USA > Minnesota > Renville County > The history of Renville County, Minnesota, Volume I > Part 22
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Soon after this I was taken sick, and lost all account of the days. It must be borne in mind that at this time I was only seven years old. To those who may be inclined to question the ac- curaey of my memory of the incidents that I have related, I can only say that many of my old fellow prisoners fully corroborate my statements. The nature of these incidents impressed them on my youthful mind so deeply that I can never forget them. It is very common that incidents occurring in our childhood are better remembered than others happening in our maturity.
While I was siek the master of our tent was absent for four or five days. flis big boy took particular pains to torment and abuse me. One evening he was sitting in the tent and throwing corn cobs at me, while his old mother was keeping up the fire and langhing at me. The young squaw was outside. I stood it as long as I could and then I screamed as hard as I could. All at once the young squaw stepped in and caught him in the act. She seized a large ox whip and gave him a most unmerci- ful thrashing and he cried like a baby. Then she gathered up all the corn cobs and brought them to me. She put one in my hand and then motioned for me to throw it at him. I did so with all the strength I had. Every time I threw a cob the young squaw would laugh and the boy cried. That was the time I got satisfaction. even if I was in an Indian camp.
One morning the big boy brought my breakfast, but as I was about to eat it he jerked it away and said I needed no break- fast, for in a little while a man was coming to shoot me. The young squaw was ont of doors and the rascal could act as meanly toward me as he pleased. I did not believe a word he said, but after breakfast an Indian did come in with a new gun. I was so frightened that I did not recognize him. Shutting my eyes I Jay down, hardly alive. He came to me and said, "How do you do?" half a dozen times before I dared open my eyes. Then I saw it was the man of the tent, and I presume he knew nothing
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of what the boy had told me. The new gun probably belonged to some dead soldier.
Another time when the young squaw went visiting I got lone- some and decided to find brother and see him a while. I found him, together with August Gluth and Ludwig Kitzman, in a patch of hazel brush picking nuts. They gave me some, and while we were talking together the big boy approached us. "There comes that big Indian boy after you," said my brother. "See, he is picking up a stiek to take you home. Don't you worry; we will take him home." Each of the boys picked up a stiek and started for the boy. They said to him, "Poekajee" (leave). Hle scolded a while, but turned about and started for his tepee. The boys took me home and when we got there the old squaw scolded a while at the boys, and they laughed at her and called her "old crooked mouth" in German. When they left they told me if she or the boy whipped me to let them know and they would whip them both. After the boys had gone the big Indian boy kieked me in the face and made my nose bleed. The young boy was at home, and I think he told his mother, for after that she would take me along when she went visiting.
The next morning after this incident I heard a great com- motion again. On investigation I saw a most disgusting spee- taele. Side by side, with their throats eut and their feet in the air, lay a number of dogs. I returned to the tent siekened by the sight, but in a little while my curiosity got the better of my sensations and I went out again. By this time the Indians were singeing the hair off the dogs with burning hay. I reeog- nized our little white poodle among the carcasses. The Indians had eight or ten kettles on the fire, and as soon as a dog was singed it was thrown into the boiling water. Perhaps they were only scalding them preparatory to cooking. 1 concluded they were cooking without preparation and resolved not to eat any of the meat if I had to starve. The men were about the kettle for several hours, the squaws not daring to come near. At last the women and children were driven out of the tent and only the men partook of the dog feast. Even the boys, to their great dissatisfaction, were not allowed to participate. We had to stay ont till after midnight. For three nights they kept up their dog feast in adjoining tents. I have heard sinee that they were religious feasts and indulged in only by warriors, who on this oceasion were preparing for battle.
After the feasts were over all the warriors left eamp on another murdering expedition. There were only old men, women and children left to guard the prisoners.
