Tom’s little sally brought me to my senses, and when Luke returned from Mingo, he found us both in good spirits, cleaning up the mess. He had not seen the tornado, but he feared something was amiss, for on the way home, he had come across our little bench, sitting upright in the middle of the road, as if someone had placed it there for a friendly chat. He took it out of the wagon and returned it to its proper place, none the worse for its journey.
August 8, 1866. Amidons’.
At the last Sabbath services, Mr. Garfield solicited Luke’s opinion on how well the Fort Madison seed would perform on his land, which is on the river. Luke had planned to visit earlier but then delayed his plans, due to the damage caused by the whirlwind.
So not until yesterday did Luke issue an invitation to Baby and me to return with him to Garfields’, where the two men could discuss agriculture at their leisure. I did not worry so much about encountering another twister, for I am told they are rare and the season for them is over. But I did express fear of running into savages. Luke retorted that when he married me, he thought I was game. He said it was his belief that Mr. Bondurant was making mischief with his latest remarks about the Red Men. I am inclined to put more trust in Mr. Bondurant, but as there have been no other reports, and Husband seemed anxious for us to go along, I threw concern aside and replied that Baby and I would be pleased to accept his kind invitation for an outing.
The Garfields being our farthest neighbors, and knowing the trip would be a long one, I packed a picnic, which we enjoyed under the branches of a tree. The tree was dead, but we are not particular about such details in Colorado. Luke was in the best of humor and even paid me the compliment of saying that it was his opinion I “might be” the finest cook in Colorado Territory.
“And just who ‘might be’ finer?” I inquired, which brought a laugh and a rare hug from Luke. As he held me a moment longer, I could feel that private part of him stiffen and, without thinking, I laughed gaily, which shocked me every bit as much as it did Luke. I thought my response would draw a rebuke, but instead, a strange look came over his face, such as I had never seen, but perhaps that is because, heretofore, Luke has been aroused only in the dark of night, and so I have not observed his face. I think Husband would have demanded his marital rights under that dead tree had not Baby awakened and saved the day by demanding his rights to lunch.
The Garfields welcomed us with all the natural hospitality for which the Southerner is famous. Mrs. Garfield put her arms around me and kissed me on the cheek, and though I am not fond of such displays of affection from those I do not know well, I did not take offense, concluding this was the way of her people. As she did not know when we would visit, Mrs. Garfield had no refreshments but water, which we said would suit us fine. In this dry country, water is the most precious of all liquids.
Sallie (as Mrs. Garfield insisted I call her) made a great fuss over Johnnie, saying he was the best-behaved baby she had ever seen. When I responded that her own little Frederick must have been a fine baby, she said she did not know, as he was her husband’s nephew, given to them to raise as their own. His pa was killed in the war, and the sorrowing mother lost her wits and starved herself to death. Little Freddie nearly died, too, “for the niggers turned on him and did unspeakable things,” Sallie said. Such treatment weakened his mind and brought about strange outbursts. The three Garfields are all that is left of two large families, the rest being dead from effects of the War of Southern Rebellion. They came here to mend their broken fortune.
“I do not know why the Yankees could not leave us alone. They are vile meddlers,” Sallie said, not stopping to think Luke and I were members of that meddlling class. “O, I hate them. If it weren’t for the War of Northern Aggression and the price the North extracted for peace, we would be safely at home instead of in this hateful place.”
As one who had lost friends from childhood in that awful war, which was instigated by the Southerners, I found the President’s treatment of the treasonous Rebels not only generous but lenient. But it was not polite for a guest to respond in such a manner, so I sought a new subject. Looking about me, I remarked that the view from her door was as pretty as any I had seen since arriving in Colorado Territory.
“And how lucky we are that there is not a tree to spoil it,” she said, causing us both to burst into giggles. That brought us closer, and Sallie impulsively took my hand and said there was a place along the stream bank that reminded her a little of home. Nothing would do but that she should show it to me. Since the men were already in the field, sifting dirt between their fingers, as is their way, we did not ask permission, but took the two little ones and set off. Sallie’s spirits improved with the prospect of visiting her “secret dell,” and she fairly skipped along.
