USA > Minnesota > Renville County > The history of Renville County, Minnesota, Volume I > Part 21
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My mother was standing by the table entting a dress for my little sister when my brother returned. "O, my God," she ex- claimed. "the Indians have killed them. We must fly for our lives. You children stay here and I will go and call father." But my brother and I, refusing to remain in the house, were then told to hide in the cornfield on the south side where she and father would meet us. She then ran to tell father. My brother took the baby Bertha, aged three months, and I took little Caroline while Augusta, aged five years and three months, and Amelia, aged four, walked along with us. We had hardly reached the cornfield when the Indians came whooping and velling around the west side of the fieldl from Mr. Boelter's. We sat down and they passed us so closely that it was strange they did not see us. They rushed into our house and we went on. Looking back we saw them throwing out the feather beds and other articles. We reached the south side of the field safely and father and mother were already there. I think we would have been safe there at least for a time, but father, taking the baby from August started out on the open prairie. Mother took Caro- line from me and tried to stop father, but it was useless. The terrible aireumstanees must have unbalanced his mind, naturally being very nervous.
The Indians had cleaned out our house and were returning to Mr. Boelter's. As they were passing a little corner of the timber one of them saw father and uttered a wicked, piereing vell. It was but a moment when the whole band, about twenty men and some squaws, were upon us. My father began talking to the foremost Indian. My brother has told me that father asked them to take all his property but to let him and his family go. But the Indian replied in the Sioux language, "Sioux «heehe" (the Sioux are bad.). Ile then leveled his double bar-
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reled shot gun and fired both barrels at him. He dropped the baby-she was killed-and running a few yards down the hill, fell on his face dead. The same Indian then went to where my mother had sat down beside a stone with little Caroline in her lap, reloaded his gun and deliberately fired upon them both. She did not speak or utter a sound, but fell over dead. Caroline gave one little scream and a gasp or two and all was over with her. The ery rang in my ears for years afterward. My father was thirty-three and my mother thirty years of age when they were so cruelly murdered by the Indians.
How painfully distinet are all the memories of the scenes of this dreadful afternoon. While my mother was being mur- dered I stood about ten feet away from her paralyzed with fear and horror. unable to move. The Indian began loading his gun again and was looking significantly at me and my sister Amelia, who sat by my side. Suddenly I regained my self-control and, believing that I would be the next victim. I started up and ran wildly in an indefinite direction. Accidentally I came to where my father lay. He had on a checked shirt. the back of which was covered with blood, the shot having passed clear through his body. That was the last thing I knew. The next thing I remember was an Indian holding me in his arms, looking into my face. I screamed and he put me down. My brother then told me not to be afraid as they would not kill us. but were going to take us with them. Amelia was also there, but being unable to see Augusta, I asked for her. "I have not thought of her," replied August (or Charley as we called him afterwards). "The last I know of her is when she told me to wait for her, but I couldn't." We three then rose and looked about for her, but could not see her. My brother asked an Indian about her but the Indian looked at him coldly and replied, "Nepo." I knew the word meant "killed" or "dead, " but I was not satisfied. I wanted to see her and told the Indian so, as good as I could. lle took me by the hand, my brother and sister following. to where she lay. She lay on her face and, as I saw no blood upon her. I thought at first that she was alive, but when I turned over her body, and looked upon her little face, once so sweet and rosy, but now so pallid and ghastly in the blaze of the hot Au- gust sun, I knew the truth. I wanted to see no more, but was ready to go with the Indians as they were already waiting.
We must now go back a little to where my father, mother and sisters were murdered and learn how my brother escaped the fate of the others. The second Indian fired at him, but as he was running, he missed him, the ball striking the ground right ahead of him. He fired again and missed him the second time. Then the Indian threw away his gun and ran after my brother. When he eame up to him he kicked him in the side and knoeked
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him down. The Indians believe that the Great Spirit proteets those at whom they shoot twice and miss. They do not shoot at them again, but give them a chance to live.
