Alpena weekly argus. [volume] (Alpena, Mich.) 1871-1893, 1884-02-13

| ulu hilS. NuituOIHc lHlhH ltic lndl upOn
the remains of this unfortunate woman
were TO fall Richard Cart iorne's tears
they were to be inferred as the
mes of his wife.
In this harassed life of anguish and
isolation Mrs. Carthorne soon lost all
count of time. Day after day she rode
among her captors silent and despair
ing. When they reached their Indian
village all the squaws and pappooses
came out to meet the braves. The
Chief who had taken charge of Mrs.
Carthorne now handed her over to his
squaw. who received her with an ey-
pressive gIunt. The light indoor RAJ
ment in which she had been taken pris-
oner was now in rags The winter
was beginning to set in, and she suf-
fered from cold. The light slippers
were soon worn from her feet. These
the squaws replaced with mOccasins,
and an old blanket was given her.
Her long, black hair, uncombed, hung
down upon her shoulders like that of
the red women. After she had been
with them for some time they,
for some reason which she
never ascertaincd, stained her skin
with some decoction which likened
her complexion to their own. They
treated her like one OF themselves. She
had the same coarse fare, she wore the
same slovenly attire. Still she was their
prisoner, and they never let her out of
their sight. When they came in confer
ence with the whites she was more
zealously watched, and was never al
lowed to be seen by her countrymen.
So passed four dreary years. A stolid
apathy had overgrown her former
CHEEKY vivacity. She had learned to
speak the Indian language, and the
sound of her own mother tongue would
have been foreign in her ear. The last
English word addressed to her was the
cry of her murdered boy at the time of
her capture. Since then once, and only
once, had she heard paleface speak.
| The woman whom the Indians had
killed had cried aloud upon her Maker
as they dashed her to the tree.
Under all her stolidity the desire for
release burned keen and bright. There
was not moment when she was not on
the watch. She knew well that TO try
and fail would make her death certain,
with perhaps the addition of awful tor
lures. She was resolved that she would
make an attempt for freedom only with
| tho means of suicide in her hand. She
would never be retaken alive.
The day of her trial came at last.
They had been moving their encamp-
ment in the early winter, end the party
of women and children with which she
was were delayed and camped over
night in an open field. In the night a
heavy snow fell. Her location was such
that the snow driftcd over her, and when
morning came she was completely hid
den. She heard the Indians a they
searched for her and made ther plans
for her recaptrTe. They could not
understand how she could steal away
from them and yet not wake single
sleeper. There were no woods near
them, and they all agreed that they
could soon overtake the supposed fugi-
tive. They hurried their preparations
for departure, and finally went away,
leaving her in her snug hiding-place.
She was warm and she was not hungry.
She remained twenty-four hours longer
in her hiding-place. When she emerged
from her concealment her chances for
escape were so few that she almost re-
GREETED that she had not declared her.
self to the Indians and gone with them.
She knew the country all about her.
Her late life had made her senses as
!, keen as those of the tribe with whom
she lived. If she could only provide
herself with food and escape the In
dams, she would soon gain her old home
and be able to learn whether her hus-
band was alive or dead.
| Her first act was TO satisfy the crav-
| ings of her furnished stomach on the
remnants of the last meal of the Indians.
There was some dried corn split upon
| the snow in one place, and that she
carefully gathered and carried with her
when she began her journey. At the
end of the second day she was again
without provisions and without any
means or prospect of securing any.
With some threads taken from the fringe
of her blanket and some pieces of
wood she made rough trap and placed
in it her last REM ming kernels of
corn. Weary and sgigiy she then
fell asleep. In the Corning she found
the corn gone and the trap de-
molished. She regretted then that she
had not eaten the corn. She made but
little progress that second day Her
head was light and giddy. Strange
fancies oppressed her. She thought her
children were crying to her, and yet
knew not which way to turn TO find
them. That night she slept lightly and
dreamed continually of food. She
arose early and recommended her
tramp. There was slight possibility
that She might find some dead bird or
frozen animal. At length, while cross
ing river, she cspied some distance
away from her route an opening in the
ice. Her practiced eye recognized it as
| having been made by the Indians for
the spearipg of fish. Satisfied that
her enemies had passed that way, and
certain that they would not soon re-
turn, she sought the spot of their en-
campment in hopes of finding the re-
mains of their repasts. Not far from
| the river bank there was still standing
a wigwam. 1t was, however, de-
serted. So hastily had it been
vacated thas some half-cooked
cakes of corn were still among the
ashes. After she had eaten part of
these and secretcd the rest for future
consumption, she hid herself again in
the woods. She was now upon the trail
of few Indians who were in pursuit
of others of hostile tribe. Following
| them, she did not so much fear her
own pursuit. The next day she came
upon the body of dead Indian. This
was a most fortunate discovery for her
for the dead chief had all his weapons
about him. She took them from him,
and soon after had the satisfaction of
killing rabbit. From that time to
the end of her journey she never was
in want of food.
Through all her danger, her hard
ships, her toll she thought only of her
husband. She feared that he was dead,
but yet If it was true that he still lived
she counted all things as naught II she
could but regain his side.
| Even IL he had been seeking her all
this time she could not have known it,
so closely was she watched. She was
six weeks in making her way back to
New Ulm. Had not the rivers been
| a,I ,,aooaI,1n ho,.