The Indians used great violence toward me, assuring me that if any further attempts were made to escape, my punishment would be accordingly.
They then promised to send a party out in search of the child when it became light.
Poor little Mary! alone in the wilderness, a little, helpless child; who can portray her terror!
With faith to trust, and courage to dare, that little, trembling form through the long hours of the night kept watch.
The lonely cry of the night-bird had no fear in its melancholy scream for the little wanderer who crouched amid the prairie grass. The baying of the gray wolf, as he passed the lonely watcher, might startle, but could not drive the faith from her heart.
Surely God is just, and angels will guide the faltering feet to friends and home. Innocent of wrong, how could she but trust that the unseen hands of spirits would guide her from the surrounding perils!
A Scene on the Third Night after My Capture.