We insert a copy of this letter, which is sufficient to draw tears from the eye of any one who may read it.
“Kiowah Village, on the Washita River.
Saturday, November 7, 1868.} “Kind Friend
“Whoever you may be, if you will only buy us from the Indians with ponies or any thing, and let me come and stay with you until I can get word to my friends, they will pay you well; and I will work for you also, and do all I can for you.
“If it is not too far to this village, and you are not afraid to come, I pray you will try.
“The Indians tell me, as near as I can understand, they expect traders to come, to whom they will sell us. Can you find out by the bearer, and let me know if they are white men? If they are Mexicans, I am afraid they will sell us into slavery in Mexico.
“If you can do nothing for me, write, for God’s sake! to W. T. Harrington, Ottawa, Franklin County, Kansas—my father. Tell him we are with the Kiowahs, or Cheyennes; and they say when the white men make peace we can go home.
“Tell him to write to the Governor of Kansas about it, and for them to make peace. Send this to him, please.
“We were taken on October 9th, on the Arkansas, below Fort Lyon. My name is Mrs. Clara Blynn. My little boy, Willie Blynn, is two years old.
“Do all you can for me. Write to the Peace Commissioners to make peace this fall. For our sake do all you can, and God will bless you for it!
“If you can let me hear from you, let me know what you think about it. Write to my father. Send him this. Good-by!
“Mrs. R. F. Blynn.
“P. S.—I am as well as can be expected, but my baby, my darling, darling little Willie, is very weak. O, God! help him! Save him, kind friend, even if you can not save me. Again, good-by.”
| “Kiowah Village, on the Washita River. Saturday, November 7, 1868. | } |
Mrs. Blynn passed her time in drudgery, hoping against hope up to the morning of the battle, when General Sheridan’s gallant soldiers, under the command of General Custer, came charging with loud huzzahs upon the village.
Black Kettle’s camp was the first attacked, though all the village was, of course, aroused.
The heart of Mrs. Blynn must have beat wildly, mingling with hope and dread, when she heard the noise and firing, and saw the United States soldiers charging upon her captors.
Springing forward, she exclaimed: “Willie, Willie, saved at last!” but the words were scarce on her lips, ere the tomahawk of the revengeful Santana was buried in her brain; and in another instant little Willie was in the grasp of the monster, and his head dashed against a tree; then, lifeless, he was thrown upon the dying mother’s breast, whose arms instinctively closed around the dead baby boy, as though she would protect him to the last moment of her life.
General Sheridan and his staff, in searching for the bodies of Major Elliott and his comrades, found these among the white soldiers, and they were tenderly carried to Fort Cobb, where, in a grave outside the stockade, mother and child lie sleeping peacefully, their once bruised spirits having joined the loved husband and father in the land where captivity is unknown.
Surely, if heaven is gained by the sorrows of earth, this little family will enjoy the brightest scenes of the celestial world.