One morning soon after the Indians had gone I saw a man dressed in white man's elothes. He was about of the same height of my father and walked like him. For a moment I forgot
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everything and ran to meet him. When I came up to him I saw that it was not my father and threw myself on the ground and cried as if my heart would burst. He sat down beside me and tried to lift me up, but I refused to be comforted. After regain- ing my speech I told him, "Indian 'nepo' papa and mamma and I want to go 'tahah mea tepee' (far away to my home)." He sympathized with me, for there were tears in his eyes as he spoke to me. He asked me where my tepee was and I pointed it ont to him. He took me by the hand and led me there.
That afternoon two young girls came to our tent and took me with them. They must have been half-breeds. as their com- plexions were much lighter than the other Indians and they lived much better. I think that George Spencer. the man whom I had seen that morning, sent them to get me. This family con- sisted of an old squaw. a young man and two young girls. They all treated me very kindly, in fact, made a pet of me. The vonng man would paint my face in their fashion and allow me to look at myself in his hand glass, but as soon as I could get out of doors I woukl rub off the paint. Their conduct toward me was so considerate that I really liked them.
Once while with them there was a dance in eamp. The young man painted my face in the highest style of Indian art and took ine and his sisters to see the performance. He put me on his shoulder and carried me the greater part of the way. At the dance ground a lot of poles were planted. Some with red shawls tied to them, some with white bed sheets, and some with Amer- iean flags attached to them. There were no scalps in sight. The daneers stood in groups and jumped up and down while others galloped wildly about on horseback. I was afraid they would run over one another. but they managed their horses very skill- fully. My young Indian friend held me up on his shoulder so that I could have a fair view of the whole performance.
After a week spent with this kind family I went to live with another, consisting of an old squaw (a widow). a young man and a little girl of my size. The young man was a half-breed whom I had known before the outbreak. His family had camped in our woods in the spring of 1862. lle came to our house one evening and father asked him in for supper. While they were eating he asked father if he could borrow our oxen. After con- sulting mother about it father decided to go along himself with the oxen as soon as traveling would be possible. The Indian was satisfied and they stayed in our woods for two weeks more, when father moved them and their household goods about twenty miles east.
The boy always seemed to think so much of my father, and I have often wondered why he did not save his life, but per- haps he could not. While I lived with them I was half starved
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all the time and was always sickly. Once when I was very hungry I saw an Indian girl put some potatoes in hot ashes to roast and then go off to play. I could not resist the chance of procuring a square meal even if by questionable means, so I watched and waited until I thought the potatoes were cooked and saw that the girl was at play on the other side of the tepee, and then I took the potatoes back of another tent and ate them with great relish.
After I had eaten the potatoes the Indian girl that had put the potatoes to roast went to look for them and found them gone. She accused another Indian girl of taking them and gave her a good whipping. Here is a case where the innocent suf- fered for the guilty.
The actions of the Indians were quite peenliar. Often on evenings they would gather in groups out of doors and relate tales of adventure and other stories. They would keep this up so late that one after another they would fall asleep and lie ont of doors all night like eattle.
I remember well the day of the battle of Wood Lake. It was near breakfast time when we heard the report of the first cannon. An old squaw, who was making a fire, jumped into the air so suddenly and violently that it seemed she had burned her foot and screamed something that sounded to me like "Ili be-dish kak," and she repeated these words again and again. The same ery was heard throughout the eamp. I noticed that there were no warriors in camp, but did not realize that they had gone ont to battle.
We got little to eat that day of the battle. Everything was in the greatest confusion. They kept up bonfires all that night and an ineessant howling and screaming. The next morning I changed masters again. The ohl squaw who kept my sister after we left the first camp was my new guardian. There were no men at this tent. There was one Indian family that often camped in our wood. The squaw used to come to our house a great deal, and mother would show her how to bake bread and do a good many other things. Father used to call her mother's sister, because she was such a great friend of ours. While a prisoner I met her quite often and spoke to her, but she never answered me and acted as if she had never seen mie.
About this time we moved quite frequently, but I cannot remember the particulars. One day not long after the battle a young sqnaw came to our tent in a great hurry, and after a short consultation they began to paek np my sister's effects. All the clothes I had were on my person. Soon they started with us to a hill or elevated place, where we saw a large number of Indians standing in a cirele in the center of which a white flag waved from a pole. There were a lot of prisoners entering the circle
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through an opening in the line, and as none came out l con- cluded that they were going to kill all the whites, so I did not want to go. Two Indian girls took me and carried me in.
