‘How tedious and tasteless the hours
When Jesus no longer I see.’
“I tried to sing, but could not get beyond the first line. But it did appear that visions of a bright world were hers, as with a clear, unfaltering strain she sang the entire hymn. She gradually sank away without much pain, and all the time happy. She had not spent a day in our captivity without asking God to pardon, to bless, and to save. I was faint, and unable to stand upon my feet long at a time. My cravings for food were almost uncontrollable; and at the same time, among unfeeling savages, to watch her gradual but sure approach to the vale of death, from want of food that their laziness alone prevented us having in abundance, this was a time and scene upon which I can only gaze with horror, and the very remembrance of which I would blot out if I could.
“She lingered thus for several days. She suffered much, mostly from hunger. Often did I hear, as I sat near her weeping, some Indian coming near break out in a rage, because I was permitted to spend my time thus with her; that they had better kill Mary, then I could go, as I ought to be made to go, and dig roots and procure food for the rest of them.
“O what moments, what hours were these! Every object in all the fields of sight seemed to wear a horrid gloom.
“One day, during her singing, quite a crowd gathered about her and seemed much surprised. Some of them would stand for whole hours and gaze upon her countenance as if enchained by a strange sight, and this while some of their own kindred were dying in other parts of the village. Among these was the wife of the chief, ‘Aespaneo.’ I ought here to say that neither that woman nor her daughter ever gave us any unkind treatment. She came up one day, hearing Mary sing, and bent for some time silently over her. She looked in her face, felt of her, and suddenly broke out in a most piteous lamentation. She wept, and wept from the heart and aloud. I never saw a parent seem to feel more keenly over a dying child. She sobbed, she moaned, she howled. And thus bending over and weeping she stood the whole night. The next morning, as I sat near my sister, shedding my tears in my hands, she called me to her side and said: ‘I am willing to die. O, I shall be so much better off there!’ and her strength failed. She tried to sing, but was too weak.
DEATH OF MARY ANN AT THE INDIAN CAMP.
“A number of the tribe, men, women, and children, were about her, the chief’s wife watching her every moment. She died in a few moments after her dying words quoted above.
“She sank to the sleep of death as quietly as sinks the innocent infant to sleep in its mother’s arms.