Some time after our capture we went back to Mr. Boelter's place. As we turned the corner of the woods I took the last look at our home. I have never seen it since, neither do I care to see it again, although it is not many miles from my present home.
When we came to the Boelter house we found that the Indians had already murdered the most of the family. We saw three of the children lying among some logs between the house and the well. The right cheek of the oldest girl was shot away elear to the bone. They had thrown some clothes over the body of the second girl. My brother went to remove them, but the Indians called him back. I think they had taken the youngest child by the feet and beaten her over a log, for her dress was unfastened and her baek was bare and was all black and blue. The birds were singing in the trees above them and the sun shone just as bright as ever. There was not a eloud in the sky. I have wondered how there could be so much suffer- ing on earth on such a perfeet August day. After we saw the children the Indians took us to the house. I did not go in at first, but looked at Mrs. Boelter's little flower garden. She was the only woman in the neighborhood who had tame flowers and I used to wish that I could have some of them, but was afraid to ask her. Then it occurred to me that Mrs. Boelter was dead now and I could piek all the flowers I wanted. I gathered a handful and the next moment fung them back into the little flower bed. I did not want them. Mrs. Boelter was dead; if I did not see her body I was sure of it, and was taking advantage of a dead person. How gladly she would have given me some had she known that I wanted some. I started to go into the house but my brother, who was standing at the door, stopped me. I waited a few minutes until he went away and then looked in. There lay Grandma Boelter on the floor with every joint in her body chopped to pieces. All that winter after the out- break I would dream abont her and ery in my sleep over it. She was such a nice old lady and I thought so much of her.
Michael Boelter escaped to Fort Ridgely, taking with him a baby belonging to his sister-in-law, Justina Boelter, whose hus- hand was killed. He was at his brother's place when the In- dians killed his own family. Mrs. Justina Boelter hid in the Minnesota bottoms with her two little children for nearly nine weeks, until found by some of General Sibley's soldiers from Camp Release, but during her wanderings one of her children died of starvation. When found she and her other ehild were nearly dead, too.
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After visiting the Boelter place four or five of the squaws started with us and the plunder which they had obtained, for the Indian village south of the Minnesota river two miles from our house. We crossed over in a canoe and reached the reser- vation about four o'clock. The rest of the Indians started for Mr. Lentz' place.
Mr. Lentz and his entire family were saved excepting his son-in-law. Mr. Mannweiler. Mrs. Mannweiler had heard in some manner that the Indians were, killing everybody. She told them they must leave as quickly as possible. Her husband was already loading up and she and her sister, Augusta, went back to Mannweiler's to ride with them. Just as they were coming out of the woods the Indians shot Mr. Mannweiler at the wagon. Angusta Lentz was a little ahead of Mrs. Mannweiler. The In- dians caught her and took her prisoner. Mrs. Mannweiler ran back to her folks and got away with them. They went through the open prairie and reached Fort Ridgely safely. Ilearned these particulars from a friend of the Lentz family.
The Indians lived in bark tents where we stayed the first night. They offered us something to eat, but I had no appetite. My sister was playing about the tent when I called her to me and asked her where she was when the Indians killed our mother. "Why, " she answered, "I was sitting a little way from her playing with my Howers. They shot and shot. Back of me all was smoky, but no ball hit me." I thought at the time that it was too bad that she did not realize what had happened. But since I have often been glad that she knew so little of the terrible deed. The Indians let us stay together. We slept on bunks made beside the wall on one side of the tent with buffalo robes spread over us.