We two laughed about the hardships in this place, Sallie saying the women had to put up with everything the men did, and with the men, as well. I scarcely noticed how far we had gone, until I realized we were no longer in sight of the soddy. Just then, Sallie called out, “Here we are,” and she led me down a steep bank to the stream, which is as crooked at that point as a “Sherman necktie,” which is what the Southerners called their railroad tracks after the Yankees tore them up. The sight was indeed a pretty one, with scrub brush and wildflowers and a tasteful rock garden that Sallie had fashioned.
“Now, here is what I like best,” she said, removing her shoes and putting her toe into the water. I followed, and soon, we two, along with Frederick and Johnnie, were bathing our feet. Before I knew what she was about, Sallie splashed water on me, and I replied in kind, feeling carefree for the first time since arriving in Colorado Territory. Sallie was affability itself, and the day promised to be one of the pleasantest I had spent in this place.
As I wondered if Sallie would prove to be the friend for whom I have longed, a sound came from above, and, believing Luke and Mr. Garfield were searching for us, I proposed to play a game of hide-and-seek with them, putting a finger over my lips and pointing to a hollow in the riverbank. Sallie and Frederick took my meaning, and we hastened into our hiding place. I raised my head to ascertain whether the men had seen us, and there came a sight that chilled my blood—a long, deadly lance decorated with feathers. I grasped Sallie’s arm and pointed. We held the children close and pressed into the safety of the stream bank. The Red Men had not seen us, and I think they were making ready to leave when, of a sudden, Frederick darted up the bank and rushed them, hollering abuses. I do not know what caused him to do that—possibly his enfeebled mind thought they were the darkies who had harmed him. With not a thought for her own safety, Sallie followed. I started after her, but something—perhaps it was Providence—told me I would be of no aid and called me back to protect my own little one.
From that hiding place, I heard the shouts of Frederick and the pleas of Sallie, mixed with angry grunts from the rude children of nature, sounds so terrifying that I was unable to restrain myself, and I peeked out, to see six braves, their faces hideously smeared with paint.
Mr. Bondurant had told me that savages do not allow their children to cry, and these heathens seemed greatly displeased with Frederick’s outburst. One prodded the poor boy with his lance, while another struck him a blow. Such acts do not quiet a white boy, and Frederick only cried harder. One fiend raised his weapon as if to tomahawk the boy, but before he could do so, his companion grabbed Frederick by the feet and smashed his head against a boulder. I gasped aloud as the blood and gore rushed from the poor broken head, but the Red Men made such a racket, they did not hear me. Knowing what was in store for my own blessed babe should he awaken and cry, and that I could be of no assistance to Sallie, I crept back under the bank. Just then, Johnnie awakened, but unaware of the danger, he yawned and stretched out his little arms, and, mercifully, he fell asleep again.
For what seemed like hours but I know was only a few minutes, there was a great commotion above me, and I heard Sallie’s pleas for mercy. Then all was silent. The Indians mounted their ponies and were off. I scrambled up the bank, leaving Baby behind for his safety, in case the savages discovered me.
I was met by the grim sight of little Freddie’s broken body, covered with arrow wounds, for the Indians had not been content with bashing out his brains, but had added further insult. Mercifully, they had not taken his scalp. Perhaps it was too small. I looked for Sallie, calling her name, although I despaired of finding her alive. She was nowhere to be found, and with horror, I realized my poor friend had been snatched up and carried off, to be murdered or subjected to acts too vile to contemplate.
I removed Johnnie from his hiding place and keeping as low to the ground as possible to avoid detection (though how a woman in a red dress could not be seen in this terrible open prairie, I do not know), I ran toward the Garfield soddy. When it came into view, I opened my mouth to call for help, but I was too exhausted to make a sound. I dropped to the ground, gasping for breath. I lay there, facedown, for some minutes, until I heard a noise and was seized with fear that the savages had raided the soddy, killing Luke and Mr. Garfield, and that now they would aim their flying arrows at Baby and me.
Then I heard my name called and recognized the dear voice of my husband. Baby must have recognized it, too, for he set up a loud wail, and in a few seconds, we were safely in Luke’s arms, whilst I blurted out the details of the fatal outing.
