Would it not be better, thought I, instead of standing on one place and waiting for what may please the Indians, to attack and scatter them to the four winds? This was not simply the whim of an Uhlan, but an absolute need; for a daring and lucky attack might gain us great glory, which, spreading among the wild tribes, would give us safety for a long stretch of road.
Leaving behind me one hundred and thirty men, under the lead of the old prairie wolf, Smith, I commanded a hundred others to mount their horses, and we moved forward somewhat cautiously, but gladly, for the cold had become more annoying, and in this way it was possible to warm ourselves at least. At twice the distance of a gunshot we raced forward at a gallop with shouting, and in the midst of a musket-fire rushed, like a storm, on the savages. A ball, sent from our side by some awkward marksman, whistled right at my ear, but only tore my cap.
Meanwhile, we were on the necks of the Indians, who expected anything rather than an attack, for this was surely the first time that emigrants had charged the besiegers. Great alarm so blinded them, therefore, that they fled in every direction, howling from fright like wild beasts, and perishing without resistance. A smaller division of these people, pushed to the river and, deprived of retreat, defended themselves so sternly and stubbornly that they chose to rush into the water rather than beg for life.
Their spears pointed with sharpened deer-horns and tomahawks made of hard flint were not very dangerous, but they used them with wonderful skill. We burst through these, however, in the twinkling of an eye. I took one prisoner, a sturdy rascal, whose hatchet and arm I broke in the moment of fighting with hatchets.
We seized a few tens of horses, but so wild and vicious that there was no use in them. We made a few prisoners, all wounded. I gave command to care for these most attentively, and set them free afterward at Lillian’s request, having given them blankets, arms, and horses, necessary for men seriously wounded. These poor fellows, believing that we would tie them to stakes for torture, had begun to chant their monotonous death-songs, and were simply terrified at first by what had happened. They thought that we would liberate only to hunt them in Indian fashion; but seeing that no danger threatened, they went away, exalting our bravery and the goodness of “Pale Flower,” which name they had given Lillian.
That day ended, however, with a sad event, which cast a shade on our delight at such a considerable victory, and its foreseen results. Among my men there were none killed; a number, nevertheless, had received wounds more or less serious; the most grievously wounded was Henry Simpson, whose eagerness had borne him away during battle. In the evening his condition grew so much worse, that he was dying; he wished to make some confession to me, but, poor fellow, he could not speak, for his jaw had been broken by a tomahawk. He merely muttered: “Pardon, my captain!” Immediately convulsions seized him. I divined what he wanted, remembering the bullet which in the morning had whistled at my ear, and I forgave him, as becomes a Christian. I knew that he carried with him to the grave a deep, though unacknowledged feeling for Lillian, and supposed that he might have sought death.
He died about midnight; we buried him under an immense cottonwood, on the bark of which I carved out a cross with my knife.