Ilere I met my brother. August Gluth and Ludwig Kitzman. They greeted me most joyfully. "We are going to be free now," said my brother. "The soldiers have licked the Indians and now they have to give us up." I missed little Gustave Kitzman among the prisoners and asked for him. Mrs. Inefeld then told the story of his death. She and Gustave were staying with the same family. He used to run away to see his brother Ludwig. The Indians did not like this. Besides this he had a bad habit of pinching Indian children and pulling their hair. The day they killed him he was erying and wanted to see his brother. The Indians would not let him go, however. They then began sharpening their butcher knives and told her to go and get a pail of water. She took her baby with her. The baby often eried and they had threatened to kill it. When she came back little Gustave was lying on the ground all cut to pieces. They then picked up the pieces and tied them up in a tablecloth while another Indian was digging the hole to bury him in. In half an hour all was done and little Gustave was no more.
Ludwig Kitzman, August Ghith and my brother were always together when it was possible. They had to catch and yoke oxen for hours at a time. Most of the oxen had rope tied around their horns by the Indians so they coukl manage them. One night a big rain fell. The ropes tightened around the oxen's horns and they were nearly crazy with pain. Ludwig told the Indians what ailed them, and they gave the boys butcher knives and they cut all the ropes. After that the boys were always kept busy driv- ing and attending the oxen.
The boys told me what the white flag meant, and I was over- joyed to think that we would soon be free. In a little while we were marched to the other side of the camp, and they gave us tents which we were told to occupy until General Sibley and his soldiers arrived. Here I met quite a member of German prison- ers. among whom were little Minnie Smith, Mary Schwant, Augusta Lentz, Mrs. Inefeld and her baby, Mrs. Lammers and her two children. Mrs. Lang and two children, Mrs. Frass and three children. Mrs. Urban and five children. The last three ladies that I have mentioned were sisters. Mrs. Eisenreich and her five children. I asked Mrs. Eisenreich what made Peter and Sophy's heads sore, and she told me that the Indians hit them on the back of their heads with a tomahawk because they couldl not walk any faster when they came into camp. The back of their heads was one big seab. It made me siek to look at them. Mrs. Krus and her two children, Pauline Krus (Mr. Krus' sister), were missing, and another girl by the name of Henrietta Nichols
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(a cousin of Augusta Lentz) coukl not be found. These two girls were about twelve years old. Mrs. Krus said that they were hid among the Indians, and that the soldiers should find them or she would never go until they were found. When the soldiers came she told them about it. They told her that they would find them, and so they did, two weeks later, in another Indian camp. I remember how the soldiers cheered them when they came. When we reached St. Peter Henrietta Nichols found her father. How pleased she was to see him. Iler mother and brother had been killed. Here I met Minnie Smith. She was from our neigh- borhood and it was with them we stayed the first month we were in Minnesota. Minnie and I had always been great friends.
I went to where she sat and asked her if the Indians had killed all her people. She nodded her head, but did not speak. Her bright blue eyes filled with tears in a moment. I tried to cheer her and offered her one of my sweet erackers that Mrs. Urban had given me, for I thought I had offended her. She shook her head and would not take it. The tears started to my eyes, for I did not know what to do and I did not want Minnie to be angry with me. Then Mrs. Krus came and told me that Minnie could not speak, as there was something wrong with her throat. I stayed with her until noon, when Mrs. Krus came and told me to go and play, saying as I went, "Minnie Smith will soon be an angel." I did not quite understand her statement and said, "Why Minnie is so good that she is an angel now." Mrs. Krus replied, "Yes, she will soon die and go to heaven." Minnie rallied a little and lived three weeks longer until we reached Fort Ridgely, where she was turned over to that kind nurse, Mrs. Elizabeth Muller, Dr. Muller's wife, who stayed at the fort. She took care of the sick and wounded and elosed many dying eyes. She also elosed Minnie Smith's, for two days later she died.
