And walk in sweet and pleasant ways.
“May the good Father of mercies ever protect and bless you; make the sun of happiness to brightly shine upon you, and may it never again be dimmed by stern misfortune! is the earnest and heartfelt wish of every person in this fort to-day.”
With deep emotion these words were spoken, and we felt convinced they were from the innermost depths of the heart.
How many affectionate, generous natures are among us, whom we can never appreciate until some heavy cloud drops down upon us, and they, with their cheerful words and kind acts, assist us to rise, and in hours of joy they are ready to grasp us by the hand, and welcome us to happiness?
Anxious for a re-union with our friends, and to be once more with my dear mother, we bade farewell to those who had shown us so much kindness and attention, and commenced our journey at daylight, to prevent the Indians, many of whom remained about the fort, knowing of my departure, as I was in constant dread of recapture.
Fort Sully is on the Missouri River, three hundred miles from Sioux City, by land, which distance we traveled in an ambulance. At all the military posts, stations, and towns through which we passed, all—military and civilians—seemed to vie with each other in kindness and attention. Those living in frontier towns know what the nature of the Indian is, and could most heartily sympathize with one who had suffered from captivity among them.
At Yankton I received particularly kind attention, from Mrs. Ash, of the Ash Hotel, who also gave me the information, elsewhere written, of the fate of Mrs. Dooley and Mrs. Wright. Here, also, I met a number of the Sixth Iowa Cavalry, to which gallant regiment I was under so great obligation. Dr. Bardwell, a surgeon of that regiment, who was at Fort Sully at the time the Blackfeet came in to make a treaty, and were sent off after me, and who, I had previously been informed, was active in measures tending to my release, was stationed at Yankton, and manifested the kindness of his heart in many ways.
At Sioux City, Council Bluffs, and St. Joe, crowds of visitors flocked to see the white woman who had been a captive with the Indians; and I was compelled to answer many questions. From St. Joe, we made all haste for Leavenworth, Kansas, where I was received by friends and relatives as one risen from the dead.
At last we reached our old home in Geneva; the home from which we had departed but a few months before, lured to new fields by the brightest hopes of future prosperity. Alas! what disappointments had fallen to our lot! But soon I was clasped in my dear mother’s arms, and all my sorrows were swallowed up in the joy of that re-union.
On the morning of our departure for the plains, she said (while tears of sorrow filled her eyes) that she felt as though it was our final farewell. Her fears were agonizing in my behalf. She seemed to have a presentiment of evil—a dark, portentous cloud hung over my head, she felt, that would burst upon me, and scatter dismay and grief—which too well was realized in the days that followed.