Red Cloud, the Solitary Sioux: A Story of the Great Prairie

by Sir William Francis Butler

But the Sioux was now quite prepared for any movement of his enemies. The ice still held in the rivers, but each hour gave increasing symptoms of its disruption; great seams and rents had opened in it; in the central portion channels of open water were to be seen, where the current ran with immense velocity, escaping for a moment from the superincumbent weight of ice, and again vanishing beneath it. The ravines that seamed the plain were daily pouring down streams of water to swell the volume of the river, causing the ice to rise, and producing the rents and chasms already spoken of.

At last the change occurred. It was night-time. A great tremor seemed to vibrate along the entire surface; water sprang in innumerable places through the fissures; great blocks of ice reared up and fell crashing upon their fellows, and the mighty mass began slowly to move.

When daylight came a whirling volume of crashing ice-floe was seen, and the rapidly rising river told the story of a complete break-up along the entire channels.

The rafts held well to their moorings. A few hours more must settle the question of escape. The river had now risen to a height of seven or eight feet above its frozen surface, and soon it must begin to subside; then the larger ice would rapidly disappear. Red Cloud watched the water-mark; so long as the floes kept drifting, the water was rising, or stationary; when the floes would show stranded along the shores, then the time of subsidence had come.

At last the tide turned and the river began to fall. The ice in the little bay had been rent and broken, and the water rising, from beneath, had submerged it; the rafts were half floating.

And now began the work of loading stores: saddles, food, guns, blankets, kettles, and sundries, were ranged in carefully prepared lots upon the raft destined for them, and in an hour’s time everything was ready for departure—everything save the river; another block had taken place in the ice below the junction, and the pent waters were again beginning to rise.

Mid-day came, and yet the block continued; fortunately the rising water had ample room to spread itself over the low-lying grounds along the rivers, and the rise was not sudden. Still the danger of some huge block of ice being forced upon the rafts was considerable, and it was necessary to watch narrowly the rising tide, and to stand by the rafts, with poles ready, to keep them afloat in case of a rapid subsidence setting in.

The evening was drawing near. All day the Iroquois had watched the plain at the top of the point, from the screen of forest that fringed its edge. The Sioux and I had spent the time between this advanced post and the scene at the rafts, and the scout had stood ready with rifle and pole. Donogh and the Cree had charge of the horses. Dry grass and wood shavings had been piled inside the now empty hut, ready for the match; but still the scene remained unchanged—no enemy appeared; the river was yet blocked.

All at once there came a low signal-call from the Iroquois upon the ridge. Red Cloud and I rapidly ascended to the look-out point. The Iroquois had seen a strange figure emerge from a thicket half-a-mile distant, and disappear over the edge of the ridge. Then half-a-dozen others followed, one by one, and glided over the edge. The sight had been for an instant only; but it was enough—the enemy was at hand.