THRILLING INCIDENTS IN THE INDIAN WAR OF 1862;

BEING A

PERSONAL NARRATIVE

OF THE

OUTRAGES AND HORRORS

WITNESSED BY

MRS. L. EASTLICK,

IN MINNESOTA.

MINNEAPOLIS, MINN.: ATLAS STEAM PRESS PRINTING COMPANY. 1864.

PREFACE.

In presenting this pamphlet to the public, I have given merely a plain, unvarnished statement of all the facts that came under my own observation, during the dreadful massacre of the settlers of Minnesota. Mine only was a single case among hundreds of similar instances. It is only from explicit and minute accounts from the pen of the sufferers themselves, that people living at this distance from the scene of those atrocities can arrive at any just and adequate conception of the fiendishness of the Indian character, or the extremities of pain, terror and distress endured by the victims. It can hardly be decided which were least unfortunate, those who met an immediate death at the hands of the savages, or the survivors who, after enduring tortures worse than death, from hunger, fear, fatigue, and wounds, at last escaped barely with life.

My object in publishing my story is two-fold: I wish to inform the public as to the extent of the wrongs inflicted upon the innocent Minnesotians; and I also hope and expect to realize from the proceeds of its sale sufficient pecuniary aid to enable me to return from my temporary home in Grant County, Wisconsin, to my desolate home in Minnesota—to the region where I left the bodies of my husband and three children, on the bloody sod where they fell.

MRS. L. EASTLICK.

Platteville, Wis., April 1, 1864.

NARRATIVE.

I was born in the year 1833, in Broome county, New York. When I was about one year old, my father, Mr. Giles Day, moved from that State to Trumbull county, Ohio. Here I remained with my parents, till I reached the age of fifteen, when I went with my brother’s family to Seneca county, where I became acquainted with John Eastlick. In the year 1850 we were married, and we remained there until 1854, when we removed to Indiana. My husband was a poor man, and seeing a little family growing up around him, he began to feel keenly the need of a home. Thinking he could obtain a homestead cheaper by going further west, we removed to Illinois in the spring of 1856. But here it was entirely out of our power to purchase, as the price of land was still higher than in the place we had left. My husband now began to talk of going to Minnesota. In the year 1857, our wagon was loaded once more, and we emigrated to Minnesota, accompanied by one of our neighbors, named Thomas Ireland.

It was our intention to go to Bear Valley, but, on account of cold wet weather setting in, we were obliged to stop in Olmsted county. Here we staid until 1861, when my husband thought he could better his condition by going to Murray county,—a distance of two hundred miles. I felt a little fear of going there, knowing that there were a great many Indians in that and the adjoining counties; still, I was willing to accompany my husband wherever he thought he could best provide for his family. We started on our journey in the fall, taking nothing with us but our clothing, bedding, cattle, &c. Mr. Ireland again moved in company with us; his family consisted of his wife and four children. My husband chose to settle by a small lake, called Lake Shetek, where we arrived on the 5th of November. We found that there was already a small settlement here: but, after our arrival there were only eleven settlers in all. The lake was about five miles long, with a belt of timber running along the east side of it, where all the settlers had located themselves.

My husband chose a beautiful spot for our home, situated about midway between the two ends of the lake. In the spring of 1862, he built a house and put in crops, and we began to feel quite happy and contented in our new home. I no longer felt any fear of the Indians: quite a number of them had lived by the lake all winter, and had been accustomed to come to our home almost every day. Whenever any of them came, they invariably begged for something to eat, which was never refused them. We never turned them away, as did many of our neighbors, and in return they appeared to be very friendly, and played with our children, and taught them to speak the Indian language a little. In the spring, they left the lake, and we saw no more of them for two or three months.

About the last of July Mr. Eastlick left home to work during harvest. He returned on the 17th of August, and said he had met sixteen Indians, naked, and painted red, who seemed very friendly, and talked some time with him. He seemed very much oppressed at heart, after his return, as if some secret anxiety weighed heavily on his mind. I have since thought that he must have seen or heard something that convinced him there was great danger ahead. I heard him say often to Mr. Rhodes, who had come home with him, that it would be a good plan to build a fort. But when I asked him if there was danger to be apprehended from the Indians, he answered evasively, to relieve my anxieties though his own were so great, by saying he thought there was no danger, but that it would do no harm to build a fort.