Mr. Garfield was crazed with fear for Sallie and would have gone to her aid instantly had not Luke prevailed. “Six Indians against one white man? You’ll only get yourself killed, and Sallie, too,” Luke said in a harsh manner, which was intended to bring Mr. Garfield to his senses. “She’s safe for now. They wouldn’t have taken the trouble to carry her off if they’d planned to kill her. The best course is to form a rescue party.”
Mr. Garfield saw the wisdom of Luke’s words, and while he ran for his horse and weapons, Luke and I set off at once, Luke whipping the horses until we reached the Earley place, where, to my relief, I saw the welcome form of Mr. Bondurant. He knew by our speed that something untoward had happened, and he was beside the wagon before Luke brought it to a stop.
“Indians. They killed the Garfield boy and took Mrs. Garfield captive. Mattie saw it,” Luke told him. “Hurry, man. They may be on their way here.”
But Mr. Bondurant stood quietly, taking my hand between both of his. “Think you, Mrs. Spenser. What direction taken they? Did they cross the river?”
I thought a minute. “Why, yes. They must have. I heard horses splashing in the water.”
“I thought so. Did you get a good look at them?”
I shook my head. “When you have seen one, you have seen the whole. I could not tell them apart, and their faces were painted.”
“Was there a big one with a white stripe in his hair and a hooked nose, pushed to the side?”
I nodded, amazed that Mr. Bondurant could draw from me a memory I did not know I had. “His arm was drawn up, as if he’d been injured, and the wound hadn’t healed properly,” I added. “He had on a necklace of bones.”
“Boiled finger bones, they are.” Mr. Bondurant sighed. “Red Thunder. He’s a savage brute. His own people don’t have no more use for him than a damned cur dog. The army chased him halfway to the Missou, but he sneaked back through ’em. Him and his band of hostiles is cowards, and now that they’ve got a white woman, they’ll stay away from the settlements, prob’ly go back north. You ought not to worry, Mrs. Spenser. You’ll be safe here. Pay it no mind.”
Having barely made my escape from the Indians, I did give it mind, however, and told Luke that Baby and I would not stay on our homestead alone. By now, the boys had joined us, and Mr. Garfield was in sight, so it was agreed the Earleys would alert the neighborhood, sending all to the Amidon house, which is the nearest thing on our prairie to a fortress. The rescue party would leave from there.
Before nightfall, the women and children were safely sequestered at Emmie Lou’s, and the men were off, leaving to defend us only Mr. Amidon, who is too sick with the ague to mount a horse, and Mr. Smith, who is too sick with fear to leave this safe refuge. Nevertheless, Mr. Smith struts about and pronounces himself our “protector,” believing such work entitles him to sample all the provisions the women brought with them. He has the appetite of a poor relation and the greed of a rich one, and he complained that there was not more to eat.
“We don’t need more,” Emmie Lou said. “Our men will rescue Sallie tonight when the Indians camp. Why, she’ll be home before morning.”
“Ha!” replied Smith. “That goes to show, you don’t know the fiends. They’ll ride all night and tomorrow and the day after that, with the lady tied to her horse; that is, if they ain’t already tortured her to death. What an Indian’ll do to a white lady ain’t human.”
Missus said, “Do be quiet, Old Smith,” although she seemed a little proud of him, and confided, “Don’t he have a good time, though?” I quickly tired of his recital of unspeakable acts and was glad when Johnnie announced it was time for his supper. Emmie Lou invited me to make use of her bedroom, insisting that I should rest myself when finished. I tried, but my mind is too taken up with fear to sleep. So as I do not care to be further terrorized by Mr. Smith, I am recording the day’s events in my journal, which I snatched up during our brief stop at home.
As I pen these sad lines, I go back over my part in the terrible tragedy of this day and wonder if I chose the right course in seeking safety instead of going to Sallie’s aid. I know that such a rash act would only have given the Indians two more victims, Baby and Self. Still, is it fair that Sallie has no one of her own kind to share her ordeal? When I broached the subject to Mr. Bondurant and Tom, they said I had acted wisely. But myself, I am torn with doubt. Is life more important than principle? Are Self (and Baby) of more value than a friend? I am haunted with fear that I was called and found wanting, tested and proven a coward.