With Sully into the Sioux Land Part 4

It was an ominous announcement and one which was very soon followed by others of similar nature, not only at their barricade, but all over the fort. Consumed by the rapid fire which had been necessary to hold back the fierce Indian attack, the small arms ammunition supply of the fort was almost exhausted, and a few moments more of such work would see it all expended. A dreadful contingency faced the defenders. With their ammunition all gone, their a.s.sailants would be able to rush in and slaughter them almost at will. One by one the men of the garrison ran out of bullets and the fire perceptibly slackened. The Indians quickly noticed this and, guessing the cause, redoubled their efforts.

Al, thanks to his careful use of ammunition, still had quite a supply left, but he saw with horror what the general situation was and realized that unless something could be done to relieve it, they would all be ma.s.sacred in a few minutes. Being under no orders and wis.h.i.+ng to be with his mother and sister at the last moment, if this was really at hand, he left the barricade and ran to the barracks building, where they were crowded with the other noncombatants. A distressing scene met his eyes as he entered. Many of the women were gathered in groups, weeping and wringing their hands, their children clinging about them, while here and there others knelt, praying aloud or absorbed in silent supplications. A long row of wounded lay stretched on pallets at one side. But across the room he saw another group, the only one in which the spirit of courage and determination seemed still to prevail. To Al's surprise, his mother was one of this party, apparently perfectly calm and her face lighted by an expression of n.o.ble resolution and self-forgetfulness. With her were several other women of like firm spirit, and two or three men, all of them busily absorbed in some occupation around a stove in which a hot fire was blazing. Al soon found that they were casting musket b.a.l.l.s, their supply of lead consisting of the flattened bullets of the Indians, which men were gathering up outside and bringing to them to be re-moulded. The rapidly increasing supply which they were thus preparing was being augmented by some of Sergeant Jones's artillerymen, who were opening spherical case shot and removing from them the b.a.l.l.s, which served perfectly for musket ammunition. Although Lieutenant Sheehan and Sergeant Jones had thought of these providential expedients but a few moments before, already small quant.i.ties of the new b.a.l.l.s were being taken out and distributed to the men in the defences, whose fire, consequently, was resuming its former volume.

His hope and enthusiasm all returned to Al as soon as he found that a vigorous defence could still be maintained, and after an affectionate embrace and a few words with his mother and Annie, he ran back again to the barricade. It was not long after his return there, and late in the afternoon, that the Indians once more made a determined effort to storm the position. Marshalling their forces below the crest of the hill, they rushed up from the ravines in throngs, brandis.h.i.+ng their weapons and whooping at the tops of their voices; while the flare of their many-colored war-bonnets and robes, the tiger-like contortions of their muscular, naked bodies, and the glint of rifle barrel and knife blade, flas.h.i.+ng back the rays of the sinking sun, made a spectacle as wildly magnificent as it was awe-inspiring. But again the heroic garrison proved equal to the emergency. From barricade and loop-holed wall the infantry poured steady volleys into them, while the artillery, holding its fire until the charge was well under way, lashed their ranks with case shot. Though they had started forward with the utmost enthusiasm, they soon began to hesitate and break. With their undisciplined methods of fighting, the Indian does not live who could withstand such a fire.

In a moment they had halted, and a few seconds more saw them scurrying back to the ravines, utterly repulsed, while from the throats of the st.u.r.dy little garrison rose cheer after cheer of victory, and men leaped upon the barricades and tossed their hats in the air. Every one felt that the enemy had made his last, supreme effort, and such, indeed, proved to be the case. The Indian fire gradually died away, and by nightfall silence again reigned over Fort Ridgely, wrecked, smoking, and shot-torn, but triumphant.

The stables and outlying buildings, with the exceptions of the guard-house and the magazine, were smouldering ruins; the officers'

quarters were riddled through and through; the storehouse and barracks were pock-marked and splintered with bullets; nearly all the oxen and mules belonging to the quartermaster's department were captured or killed, and seven more wounded men lay beside those who had been injured two days before. But the fight was won. Through the night the garrison lay on their arms, watching the glare of distant conflagrations off to the southeast, where the defeated Indians were burning farm-houses and stacks as they marched on to the village of New Ulm, sixteen miles away.

Fort Ridgely remained undisturbed, though New Ulm, where two hundred and fifty volunteer citizens under the command of Judge Charles E.

