After being cognizant of this frightful massacre, I shrank more than ever from my savage companions, and pursued my tasks in hopeless despondence of ever being rescued or restored to civilized life.
One day I was astonished to notice a strange Indian, whom I had never seen before, making signs to me of a mysterious nature.
He indicated by signs that he wanted me to run away with him to the white people. I had become so suspicious, from having been deceived so many times, that I turned from him and entered the chief’s tent, where, despite his cruelty and harshness to me, I felt comparatively safe.
I afterward saw this Indian, or rather white man, or half-breed, as I believe him to have been, though he could not, or would not speak a word of English. His long hair hung loosely about his shoulders, and was of a dark brown color. He had in no respect the appearance of an Indian, but rather that of a wild, reckless frontier desperado. I had never seen him before, though he seemed well known in the camp.
One thing that perhaps made me more suspicious and afraid to trust any one, was a knowledge of the fact that many of the Indians who had lost relatives in the recent battles with General Sully, were thirsting for my blood, and would have been glad to decoy me far enough away to wreak their vengeance, and be safe from the fury of the old chief, my task-master.
This stranger came one day into a tent where I was, and showed me a small pocket bible that had belonged to my husband, and was presented to him by his now sainted mother many years before. His object was to assure me that I might trust him; but such an instinctive horror of the man had taken possession of me that I refused to believe him; and at last he became enraged and threatened to kill me if I would not go with him.
I plead with him to give me the bible, but he refused. How dear it would have been to me from association, and what strength and comfort I would have received from its precious promises, shut out, as I was, from my world and all religious privileges and surrounded by heathen savages.
Soon after the foregoing incident, the old chief and his three sisters went away on a journey, and I was sent to live with some of his relatives, accompanied by my little companion, Yellow Bird. We traveled all day to reach our destination, a small Indian village. The family I was to live with until the return of the chief and his sisters, consisted of a very old Indian and his squaw, and a young girl.
I had a dread of going among strangers, but was thankful for the kindness with which I was received by this old couple. I was very tired, and so sad and depressed, that I cared not to ask for any thing, but the old squaw, seeming to understand my feelings, considerately placed before me meat and water, and kindly ministered to my wants in every way their means would allow.
I was with this family nearly three weeks, and was treated with almost affectionate kindness, not only by them, but by every member of the little community. The children would come to see me, and manifest in various ways their interest in me. They would say, “Wasechawea (white woman) looks sad; I want to shake hands with her.”