The next morning when I awoke my brother was already up. We were sleeping side by side with our clothes on. The Indians never undress when they go to bed. He was crying and the tears were rolling down his check. I could not think where we were. but all at once the horrible scene of the day before came back to me. I did not blame him for crying. Feried, too. If the earth would have opened then and swallowed me I would have been thankful. My sister awoke with a scream and asked, "Where are we? Angust, take me back home. I want to go to mother." This woke up the Indians and one of the squaws tried to take her but she screamed and elung to me. This was more than we could stand and we all cried out loud. An old Indian then went out and brought in an axe and told us that he would split our heads open if we did not stop crying. We tried to stop but the tears would come in spite of the axe. Just them an old Indian widow and her daughter (a girl about seventeen years old: came in. I knew them, as they used to come to our
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house. I jumped off the couch and ran to the young girl and put my arms around her arm and hugged her tightly. She put her other arm around my shoulders and took me out of doors. She seemed to know that I wanted protection. She did not kiss me, for Indians never kiss, but I wanted to kiss her so badly. The old lady picked up my sister and put her on her baek as she would her own child and brought her out. She seemed to like the Indian mamma as she ealled her. My brother followed us, too. It seems wrong to me to eall these two Indian women sqnaws, for they were as lady-like as any white woman and I shall never forget them.
By this time breakfast was announeed, which consisted of beef without salt, pancakes, made of flour and water with sale- ratus stirred in them, eotfee and boiled eorn. As they did not use salt in anything. I ealled for it, minisku yah, in their lan- guage, but they shook their heads. and replied, "waneeche" (I could not have it). We ate but little breakfast, for their way of cooking did not suit us. After breakfast an Indian girl came in with Mrs. Smith's blue silk wedding dress on. This cireum- stance made me so angry that I could have torn it off from her. Another Indian girl eame in with Mrs. Kochendurfer's sunbon- net on and gave it to me, but I did not want it. I knew that Mrs. Kochendurfer must be dead, or they would not have her clothes. so I laid the bonnet down. The next girl that came along picked it up and took it along with her. All at once we heard a commotion outside and we all rushed to the door to see what was the matter. The Indians were bringing all the cattle of the neighborhood. The eows had not been milked the night before nor that morning and were nearly erazy. The Indians were riding behind them on their ponies, flourishing their whips and yelling like so many demons. The very earth seemed to tremble as they passed. Afterwards the oxen hitched to wagons were driven up and stopped before the tents. "These, " said my brother, "are our oxen hitched to Mr. Rosler's wagon." They were too lazy to unload our load of hay and put the box on. One black ox, "Billy," was harnessed to a buggy and "Billy" seemed to feel proud of the distinction given him. He was owned by the widow and her daughter, who adopted my sister while she was a prisoner. The Indians then went to pack- ing up their goods and loading them on the wagons.
We children were watching them when, all of a sudden, somebody stepped up behind me and threw a blanket over my head and picked me up and ran with me to a wagon, put me onto it and held me fast. I kieked and sereamed but they would not let me go. The wagon was in motion for about an honr be- fore they took off the blanket and then I looked in all directions but could see nothing of my brother or sister and I did not see
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them again for over a week. My brother said he was served in the same way. All that day we traveled. The prisoners had to go bareheaded in the hot August sun. At noon we stopped about an hour. A squaw told me to sit under the wagon and she threw a blanket over my head and made me sit there. Just before we started again she brought me some meat and pota- toes to eat. I never saw any bread from the time I left home until 1 got among the white people again. The squaw told me (evidently to keep me from running away) that they would shoot me if I took the blanket off my head. We traveled southwest all the rest of the day. I do not know how far we went nor when we stopped, as I think I was asleep, for I remember nothing about it.
The party of Indians that I was with left the main force and about ten families. We stayed at this place just a week. The family I lived with consisted of an old squaw and her eighteen- year-old son, a young squaw and eight-year-old son and an old Indian. I think they were both his wives. He was the very Indian who killed both my parents. My brother told him so and he did not deny it. They had most of our clothing in their tent, even to my mother's dress and father's hymn book. One day the young squaw put on my mother's dress, a dark green, woolen one, and it just about fitted her. I looked at her and then laid down on the ground and burst out crying. I could not bear to see her. She seemed to know what I was erying about and took it off. She never put any of my mother's clothes on again while I was with her. The okl Indian, his young wife, and her son, treated me well, but the old squaw and her son were mean to me. Wednesday morning the old squaw woke me at daybreak, gave me a tin pail and pointed to a mud slough not far to the west of us. She wanted me to get some water, but I felt tired and sleepy and did not want to go. Seeing two Indian girls of about my size playing, I put the pail down beside them and pointed to the slough, but they shook their heads. They did not want to go either. The old squaw saw that her water was not coming, picked up a stiek and came after me. I started to run, but just then the young squaw eame out and took in the situation at a glance. She got a big cornstalk and gave the old squaw a terrible beating. Another young squaw came up and tried to take the cornstalk away from her, but she, too, got a whipping. I really felt sorry for the old squaw, but it also eon- vineed me that the young squaw was my friend. She made the old squaw get the water herself.