We waited three days for the arrival of the soldiers. In the forenoon of the third day Pauline Urban, my little sister Amelia and I were playing in a wagon when Pauline all at onee jumped on to the wagon seat, elapped her hands and pointing toward the south exclaimed, "Look at the stars! Look at the stars!" We all looked in that direction and we could plainly see the sun shining on the soldiers' bayonets as they marched along. Stars of Hope they seemed for all of us. We all got on the wagon seats or as high as we could get to see the soldiers. At last the officers rode into camp and there was a great deal of hand shak- ing between them and the chiefs. I thought they knew but little of how we had been treated.
The prisoners were now turned over to the soldiers and we were marched to their eamp. Just as we reached the soldiers'
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camp the sun went down. The soldiers cheered us when we reached camp. but it frightened me. I thought the Indians were trying to drive them back.
My sister and I were sent to the same tents with several others. We were nearly starved, as we had eaten almost nothing all that day. There were between ninety and a hundred prisoners, and it was no easy task to furnish them all with supper. My sister and I were so small that the soldiers overlooked us, but we were fortunate enough. however, to be able to share supper with some of our fellow prisoners. We stayed with the soldiers three weeks, and as rations were getting scarce and what there was was almost unfit to eat, we children were always looking for something to eat. In the northern part of the sokliers' camp there was a German baker who used to bake very nice bread. One day we found the place and made him a visit. He treated us to a dish of beef soup and some bread. The next day we repeated our visit and he did not treat us again. Shortly after this we made the acquaintance of a boy named Ben Juni. Ile was more of a ladies' man, and whenever Ben got anything good to eat he would divide with us. Pauline always said he was the best boy in the lot. But I could not go back on my brother and Ludwig Kitzman. I have never seen any of my little friends of years ago, and I have often wished that time could turn back in its flight and we could meet again. Ilow much I would give to see the bright and happy face of Pauline Urban. Henrietta Krieger was entirely forgotten after I made Pauline's acquaint- ance. Her mother was with her. She had four sisters and brothers. She told me she was going to meet her father soon, for he was away some place where he was safe. She was about the age of my sister whom the Indians had killed. How I envied her. Iler lather, mother. sisters and brothers were alive and well, while mine were dead. She could always cheer me no mat- ter how badly I felt. Her mother treated me and my sister as kindly as she did her own children.
While we stayed at Camp Release I heard some of the saddest stories I ever heard. These stories were told in English and were translated to me by Mary Schwandt.
Mrs. Adams told the following story: They were moving to Hutchinson when the Indians overtook them. The Indians shot at them and they jumped off the wagon. Her husband was wounded and got away, but she supposed he was killed. Then they took her baby from her arms and dashed its brains out on the wagon wheel. She was taken prisoner. She laughed while telling her story and said she could not ery for her chikl.
Mrs. Minnie Inefeld told how she went to her brother's house to tell them that the Indians were killing everybody. She left her husband loading up their household goods. When she
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returned she found her husband lying on the floor with a butcher knife in his heart.
One day while we were staying at Camp Release Mr. Thiele came into our tent. He told Mrs. Krus how the Indians had killed his wife and child. Hle assured her that her husband was alive and that she would soon see him again. Then he went on talking about how he and half-breed Moore buried the dead. They had buried quite a number before he had courage enough to go and bury his wife and child. When he came to their bodies the hogs had eaten most of them and there was nothing left but a few pieces of their clothes. He said he knelt down beside them and eried, prayed and cursed the Indians all in one breath. He swore that he would shoot Indians the rest of his life. At last the half-breed could stand it no longer and asked Thiele if he was going to kill him. too. Mr. Thiele did not answer, at which Moore threw down his spade and went away, leaving him to bury his dead alone.
After burying what dead he could that day he started toward the fort, not caring where he went. With nothing to eat but eorn and wild phus he wandered until he met Sibley's men. He asked the general to let him have some soldiers to bury the dead. General Sibley could not send a force until two weeks later, and then there was nothing left of the bodies but the bones and their clothing. They simply dug a hole beside the skeletons, rolled the bones in and covered them up.