On Monday following, I went to the lower end of the lake to carry some butter to Mrs. Everett, when, on my return home, I met six Indians with their squaws and “teepes” or lodges. One of the Indians was “Pawn,” with whom I was acquainted. I bowed, without speaking, as I passed him, but he wished me to stop; more, I think, for the sake of seeing the pony I was driving than myself. He came up, shook hands with me and greeted me by saying “ho! ho! ho!” meaning “how do you do?” He talked with me for some time, and said he was going to build his “teepe” at Wright’s, and wait for some more Indians that were coming to go on a buffalo hunt in the course of a few days.

On the morning of August 20th, I arose and prepared breakfast as usual for my family, which consisted of my husband, myself, Mr. Rhodes, who boarded with us, and our five children. The children were all boys: the oldest was aged eleven years, and the youngest, fifteen months. My husband and Mr. Rhodes had just sat down to the breakfast table, when my oldest boy, Merton, came to the door, saying “Charley Hatch is coming, as fast as he can run!” Hatch was a young man who lived with his brother-in-law, Mr. Everett, and, thinking that perhaps some one was sick, or hurt, I ran to the door. As soon as he came near enough to me, I saw that he was very pale and quite out of breath. “Charley, what is the matter?” I asked. He shouted—“The Indians are upon us!” “It cannot be possible,” said I. “It is so,” said Charley, “they have already shot Vought!” He then went on to relate all he knew about it: but first let me relate the manner in which the Indians commenced their attack upon our settlement, as we afterwards found out the facts. They entered our neighborhood at the head of the lake, and begun operations upon the farm owned by Mr. Myers. They tore down a fence and rode into his corn, breaking it down and destroying it. As Mrs. Myers happened to be sick at the time, Mr. Myers had risen quite early to wait upon her, when he discovered what the Indians were doing. He called to them and told them if they did not leave he would whip them, and asked if he had not always used them well. They owned that he had. He then told them there was plenty of room for them outside of his field. One Indian outside the fence shouted to the rest, in his own tongue, saying that Myers was a good man. He then rode away as fast as possible, and all the rest followed him.

Thence they went on to the house of Mr. Hurd, who, in company with Mr. Jones, had started on a journey to the Missouri river, about the first of June, and, who never having been heard of afterwards, were supposed to be murdered by the Indians. Mr. Hurd had left a German, named Vought, to attend to things in his absence. When the Indians approached the house Mrs. Hurd, who was out milking, hastened into the house. The Indians followed her into the house, and with pretended friendship, asked for some tobacco. Mr. Vought gave them some, and they began to smoke, when Mrs. Hurd’s babe awoke, and began to cry; Mr. Vought took the child in his arms, and walked out into the yard. Just as he was turning to go into the house, one of the Indians stepped to the door, raised his gun and deliberately shot him through the breast. They then began to plunder the house, telling Mrs. Hurd that if she made any noise they would kill her, too, but if not, they would permit her to escape, and return to her mother. They broke open and destroyed trunks, chests, beds, and all the other furniture of the house, scattering the contents upon the ground. After compelling her to see her home despoiled of all her household treasures, the savages sent her away, showing her what direction she must take, and threatening that if she tried to go to any of the neighbors, or make any outcry, to warn them, they would follow and murder her. She was obliged to leave by an unfrequented path, with two small children, the oldest of which was three years of age, and the youngest not yet a year. After leaving Mrs. Hurd, the Indians proceeded to the residence of Mr. Cook, who was at the house at the time, while his wife was away in the corn-field, keeping birds away from the corn. The Indians divided their force, a part going to the house and the rest to the field. On coming up to Mrs. Cook in the corn-field, they asked to see her husband’s gun, which she had been using. She handed it over, and they kept it, refusing to give it back, and telling her that she might go to her mother, for they were going to kill off all the white men in the country. Those that went to the house requested Mr. Cook to give them some water. As there was none in the house, he was obliged to take the pail and go to the spring, to supply their wants. But when about half way across the yard, one of the cowardly villains shot him through the back. Mrs. Cook staid around the premises, concealed from the Indians, till they had plundered to their hearts content and taken their departure; then, returning to the house and finding the corpse of her husband lying upon the ground, she determined not to leave, without first alarming the settlement. After going through brush and timber until her clothes were badly torn, and wading along the edge of the lake until she was wet through, she reached the lower part of the settlement undiscovered by the Indians.