Wednesday, after breakfast, I thought I would investigate my surroundings and find out where I was. Close to our tent was a large house with a poreh on the west side. A little ways east of that building, on a hill, was a white house. In this house
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lived an Indian family with ten children. It was the largest Indian family I ever saw, as most of them are small. The oldest of this family was a sixteen-year-old girl. Her face, hands and feet were all covered with sores. I was afraid of her and when- ever I saw her coming I would run away and hide. The young- est was a boy of about three years. He was a niee little fellow. He used to wear a ealico shirt and a string of beads around his neck. We played together by the hour. He talked Indian and I German, but we got along nieely. One day he came to visit me. He had forgotten to put on his shirt and wore only his string of beads, but he was a welcome visitor nevertheless.
Not far south of this building on the hill was a small white house surrounded by a high garden fence. At this place was a white woman. I suppose she was a captive, too. Often she would look over the fence at me, but she never came outside the gate. At the other house were five or six little white children, ranging from two to ten years of age. They were English. The oldest boy spoke to me and said the Indians would kill me. I did not answer as I did not understand him. Then he spoke in Indian, "Sioux nepo nea." I understood and shook my head as much as to say that they had not killed me yet. About noon that day they disappeared, and I never saw them again while I was a prisoner.
The houses were all occupied by Indians and five or six fam- ilies lived in tents. On a small hill south of us was a raised plat- form five or six feet high, on which were two coffins. While we lived there they dug a hole and buried both bodies in one grave. When an Indian dies his body is placed in a long box and a shawl is tied over the top of the box. Then it is placed on a high platform until the body is completely decomposed or for about six weeks, when it is finally buried.
Thursday morning a little white girl of four or five years was brought to our camp, I presume, from the main camp, about three miles distant. She was German and said her name was Henrietta, but could tell nothing else about herself. I was very glad to have her company. She lived with the family in the next tent to ours. Friday and Saturday we played together all day and soon were fast friends.
The first Sunday after my capture was the loneliest I have ever spent. Henrietta did not come to see me, and I sat down thinking of the previous Sunday. I wondered what a change the week had brought. Where were the people now, who had been at our church and Sunday school last Sunday? Were they all in heaven with the wings of angels? Would Mr. Mannweiler hold Sunday school in heaven and distribute . the pretty red cards? Thus my childish thoughts ran. Suddenly I thought of my father's hymn book. I found it and in turning over the
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leaves I came upon the old familiar hymn beginning. " How tedi- ous and gloomy the hours. " I knew it by heart and sang :
" Wie lange und schwer wird die zeit Wenn Jesus so lange nicht hier : Die blumen. die voegel, die freud. Verlieren ihr sehoenheit zu mir."
I sang the hymn about half through and then my feelings overcame me and I laid down the book and had the longest and bitterest ery since my parents had been murdered.
Besides the incidents already related. I remember nothing of interest until the moving of the camp. I think it was on Tuesday that the Indians woke me up early. They had break- fast in a hurry, after which the tents were taken down and everything loaded on the wagons. Then began the moving. Of all the wild racing I ever saw this was the wildest. The Indians from the main camp caught up with us just as we were crossing the Redwood river. The stream was badly swollen on account of the big rains the week before. The Indians all got off the wagons and waded through. I screamed when the young squaw grabbed me by the arm and pulled me off the load and inade me wade. She held me by the arm or I would have per- ished, as the water was nearly up to my arms. Just after we had crossed the river I saw one of our former neighbors, Mrs. Inefeld. with her baby. She was the first white prisoner I recognized. 1 spoke to her and she knew me at once. She smiled and asked me how many of our family had been killed. I answered that I thought all were dead but myself, as the In- dians had told me they had eut the throats of my brother and sister because they cried. The next day, however, to my de- light and surprise, I saw them both. That day I also saw Mary Schwandt and Augusta Lentz standing by the wagon, and met a Mrs. Urban and her five children.
