my thirst. I
thought it the sweetest water I ever drank. I now curled myself up on
the ground for a nap, trying to get myself warm, by drawing the apron
over my head and face, and breathing on my benumbed hands. I shook
from head to foot. I was chilled through, and my teeth chattered. I
heard something approach me, which I supposed, from the step, &c., was
a wolf. I heard him snuffling around my head awhile, and then running
away. I did not even look up, for I felt not the least fear of anything
but Indians. Soon sleep and weariness overcame me, and I slept for some
time. When I awoke, I felt quite refreshed, and started once more on
my toilsome journey. But, by this time, my feet had become very sore;
the flesh was worn almost to the bone, on the top of my toes, by the
coarse prairie grass. Indeed, it was quite a hardship for me to walk,
at all, but the sweet hope that I should soon reach “Dutch Charley’s,”
buoyed up my sinking spirit. If I could only reach that place, I should
be well cared for, and assisted to some friendly settlement, whence I
could inform distant friends of my misfortunes. I traveled on in the
darkness, through sloughs, and high tangled grass, and soon found a
slough that was filled with water. Here I satisfied my burning thirst,
but it was very difficult getting through it: the grass was as tall as
my shoulders, and twisted and matted so that I had to part it before
me, to get along. Most of the way, the water was as much as two and a
half feet deep. I got so fatigued in wading this wide slough that I was
almost obliged to sit down in it, and rest myself. As soon as I set
my foot on dry land again, I lay down and rested a long time, before
starting again.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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