Flandreau had gathered to defend the town and the one thousand five hundred non-combatants in refuge there, was desperately attacked next day, almost wholly burned, and nearly captured by the infuriated savages. Though the Indians seemed to be gone from their vicinity, the occupants of Fort Ridgely were obliged to remain inert for several days longer, and then, at last, on the morning of the twenty-seventh, their eyes were gladdened by the sight of a large column of troops approaching from the eastward, and the little army of Colonel H. H. Sibley, hastily recruited and as yet poorly disciplined and wretchedly armed, but full of ardor, marched into the quadrangle of shattered buildings amid the cheers of the men and the tearful thanksgivings of the women. The never-to-be-forgotten siege was over.

CHAPTER IV

REFUGEES

The arrival of Colonel Sibley's troops gave to the dest.i.tute refugees in Fort Ridgely their first opportunity of turning from the desperate struggle for immediate self-preservation in which they had been ceaselessly involved for nine days, to contemplate fully the extent of the disaster which had fallen upon them and to consider what their future course must be. To most of them the Indian outbreak and its consequent ma.s.sacre and pillage had brought the total ruin of their fortunes, for in general they were poor people who had come into the West and started their homes on free Government land, in the hope of acquiring comfort and modest fortunes through years of faithful labor.

But to the families which had been so fortunate as to remain intact, losing no loved members at the hands of the savages, the disaster was not irremediable. The property they had lost was not, in most cases, of very great value, save as measured by labor; and as their lands still remained to them, they could again enter into occupation as soon as settled conditions were restored, and in a short time recover their former positions. So, although a few such families lost heart and left the country, most of them remained and lived to see the time when they were very glad they had done so.

But with the families which had been shattered by the savages, which had lost father or mother or sons or daughters struck down in the slaughter, the case was far different. And many, alas, were in this condition, for more than one thousand white people had fallen victims to the Indians along the desolated Minnesota frontier during those few mid-August days.

Where the head of a family had been lost, his widow and children must either undertake to eke out a precarious existence on the devastated claim from which they had been driven, surrounded by the hard conditions of pioneer life, or they must return to the older parts of the country whence they had originally come, and there seek the aid and protection of relatives or friends. The first arrangement was often impossible, for not many a widow with a family of small children could hope to sustain herself in such a country, beautiful and fertile but at that time wild and practically unbroken. For these reasons there was a long and doleful procession of dest.i.tute people pa.s.sing through St. Paul, Winona, and the other towns along the Mississippi River on their way back to the more easterly States during the days of late August and early September, 1862. They came from Fort Ridgely, from New Ulm, from Acton and Forest City and Hutchinson and a score of other little settlements along the border. Among these unfortunate people were to be found the survivors of the Briscoe family, bound for St. Louis, Missouri. How they had finally come to decide upon this course will require some explanation.

When Al first realized, with the advent of Colonel Sibley's troops into Fort Ridgely, that the Indians had been checked and the tide turned, and that the white men were really setting about regaining possession of the country, his first and greatest ambition was to set out at once for the rescue of Tommy; his second was to visit the lonely and ruined cabin twenty miles north of the fort and there give the remains of his father tender burial. But he soon found that difficulties lay in the way of accomplis.h.i.+ng either of these desires. The army could not instantly spring forth as one man and rush to the rescue of his brother. The soldiers had to be prepared and provided for a campaign which, moreover, even when inaugurated, must be carefully and methodically carried out.

Several hundred white captives, among whom it seemed almost certain that Tommy would be found, were in the possession of the Indians. If a precipitate attack should be made upon the latter their captives would, past a doubt, be ma.s.sacred to a soul. Their release must be accomplished by diplomacy; the Indians must be made to realize that only by the safe delivery of their prisoners could they hope to mitigate the stern punishment which they had richly earned at the hands of the Government, and which would surely be meted out to them sooner or later. To accomplish the safe delivery of the captives might mean weeks of careful work on the part of the friendly Indians in inducing the hostile element to see the necessity for such action. It might require numerous councils and it might require fighting, properly prepared for.

All this meant that if Al were to take personal part in the rescue of Tommy, they must stay at Fort Ridgely for some time to come; and to stay at Fort Ridgely meant that they must have some money. Here was the most distressing difficulty in the whole situation. The Briscoes had absolutely nothing left; they were penniless. Even their few household goods had been destroyed or carried away by the Indians and these goods, together with their buildings and the handful of live stock and farm implements on their claim, had const.i.tuted all their worldly possessions. They had not always been in such a precarious condition; in fact, two years before the period at which our story opens they would not have dreamed that they could ever be reduced to such circ.u.mstances as were theirs when we first saw them.

