Narrative of My Captivity Among the Sioux Indians

by Fanny Kelly

This train was immensely large, nearly the whole Sioux nation having concentrated there for the purpose of war. The chief’s sisters brought me a horse saddled, told me to mount, and accompany the already moving column, that seemed to be spreading far over the hills to the northward. We toiled on all day. Late in the afternoon we arrived at the ground of encampment, and rested for further orders from the warriors, who had gone to battle and would join us there.

I had no means of informing myself at that time with whom the war was raging, but afterward learned that General Sully’s army was pursuing the Sioux, and that the engagement was with his men.

In three days the Indians returned to camp, and entered on a course of feasting and rejoicing, that caused me to believe that they had suffered very little loss in the affray.

They passed their day of rest in this sort of entertainment; and here I first saw the scalp dance, which ceremonial did not increase my respect or confidence in the tender mercies of my captors.

This performance is only gone through at night and by the light of torches, consequently its terrible characteristics are heightened by the fantastic gleams of the lighted brands.

The women, too, took part in the dance, and I was forced to mingle in the fearful festivity, painted and dressed for the occasion, and holding a staff from the top of which hung several scalps.

The braves came vauntingly forth, with the most extravagant boasts of their wonderful prowess and courage in war, at the same time brandishing weapons in their hands with the most fearful contortions and threatenings.

A number of young women came with them, carrying the trophies of their friends, which they hold aloft, while the warriors jump around in a circle, brandishing their weapons, and whooping and yelling the fearful war-cry in a most frightful manner, all jumping upon both feet at the same time, with simultaneous stamping and motions with their weapons, keeping exact time. Their gestures impress one as if they were actually cutting and carving each other to pieces as they utter their fearful, sharp yell. They become furious as they grow more excited, until their faces are distorted to the utmost; their glaring eyes protrude with a fiendish, indescribable appearance, while they grind their teeth, and try to imitate the hissing, gurgling sound of death in battle. Furious and faster grows the stamping, until the sight is more like a picture of fiends in a carnival of battle than any thing else to which the war-dance can be compared.

No description can fully convey the terrible sight in all its fearful barbarity, as the bloody trophies of their victory are brandished aloft in the light of the flickering blaze, and their distorted forms were half concealed by darkness. The object for which the scalp is taken is exultation and proof of valor and success. My pen is powerless to portray my feelings during this terrible scene.

This country seemed scarred by countless trails, where the Indian ponies have dragged lodge-poles, in their change of habitations or hunting. The antipathy of the Indian to its occupation or invasion by the white man is very intense and bitter. The felling of timber, or killing of buffalo, or traveling of a train, or any signs of permanent possession by the white man excites deadly hostility. It is their last hope; if they yield and give up this, they will have to die or ever after be governed by the white man’s laws; consequently they lose no opportunity to kill or steal from and harass the whites when they can do so.