Having wandered somewhat from my own tale, and brought the story of their ravages up to near the time when they appeared at our place, I will return to Charley Hatch’s account. Charles had gone, early in the morning, to the head of the lake, on an errand. He rode a horse as far as Mrs. Cook’s, but here he hitched his horse and proceeded on foot to the house of Mr. Hurd, where he found the murdered body of Vought. He returned to Mr. Cook’s where he had left the horse, but on coming in sight of the house, he saw several Indians around it, and heard the report of a gun. This so frightened the horse that it broke loose and ran away, and while the Indians were trying to catch it Charles got away unseen. He came down the lake and warned all the neighbors, and when he came to our house he was nearly exhausted. He asked for a horse, to ride to the lower end of the lake, to warn the rest of the settlers. Mr. Rhodes had two horses there, and was willing he should do so. Charles asked us for the bridle several times, but we were all so horror-stricken and mute with fear and apprehension that we stood for some minutes like dumb persons. At last I seemed to awake as from a horrible dream, and began to realize the necessity of immediate and rapid flight. I sprang into the house and got the bridle for him, urging him to hurry away with all speed. He started off, and bade us follow as fast as we could to Mr. Smith’s house.

On this, my husband caught little Johnny, our youngest, in his arms, took his two rifles, and started, telling myself and the children to hurry as fast as we could. I took some of my clothes, but my husband told me to leave them. I asked him if I could not get my shoes, even, but he said “no, we have no time to spare,” so I started, barefooted, to follow Mr. Eastlick. Rhodes called to me, and asked if I was not going to carry anything. So I went back, and he gave me some powder, shot and lead. I took it in the skirt of my dress, and started as fast as I could run; and that was but slowly, for my limbs felt very weak, and I felt as if I should fall to the ground. My load seemed very heavy, and the pieces of lead kept falling to the ground every few rods. I felt so perfectly unnerved with fear that I gave up and told John, my husband, that I could not go much further. He urged me to keep on, and support myself by holding to his coat. This I did not do, but told him if he would go slowly, I would try to get to Mr. Smith’s with him.

When we came in sight of the house my strength began to return a little, but on coming up, we saw no appearance of any one being at home. My husband called “Smith!” several times, and, receiving no answer, he concluded that they were all gone on to Mr. Wright’s. We hurried on and soon overtook them. When we came in sight of the house we could see the same Indians that had camped there on Monday, as before mentioned. They motioned us to hurry along, pretending to be much frightened, and when we came near the house a squaw met us first, and asked what was the matter. I told her that some Indians had killed Vought, and we expected they would kill all of us, upon which she professed great sympathy for us, and even pretended to weep. We entered the house and found Mrs. Wright very cool and collected. She encouraged us very much by telling us that those Indians that were there would fight for us. Soon all the nearest neighbors gathered in. Mr. Duly and Uncle Tommy Ireland came without their families. Mr. Ireland was obliged to leave his wife and children behind, for the Indians had been shooting at him but not at his family. When the Indians arrived at the road that led to our house and Mr. Duly’s, they left off pursuing Mr. Ireland and went to our houses in search of more plunder.

Mr. Duly’s wife was much exhausted, from running, so he left her concealed with the children in the bushes. Old “Pawn” volunteered to go after them, so a party consisting of “Pawn,” Mr. Duly, Mr. Ireland, and some squaws, set out to bring in the missing women and children. They soon met Mrs. Ireland and her children, and, a little further on, they found Mrs. Duly and her children, accompanied by Mrs. Cook. They all came to Mrs. Wright’s, where we were, when Mrs. Cook, with tears rising from her eyes, told us of the sad fate of her husband. My heart was touched with sympathy for my dear friend. I threw my arms about her neck, and begged her not to weep, telling her that, perhaps, ere night, I should be left a widow, with five fatherless children, and that would be still worse, for she had no children. Mrs. Wright gave her some dry clothes, and she was soon made comfortable.