In 1860 the Briscoes had been living in the prosperous little city of Glasgow, Missouri, at that time an important centre of steamboat traffic on the Missouri River, drawing to its numerous and well-appointed stores the trade of a wide region of farms and plantations, and to its wharves and warehouses the great crops of hemp and tobacco, corn and grain, vegetables and live-stock with which the whole rich country teemed. Mr. Briscoe's business, the retailing of furniture, was extensive and profitable, his home was as comfortable and attractive as any in the town, and his family lacked for none of the comforts of life, while many of its luxuries were also theirs. Once or twice a year, usually in the summer and winter, when there was something of a lull in the business, they would make a trip to St. Louis, where Mrs. Briscoe's sister, her only near relative, lived with her husband and family. His parents had intended to send Al to an academy in St.

Louis in the Fall of 1861, to complete his preparatory education before applying for an appointment as a cadet at West Point. Then came the opening of the Civil War and the beginning of a rapid succession of events in the family, which had forced the abandonment of this and of all the other plans which they had cherished for the future.

The opening of hostilities, precipitated by the attack on Fort Sumter, produced a commercial and industrial effect upon the country at large almost as calamitous as the political one; and this was particularly true in the Border States, where sentiment was sharply divided. Mr.

Briscoe's business was one which depended to an unusual degree upon conditions of general prosperity and tranquillity. When the people of the community found their incomes destroyed or sharply cut down by general conditions, they could and did get along without new furniture, though they could not get along without groceries or clothing. His business suffered on this account, but it suffered still more from other causes.

Mr. Briscoe had always commanded an unusual degree of popularity in Glasgow since he had gone there, a youth, in 1844, because he had enlisted for the Mexican War, among many other volunteers from the town and from Howard County, in the First Regiment of Missouri Dragoons, under Colonel Alexander W. Doniphan; an organization immensely popular in central Missouri at the time. He had served through all the wonderfully romantic campaigns of that regiment with gallantry and distinction, coming out of the war a first lieutenant. He had won his sergeantcy for saving the life of a comrade, another Glasgow youth, in the fight at Brazitos, New Mexico, December 21, 1846; his second lieutenantcy for faithfulness and courage during the long march from Sante Fe to Chihuahua, and his first lieutenantcy for gallantry in the capture of that city from a Mexican army five times as large as the American force, on February 28, 1847. Consequently, on his return to Glasgow he had been regarded as a hero, and the people could not do enough for him, showing their favor in one most practical way by bestowing as much of their trade upon him as they possibly could. He, in turn, entertained the liveliest interest in the exciting events of the Mexican War and the most profound and loyal regard for his old commander, Colonel Doniphan. It was in the latter's honor that he christened his eldest son Alexander Doniphan, and we have seen that he even applied the fanciful names, Chihuahua and Montezuma,--shortened for convenience to Chick and Monty,--to his horses, in memory of his days below the Rio Grande.

But the very fact that he had been one of Doniphan's men was equivalent to a declaration that in spirit he was a sympathizer with the political theories and social inst.i.tutions at that time almost universally accepted by the people of the Southern States, where slavery prevailed; for it was among people of such convictions that Doniphan's regiment had been almost wholly recruited. Because he had been one of them, everybody so naturally a.s.sumed that his views agreed with those of his military a.s.sociates that he was seldom even called upon to express himself. When he was, the fact that he said little, and that of a rather non-committal character, only led people to believe that he did not care for discussion and regretted the political unrest of the time, as, indeed, did many others. This ill-defined position did very well until the beginning of the period of intense agitation and bitterness immediately following the election of Abraham Lincoln to the Presidency in the Fall of 1860. He then found himself forced to face the issue frankly and declare, not only to himself but to others, whether he intended to throw in his fortunes with the South in the war which every one foresaw was rapidly approaching, or to stand firmly by the Union.