I stood Mr. Thiele's talk as long as I could and then asked him if he had buried my folks. "Who are you?" he asked. I told him I was Minnie Buce, Fred Buce's eldest girl. He shook hands with me and I sat down beside him. He kept repeating over and over again, "Poor Fred, poor Fred. How hard he worked and then had to leave it all behind." Suddenly, reeol- lecting what I had asked, he answered, "Yes, child, I think I buried them. There were five bodies we found on your father's place which we buried." Mr. Thiele's talk made me sick. All night I cried, and Mrs. Krus took good care of me. She told me such a nice story, in her plain, simple way, that I never can forget it. She told me that after people were dead nothing could hurt them, as they were angels then, and that Mr. Thiele had picked ont such a nice place to bury my beloved ones in : in a pretty meadow where the grass would always grow so green where the prairie lilies would breathe their fragrance over the graves of the departed, and where winter would come and eover up the graves with its beautiful white snow. She told me not to ery about my parents any more. Every time I felt like erying to think of the nice things she had told me. I tried my best to do as Mrs. Krns had told me and found it was much better not to ery.
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Soon after this we broke up camp and moved. My sister and I got in the same wagon with Hattie Adams and Mary Sehwandt. When we halted in the evening my sister and I were both asleep. Our teamster was a young boy about eighteen or nineteen years of age. Hle pieked me up out of the wagon as though I was a baby. I screamed, as it frightened me so. He said he did not mean to frighten me. It was quite cold that evening and our clothes were very thin. I was also very umhappy when I found out that Mary was gone and that I would see her no more. I tried not to ery, but the tears would come anyway. Our young friend. the teamster, was a German and he felt very sorry for us. He baked us some pancakes and made some coffee. After sup- per he built a fire, got the blanket from the wagon and put it around us both and told us to sit there until he fed his oxen. I sat there a while and finally getting tired of waiting I started to look up my new acquaintance and his ox team. To my sur- prise I found one of the oxen was our black ox "Billy." I told the teamster of it and put my arm around "Billy's" neck. My new friend, the teamster, laughed and told me that "Billy" was a lazy ox, but he was going to use him better sinee he had learned his history. When his work was done we came back to the fire. We found a man sitting on a log by the fire, watching iny sleeping sister. My young friend told me it was his sister's husband. They talked a long while about us. The new arrival asked me a great many questions about my people and where we lived. Finally he said he thought my father was alive. The soldiers had picked up a man near New Ulm badly wounded, who had walked many miles after he was shot, and he thought that probably it was my father. I thought of what Thiele had said about burying my parents and told him of it. He said that Thiele had buried so many dead that he may have made a mis- take. I wish he had never told me this, as it only gave me false hopes, and when I found ont the truth it made me feel more disappointed.
The next morning we started for the fort. After an early breakfast a teamster took and put me in his wagon. While we were waiting for some more women and children to come to the wagon I told our new teamster that I had a brother among the prisoners and wished he could go along. too. He consented, and as my brother came along just then he asked him. My brother answered that he was in no great hurry to'get to St. Peter and would rather stay with the ox teams. I tried my best to get him to come, but he would not. He called me a ery baby and said I always wanted something. If we would have known then that we were not to meet again for two long years our fare- well would have been more affectionate.
Among those who rode on our wagon were Ludwig Kitzman,
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Mrs. Urban and Mrs. Krus with their children, an American lady with two children and a boy about eight or nine years old. It was very cold that morning, the wind blowing a perfeet galc. Our teamster took off his overeoat and gave it to my sister and me to cover ourselves up with. The little American boy was shivering from the cold and also tried to get under the coat. I would not allow that, however, and slapped him in the face. That was too much for Ludwig Kitzman, and he told me I was the meanest girl he had ever seen. I did feel ashamed of myself and offered the boy the coat, but the teamster settled the diffi- culty by giving him a horse blanket.
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