Why the Federals allowed this formidable ram six weeks to be completed and armed at Yazoo City, within fifty miles of their own upper fleet, has thus far remained a mystery. On the fifteenth of August, Bill and Tim Ferguson, after an interval of several months, received the following letter from their father at Vicksburg:
“My dear boys:
“You have probably read or heard about the fighting that has been going on here. Your mother and I live in a cave now and we are getting used to the screeching and bursting of shells, which the Federal gunboats throw into the city. But now our one little iron-clad Arkansas has driven off both the upper and lower Federal fleet. Think of that! and last night your mother and I slept at home once more.
“You boys would like to see the Arkansas. She looks like a scow with an iron house boat built on it. The house-boat part has slanting sides in every direction. Captain Brown, her commander, built her at Yazoo City; Brown had thousands of railroad rails bent into shape and with these he completely covered her sides and where he could not use rails, he used boiler-plate. If we only had a few more Browns and Arkansases, we would soon chase the whole Yankee fleet into the canebrakes.
“Most people here are still very hopeful that no serious attempt will be made by Grant and the Northern fleet to take Vicksburg, but I fear they are mistaken.
“Our fleet was so hopelessly smashed at Memphis that we have only a few vessels left, while the Federals seem to have no end of gunboats and transports. It may be that the Gibraltar of the Great River can not be taken, but I feel sure that Grant and Sherman and Admiral Porter now commanding the Federal fleet above Vicksburg, are going to try it. When that time comes, Vicksburg will be a bad place to live in.
“Mother would like to send you some turkeys and chickens, but as that is impossible, she hopes that you may really enjoy the wild ducks and geese that you have written about.
“We are very glad that you are far away from this fearful and sad war and we wish you to stay north till peace has come again.”
The writer did not know that at the very time he wrote these words, two thousand Sioux were encamped on the Minnesota River, within a few hours’ ride of his boys, and were ready at almost any moment to rush into a war much more cruel than that being waged on the Great River, where only armed men fought against armed men.
CHAPTER IV—THE BREAKING OF THE STORM
Men who have lived outdoors and know the moods of nature fear the breaking of a storm that has been long brewing.
The Indian War which broke over the summery plains and valleys of Minnesota on Monday morning, August 18, 1862, swept over a large section of the State with the rush and fury of a long-brewing storm.
For several years the Sioux had been gathering a store of hatred and desire of revenge for real and fancied wrongs. On Sunday, the 17th of August, a few young Indians in an accidental quarrel with some farmers in Meeker county killed some cattle and murdered several whites. Under ordinary conditions this would have ended in the surrender and punishment of the criminals, but now it was the signal for three thousand Sioux warriors to rush into a carnival of murder and rapine, which swept over the frontier settlement as a tornado rushes through the forest.
At daybreak on the 18th, Black Buffalo knocked on the cabin of Trapper Barker.
“Get up, my friend,” he called, “the war has begun. You must flee, or you will be murdered.
“I have just learned that Chief Little Crow has told the warriors to kill all white people they can find, and the warriors have started in large and small parties in all directions. Some people at the Lower Agency, near the big Indian camp, have already been killed. Make haste, Mehunka, or you will be killed.”