It was a bitterly hard choice for him to make and one which he deferred as long as possible; for, though both he and his wife were of Northern birth and ancestry, the most cherished a.s.sociations of their lives had been with Southern people, and they loved the South like their native land. But he believed, and Mrs. Briscoe believed with him, that the Southern idea of destroying the Union was absolutely wrong, and that a true American citizen's allegiance was due, not to any one State or section but to the nation. When, after much painful reflection, he found himself unalterably committed to this conviction, he was a man of too much courage not to declare it. His a.s.sociates and fellow citizens in the town learned of his att.i.tude first with astonishment, then with resentment, and finally with cold hostility. He had made his choice, he had voluntarily arrayed himself against the dearest desires of their hearts and what they conceived to be the most vital interests of their lives. They turned from him as from a betrayer, a traitor, and he suddenly found himself worse than a stranger in the community where for fifteen years past he had been respected and beloved above most other citizens. It was the sad story, as old as organized society, of the dearest private a.s.sociations torn asunder by the rancor of public controversy. His business suddenly declined to almost nothing. It would not have been so bad if he had made provision for the future. But it had always been so easy to make money that he and his family had spent it just as easily, for it had seemed that the business alone would always continue to provide them with all they might need. His credit with the wholesale houses of St. Louis and the East was large and unquestioned, and when the trouble came his store was full of goods unpaid for. Too long he struggled to dispose of his stock in a town whose people, all at once, either could not or would not buy. Finally, when his creditors, themselves pressed for money by the industrial depression, began to hara.s.s him, he sold at ruinous sacrifices. But he could not stem the tide. He was forced into bankruptcy, and stock, store building, home and household goods, all went down in the yawning pit of debt; for such was his sense of honor that he would withhold nothing in order to pay to those who had trusted him the money to which they were justly ent.i.tled.

And he did pay it, dollar for dollar, to the last cent; but when it was paid he had nothing left in the world except a little less than three hundred dollars in cash, a few bits of cherished family silver and bric-a-brac belonging to his wife, and a scanty stock of family clothing. His brother-in-law in St. Louis, Mr. Colton, would gladly have helped him, but he, also, had been brought to the verge of ruin by the business upheaval, and Mr. Briscoe, well knowing this, declined to add a particle to his burdens.

To go into business again at such a time, in another town and without capital, was not to be thought of. Neither was sufficiently remunerative employment to be found, nor could he yet enter the Union army, as he ardently desired to do, leaving his family dest.i.tute. The free Government lands seemed to offer a home which they could acquire with little difficulty, and a living in the meantime as cheap as could be found anywhere. So they chose Minnesota and went to the claim north of Fort Ridgely, where Mr. Briscoe hoped that in a few years he might develop a farm and acc.u.mulate a little money. Then, if the war was not yet over and his services were still needed, he might leave Al in charge for a time and go to the front.

Such, briefly, was the history of the Briscoe family up to the time when we first met with them, and such their plans for the future, so rudely interrupted by the calamities of the Indian outbreak. Without father, without money, without agricultural implements or horses, and without even a home to live in, with the whole country still overrun by hostile savages, it was out of the question, after the relief of Fort Ridgely, for them either to return to their claim or to remain where they were.

The only place in the world which seemed to offer a haven of refuge for the time being, at least, was the home of Mrs. Briscoe's sister in St.

Louis. Pitying friends among the other almost equally dest.i.tute refugees, even soldiers of the garrison who were touched by the wretched plight of the little family and by Al's manly conduct during the siege, contributed to a small fund sufficient to take them by steamboat to St.

Louis; and on one of the last days of August they started for St. Paul with a large party, escorted by a detachment of soldiers.

Before they left, Al and his mother asked and obtained an interview with Colonel Sibley, concerning Tommy. Colonel Sibley was a man of great prominence in Minnesota, having been elected the first Governor of the State after its admission to the Union in 1858. At the time of the Indian outbreak he was living at the mouth of the Minnesota River, where Governor Ramsey sent for him to take command of the troops called out to suppress the uprising, because of his great influence over the Indians and his familiarity with their methods of warfare. He was a gentle, kindly man, whose heart was torn by the loss and suffering of the people along the western border of his State. Mrs. Briscoe and Al called at his headquarters on the morning of the day they left for St. Paul. The Colonel received them with his accustomed courtesy, asked them to be seated and, himself taking a chair facing them, listened to Mrs.

Briscoe's sad story with deep and compa.s.sionate attention. When she had finished he sat, seemingly lost in thought, for a short time, his chin resting on his hand. Then he looked up at Mrs. Briscoe and said:

"Madam, my heart bleeds for you. I wish that it were within my power to restore your little son to you at once. I wish that you might remain in Minnesota in order that you could sooner have the happiness of knowing when he is recaptured. But neither you nor your son here," he glanced at Al, "need feel that your absence will defer the little boy's rescue one moment longer than if you remained here. The recovery of all the white captives is now in the hands of my forces and we shall get them all as soon as we possibly can. I give you my promise, Mrs. Briscoe; I will personally see to it that he is sent to you in St. Louis as soon as it can be done, and if there should be any delay you shall be promptly notified of the facts. Your husband's remains shall also receive Christian burial whenever a party can visit your claim, and in case any of your property is found there which is of value, I will have it stored here in Fort Ridgely until you return or send for it. Can you tell me, my boy," he turned to Al, "anything of the appearance of the Indian who carried away your brother which might help to identify him?"

