CHAPTER V.
THE CAPTIVITY.
A person never knows what he would do under conditions and circumstances never before experienced: a mother who would flee from a cow, would, to protect her child, fight a tiger without thought of her own safety; a timid deer that would flee from a baby, when its nature is changed by a serious wound will fight a hunter to death; a soldier’s nature becomes so changed in battle that he obeys orders like an automaton and in his efforts to kill men exerts himself until the sweat rolls down his face as it would down the face of a harvest hand mowing grass.
Sylvia and Rachel Hall, who in the peace of their home would faint at the sight of blood, had their nature so changed during the slaughter and mutilation of their dear relatives and friends that they viewed the scene with horror that almost paralyzed them and put them in a psychological condition of mental aberration.
The spell of lethargy was rudely broken when the girls were dragged off as captives, first to the creek, and, after Rachel had been pulled half way across the stream, then back again to the yard. There two Indians, each seizing one of Sylvia’s hands, and two others taking Rachel in a similar manner, hustled the girls northward along the easterly side of the creek. The girls were soon in unknown lands through which they were tugged on, and on, not knowing whither nor to what fate. Did they cry? Of course they did; strong men would have wept under similar circumstances. Did they pray? Yes; but their prayers were not like the Pharisee’s: they prayed with an intense feeling from the bottom of their hearts and with all the power of their souls. Were their prayers answered? Were they? Read on, read on!
After being hustled and half dragged about a mile and a half, they came to where a number of horses were tied in the edge of a grove. Here they met friends: horses belonging to their father and their neighbors. The horses pricked up their ears, looked at the girls and whinnied—returning the girls’ recognition. If the girls could have mounted two of these friendly animals that were bred in Kentucky they might have ridden to freedom; but it was not so to be.
The Indians put each girl on a pony furnished with an Indian saddle and led by a warrior. Thus they traveled on, keeping due north. After the sun had set the additional terror of darkness was enveloping them. Occasionally a night-hawk would break the awful silence by swooping down from his great height with his accustomed “Boo-oo-oo,” and a whippoor-will would add his monotonous whistle from a decayed log in the adjacent woods. Otherwise, it was as solemn a procession as ever moved to the grave, and only for the crack of his whip and an occasional “ugh” from an Indian there was little to attract attention until they passed a large grove on their left. The girls had heard of Shabona’s Grove. Was this that historical sylvan place? Would Shabona come to their relief? He had saved them and their friends before, and if it had not been for the obstinacy of Davis they would not have been in their awful predicament. But the chief, worn out and tired from his long wild ride of the night before and asleep in his tent, was unconscious of the passing of that strange and unusual procession.
Hour after hour passed as the girls rode along weary and heart-sick on that dark night, with nothing but the stars to light their way, and not a ray of hope in their hearts. The head waters of Indian creek and of the Somonauk had been passed and the source of the Sycamore was reached just as the moon was rising, 51 minutes after twelve o’clock.[16] Here the first stop was made and the girls were allowed to rest on some blankets on which they sat together, not daring to lie down to sleep. The Indians holding their ponies by the bridles, danced a little, but nothing was said that would indicate their intent, either as to the place of destination or what they intended to do with their captives. As the girls could not speak the Indian language or understand it, there was little medium of communication between them and the Indians. Their feelings of sorrow for their murdered relatives mixed with the uncertainty of their own fate, and their disheveled hair and soiled cheeks through which their tears washed courses, made them objects of woeful misery. Oh! if the girls could only wash their faces, which were stained with powder and the blood of their dear friends, or even in their sorrow comb each other’s hair as they had often done at their father’s cottage, it would have refreshed them, and, to some extent, relieved their distress.
[16] Washington Observatory Record; “Old Farmer’s Almanac,” 1832.
About half-past three o’clock in the morning of May 22nd, the girls were replaced on the ponies, the Indians remounted, and once more the train proceeded in its former order, with Indians before, on the sides, and in the rear of the girls. They passed groves, here and there, and hour after hour, with tiresome monotony, they moved along.
After the sun had lapped the dew, it grew very warm and Rachel became weary almost to collapse. She thought that if she could walk for a little while it would give her relief, notwithstanding her weak condition from fasting and worry. She did not know the language of the Indians, but necessity finds a way: she made signs of distress and indicated that she wanted to walk. The Indians understood her and assisted her from her pony. This little act of gallantry gave her the first indication of their human sympathy and inspired her with some confidence in their honor.