The men had, by this time, prepared the house as well as possible for defending ourselves against our pursuers, by opening crevices in numerous places, to be used as loop-holes for the rifles. They gave us weapons, such as axes, hatchets, butcher-knives, &c., and sent us all up stairs, where we had a good look-out from the windows. The men told the Indians who still staid by us, that they could take their stand in the stable, not liking to trust them in the house. They said they would fight to the last for the white people, but that they had no ammunition, whereupon two guns and a quantity of ammunition were furnished them. I told my husband I had no confidence in them. He replied that he did not know as they could do any better than to trust them; if they proved friends, we should need their help very much, but he said he should keep an eye on them. He then asked an Indian who could talk a little English, if he would fight for the whites. He replied that “he didn’t know.” Our enemies now made their appearance. We could see them around the house of Mr. Smith, shaking some white cloths, and making a great noise. Now and then an Indian would mount his pony, ride out into the field, fire a gun, and then turn and ride back as fast as he could. They performed in this manner a long time, occasionally shooting an ox or cow, running loose in the field. The Indians that were with us said that if we would all fire our guns it would frighten them away. Accordingly they all went out, Mrs. Wright with the rest. Her husband being gone at the time, down below Mankato, she had slung the powder-horn and shot-pouch over her shoulder, and loaded his gun. They all fired together, but the Indians, who reserved their fire till after all the rest had fired. I went to my husband, and begged of him not to discharge his gun again until after the Indians had fired. I think they reserved their charges to shoot the white men, when their weapons were all empty, but were too cowardly to do it, when the time came to act. These volleys of musketry did not seem to alarm the savage troop in the least. Old “Pawn” then said he would go and meet them, and see how many there were, and what they wanted. But before he had gone far, several Indians came towards him as fast as they could ride. He stopped, and they called to him: he then went up to them, and stopped there talking with them for some time. He finally came running back, and reported that there were two hundred hostile Indians coming, and if we would go peaceably away, they would not harm us; but if not, they would burn down the house over our heads. Upon this, the men held a short council: the majority of them decided that it was best to leave the house. So we all started, across the prairie, except Charley Hatch and Mr. Rhodes. These latter were sent with two horses to the house of Mr. Everett, a distance of half a mile, to get a wagon to carry the women and children, and some flour and quilts, for we all expected to sleep on the prairie that night. Alas! some of our group slept before night—yes, slept the sleep that knows no waking. The two men overtook us in going the distance of half a mile, and the women and children all got into the wagon, except Mrs. Wright, myself, and my two oldest boys, Merton and Frank. In all, there were thirty-four of us, including men, women and children. We traveled over a mile in this manner, when the appalling cry was raised, that the Indians were upon our track. The Indians, who had pretended to be friendly at the house, had deserted us, and joined their fellow savages in their demoniac quest of blood and plunder. All was terror and consternation among us: our merciless foes were in sight, riding at their utmost speed, and would soon be upon us. All now got into the wagon that could. Mrs. Smith held the reins, while I, sitting on the fore end of the wagon box, lashed the horses with all my strength, but, with such a load, the poor brutes could not get along faster than a walk. The Indians were fast gaining on us, and the men, thinking it was only the horses they wanted, bade us leave the wagon. We accordingly all jumped out, and ran along as fast as possible, while the men fell in behind, to give the women and children what protection they could. Some one asked if they should shoot at the Indians, or not: my husband declared that he would shoot the first one that touched the horses. When almost within gunshot, they spread themselves out, in a long line, and approached, yelling and whooping like demons. They fired upon us, but the first round did not touch us. They had now come up to our team; one of them sprang from his pony, caught the horses by the bit, and turned them around. Four of our men now fired upon them, and the one who held the horses fell dead.

After the first fire from the savages, two of our men ran away from the rest, keeping the road for some distance; they were called to come back, and one of them turned around as if he was coming back. But there were two or three Indians pursuing them, and close on their track, so he went on, some distance, then turned and fired upon his pursuers. One Indian snapped three caps at him, and then turned and rode back. The two men made their escape without a scratch; one went to Dutch Charley’s, and warned his family; the other went to Walnut Grove, and warned two young men there, and they all made good their escape.