"I should know him again instantly, sir, if I saw him," Al replied. "He was a tall fellow, over six feet, I think, and seemed very strong. He had a deep scar, like a knife or sword cut, running down his left cheek and along his neck and shoulder."

"O-ho!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the colonel. "That surely ought to make it easy if he is an Indian belonging to any of the tribes in this region. Orderly!"

Instantly a soldier opened the door, came to attention and saluted.

"Tell Major Brown I want to see him."

The orderly disappeared, but in a moment the door opened again admitting Major Joseph R. Brown, a famous Indian trader who had been Major Galbraith's predecessor as Indian agent at the Lower Agency, and who was now in command of one of Colonel Sibley's companies of volunteers.

Probably no white man in Minnesota was personally acquainted with more of the Indians in that section. Colonel Sibley and Al described to him the Indian who had carried off Tommy, but Major Brown shook his head.

"I know no Indian in these parts who answers to that description," he replied. "He must be an outsider; perhaps a Yanktonais who has drifted in because there was trouble in the air. There are probably a good many of them around."

This was disappointing intelligence yet enlightening in a way, for though it indicated that Tommy was not in the clutches of any of the Minnesota savages, at the same time it limited his captor to one of the Dakota tribes further west and to that extent simplified the mystery of his whereabouts and possible fate. Colonel Sibley, however, was still of the opinion that he would be found with the other white captives when these should be recovered, as he did not believe that a warrior from a distant part of the country would care to burden himself permanently with a prisoner.

With such unsatisfactory conclusions Al and his mother were forced to be content, and though somewhat encouraged by the hopeful and rea.s.suring words of Colonel Sibley, who did his best to cheer them, they began the long journey toward St. Louis with heavy hearts.

CHAPTER V

HOPE DEFERRED

It is not necessary to enter into the details of that trip, which was devoid of unusual incidents. In due time the unfortunate family reached their destination, where they were affectionately received by the Coltons and taken into their home. Since the dark days at the beginning of the war the Coltons had been obliged to give up their pleasant home on Morgan Street, in what was then one of the most desirable residence districts of the city, and had moved into a smaller house on Palm Street, far up on the North Side and not many blocks from the St. Louis Fair Grounds. Mr. Colton had succeeded in weathering his reverses and still had his business, that of real estate, downtown; but it was in a far from prosperous condition, and his income was hardly sufficient to support him and his family, consisting of his wife and two small children. He had had the misfortune, when a young man, to lose his left arm at the elbow so that he was handicapped in the battle of life; but he made up in mental capacity what he lacked in physical, so he had always been able, until the beginning of the war, to make a comfortable living.

On the second evening after their arrival in St. Louis, when supper was over, Mr. Colton asked Al to take a walk with him. They strolled west across the open lots and along the thinly populated streets lying in the direction of the Fair Grounds. Mr. Colton seemed rather abstracted and talked but little; and presently Al asked, abruptly,

"Uncle Will, your business isn't paying very well just now, is it?"

"Well, no, it isn't, Al," Mr. Colton replied, apparently a little startled by the question. "Why?"

"I have been thinking ever since we got here," Al answered, "that our coming to you as we have, without money or anything else, will add a great deal to your expenses and other troubles. Of course I look forward to repaying you in the future, so far as money can repay such kindness; but that won't help just now, and I wish I could find some work to do right away, so that I could earn enough to pay part of the living expenses of Mother and Annie and myself."

Mr. Colton laid his hand affectionately on Al's shoulder.

"My boy," said he, "you are your father's true son. That is just what he would have been thinking of in similar circ.u.mstances. I am glad you have spoken of it, Al, for it is just that problem which has been troubling me ever since you and your dear mother and little sister came. You know how thankful I should be if I could provide you all with everything you need and have no question of means enter into the matter."

"Yes, I do know, Uncle Will," said Al, earnestly.

Mr. Colton went on, "I should like to make your poor mother and Annie as comfortable and easy in every way as possible and I should like to have you continue with school until you are ready to take up your chosen profession. But I do not see how I can compa.s.s these desires at present, though perhaps I can later. I was just going to suggest that it would probably be necessary for you to get employment for a while when you spoke of it. I am more pleased than I can say that you thought of it first, without any suggestion."