I wish I could describe this move as it should be described and do justice to it. Most of the teams were oxen hitched to wagons, a few horses and the rest Indian ponies with poles tied to their sides. These poles were tied together behind and then loaded with household goods. They did not travel on roads as we do. but rushed across the prairie broadcast. U. S. flags, striped shawls and bed sheets were floating in the breeze side by side. The handsomest shawls made the best saddle blankets. Clock and watch wheels the best head-dresses, the most expensive jewels bedecked the Indians' breasts. I have never seen a Fourth of July parade or a ragamuffin outfit equal this move. All day I was studying the new styles and For a while forgot all my troubles. I was completely carried away by the wild scene. Even the Indians, with their guns pointing at me, did not frighten
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me. I would shut my eyes and think it would not take long to die that way, but O, those horrid butcher knives! I could not bear the sight of them and they were always sharpening them.
We camped in one large camp that night when we stopped. There must have been a thousand tents and it looked like a large city on the prairie. Henrietta and I were again companions for her tent was next to mine as before. We started out to find some playmates and found those already mentioned. I also saw my sister did not recognize me, which made me feel bad to think she had forgotten me in one short week. The Indians had put one of my baby sister's dresses on her. I asked her whose dress she had on and she said it was Bertha's. My brother was yok- ing a pair of oxen as we came up to see him. He was delighted to see me, as the Indians had told him they had killed me for trying to run away. He told me, with tears in his eyes, that the Indians had killed our cow, "Molly," and could not bear to see our cattle killed. as it was all there was left of our home. Just. then an Indian girl, with whom Henrietta lived, came and took us home.
We stayed at this place about three days. In the evening the young braves would dress in their gala attire with their clock- wheel head-dresses on and would mount their ponies and practice riding and shooting on horseback. Sometimes they would hang on the side of the ponies and ride at full gallop, yelling as only an Indian knows how. Henrietta and I would sit and watch them and wonder how many Indians there were in this world. I told her it was full of them, as they had killed all the white people, and so it did seem to me just then.
The evening before we moved an old Indian walked around from tent to tent, calling out something I could not understand. I went to one of the white women to find out what he said and she said that we were to move early the next morning and those of the prisoners that were not able to travel were to be shot. I was badly frightened, but I was saved after all.
The next time we moved little Henrietta and I rode in the same wagon. As we were riding along a voice in the train be- hind us called out in German, "Say, you have Letton's oxen hitched to Mannweiler's wagon" Looking back I saw a boy whom I knew, Ludwig Kitzman. Then Henrietta called out, "Why, there is Ludwig." Now I had a elew to Henrietta's identity. I called back to him, "Here is a little girl you know. I don't know who she is and wish you would tell me." Ludwig then ran forward to our wagon, and when he came up to us he said, in great astonishment, "Why, it is Henrietta Krieger, my dear little cousin." After a few minutes' conversation he went back to his wagon, promising to come again at noon. Every little while Henrietta would ask me if it was noon yet. Her
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father and some of her brothers and sisters had been killed and her mother badly wounded.
Ludwig came at noon and we had an enjoyable visit. I asked him if we would always have to stay with the Indians and he told me not to worry about that as there were enough white men left to shoot off every Indian's head. I told him I wanted to run away, but did not know which way to go. "Don't try that," he said, "or you will be killed. You are too little. The best thing we can do is to stay with them until the whites come and take us." I asked him where they would take us and he replied that he was going to his annt in Wisconsin. When I told him that we did not have any relatives in this country he cheered me up the best he couhl and assured me that we would find friends somewhere who would care for us.
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