When the first Indian was shot, Mr. Duly called to us women and children, and bade us go to a slough, not far off, which was the only place that presented itself for concealing ourselves, and that was but poor. We turned our course toward the slough, amid a shower of balls and shot. One large ball entered my heel, which caused me much pain. Mrs. Ireland’s youngest child was shot through the leg; Emma Duly through the arm, and Willie Duly in the shoulder. We soon reached the slough, and all concealed ourselves as best we could, by lying down in the tall grass. This, however, only hid us from the sight, but not from the shot and balls. For two hours, or more, we were exposed to the random shots of our merciless foe. My husband tried several times to shoot the savages, but his gun missed fire, and he was obliged to work a long time before it would go off. Meanwhile, to me, every minute seemed an hour, for I thought John could do good service with his gun, being a good marksman and having a good rifle. Several times our comrades called on him to shoot, saying, “There is an Indian! why don’t you shoot him? for my gun will not reach him.” The Indians only showed themselves one or two at a time, they would skulk behind the hills, crawl up to the top, rise up, fire on us, and drop out of sight instantly, thus proving themselves to be great cowards. The odds were fearfully against us; two hundred Indians to six white men. We felt that we were but weakly protected, and we could expect no mercy from our inhuman enemy: we all knew that death or captivity was before us, and I had no idea that any of our company would escape them. The balls fell around us like hail. I lay in the grass with my little ones gathered close around me: as it was very hot and sultry, I tried to move a little distance from them, but could not get a foot away from them, for they would follow me. Poor little dears! they did not know how much they were destined to suffer, and they seemed to think if they kept close to mother, they would be safe. I could now hear groans about me in the grass, in various directions, and Mrs. Everett told me she was shot in the neck; and in a few minutes more, I was struck by a ball in the side. I told my husband I was shot. “Are you much hurt?” he asked. “Yes, I think I shall die,” I answered, “but do not come here, for you can do me no good; stay there, for you can do more good with your rifle.” I knew he could not come without being discovered by the Indians. Another ball soon struck me on the head, lodging between the skull and the scalp, where it still remains. I could tell when a ball struck any one, by the sound. My husband then said he thought he would move a little, as the Indians had discovered his hiding-place. He removed, re-loaded his gun, and was watching for a chance to shoot, when I heard a ball strike some one. Fearing that he was the one, I called to him, saying, “John, are you hurt?” He did not answer. I called again, but there was no reply, save that I heard him groan twice, very faintly. Then I knew that he was hurt, and thought I must go to him, but Mrs. Cook begged me not to go. I told her that he was badly hurt, and I must go to him. “Do not, for God’s sake,” said Mrs. Cook, “stay with your children; if you stir from that spot they will all be killed; your husband is dead already, and you cannot possibly do him any good, so stay with your children, I beg of you.” I took her advice and staid with them, for they were all I had left in the world, now, and I feared it could not be long before we were all to sleep in the cold embrace of death, like my poor husband!

The whites now made but little resistance, for the men were all wounded, and one of them killed. Three of the Indians now came from their skulking place, and began calling upon the women to come out. Mr. Everett answered them as he lay wounded in the grass. One of these three Indians was old “Pawn,” who had professed to be our friend in the morning, but who now proved to be as bitter a foe as we had. Pawn knew the voice of Everett, and, calling him by the name, commanded him to come out of the slough; Mr. Everett told him he could not, for he was wounded, and could not walk, and asked Pawn to come to him. Pawn replied, “You lie, you can walk well enough, if you want to.” Two of the Indians then fired into the grass, in the direction in which they heard his voice, and a bullet struck Mr. Everett near the elbow, shattering the bone very badly. He then told his wife to tell Pawn that he was killed: she boldly rose upright, in sight of the savages, and in the most melting and piteous tones, told them her husband was dead, and they had killed him. Pawn assured her that they would not hurt the rest of them; but that they must come out, for he wanted her and Mrs. Wright for his squaws. Mr. Everett, thinking that perhaps they could obtain safety by obedience, until they could make their escape, told her perhaps the best thing she could do was to go. She then called out, and asked me to go with her. I told her I could talk but very little with them, and asked Mrs. Wright to go, knowing that she could speak Indian. She agreed to go with Mrs. Everett, and confer with the Indians.