tives in all directions. These Indian captives were subsequently tried, and, a large number of them being found guilty, were sentenced to be hanged. The final execution of the law, however, was only carried out on thirty-eight of the assassins. The damage done to that portion of the state which was the scene of the massacre, will not be recovered for years to come. For more than a month a large part of the population of Minnesota were fugitives from their devastated homes, and dependent on the charities of their distant neighbors, and of the generous people of other states for the necessaries of life.

Writers of the time give these shocking details of the massacre at the Aower Agency and vicinity.

The signal had been given, and almost simultaneously a thousand savage warwhoops rent the air. If massacre alone had been their aim, not one from the agency would scarce have escaped; but the horses in the barns, the plunder in the stores, and the hopes of finding whisky, largely diverted the savages from their murderous work.

Not many of the whites had yet left their houses, or even their beds. Some of the savages, having led out the horses, fired the barns. Others rushed for the stores and warehouse, shooting before them whomsoever they met, by the roadside, before doors, or behind the counters. The shelves were soon emptied, with the assistance of the squaws, who had followed for the purposes of plunder, and the spoil carried away to be quarreled over among themselves. Barrels were rolled into the street, boxes tumbled out, and the buildings enveloped in flames. Then they burst into the mission chapel, boarding-house, and other dwellings, tomahawk in hand. Some were hewn to pieces ere they had scarce left their beds; others received their death-wounds leaping from windows or endeavoring to

escape.

But who can tell the story of that hour? of the massacre of helpless women and children, imploring mercy from those whom their own hands had fed, but whose blood-dripping hatchets the next crashed pitiously through their flesh and bone-of the abominations too hellish to rehearse-of the cruelties, the tortures, the shrieks of agony, the death-groans, of that single hour? The few that escaped by any means heard enough, saw enough, felt enough to engage their utmost powers. Those that staid behind never told their story. From house to house the torch soon followed the hatchet; the flames enveloped alike the dead, dying and wounded. Tired of butchery in detail the savages fired a dwelling, and in it burned alive a mother and her five children; a few of their charred bones were afterward found among the ashes. Some escaped through back doors, over fields, down the side of the bluff to the river. Those fortunate enough got over by the ferry or otherwise hastened with utmost speed to the fort. Others hid among the bushes, in hollow logs or holes, behind stumps, or in the water. Maddened with unresisted success-for not a shot, not a blow had yet been aimed at them-with fiendish yells the Indians followed or sought new victims among yet unsuspecting settlers. The ferry was taken possession of, the ferry-man's house, the neighboring stacks, the mills, the piles of lumber, were set on fire. The ferry-man himself, tomahawked before his own door, was disemboweled, his head, hands and feet chopped off and inserted in the cavity. They overtook a boy trying to escape. Tearing off every thread of clothing, they pricked and pierced him with their blunt-headed javelins, laughing at and mimicking his agony till death came to his relief. Narcis Gerrain, as they entered, leaped from the millwindow for the river; ere he had reached it of three shots they fired at him two pierced his breast. He swam across, almost drowned. Four days he went without food, and after dragging himself, more dead than alive, through woods and swamps, for sixty-five miles, was found by a party of refugees and carried to Henderson. Passing a stick through both ankles of a woman, they dragged her over the prairie, till, from that alone, torn and mangled, she died.

Those who escaped spread the alarm. As they heard it the people fled precip

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itately, scarce knowing whither they went. After them the Indians followed throughout the entire line of settlements, over a frontier of hundreds of miles, committing such barbarities as could scarce be exceeded if all hell were turned loose. Not far from the agency a few families of settlers had congregated. The Indians overtook them. The first volley killed the few men among them. The defenseless, helpless women and children, huddled together in the wagons, bend ing down their heads, and drawing over them still closer their shawls. "CutNose," while two others held the horses, leaped into a wagon that contained eleven, mostly children, and deliberately in cold blood tomahawked them allcleft open the head of each, while the others, stupefied with horror, powerless with fright, as they heard the heavy, dull blows crash and tear through flesh and bones, awaited their turn. Taking an infant from its mother's arms, before her eyes, with a bolt from one of the wagons, they riveted it through its body to the fence, and left it there to die, writhing in agony. After holding for a while the mother before this agonizing spectacle, they chopped off her arms and legs and left her to bleed to death. Thus they butchered twenty-five within a quarter of an acre. Kicking the bodies out of the wagons they filled them with plunder from the burning houses, and sending them back pushed on for other adventures. They overtook other parties, killed all the men and children, and led away the young women and girls captive for fates worse than death. One family of a son and daughter, and their parents, received the alarm. Before they had time to escape they heard the war-whoop, and saw dusky forms approach the door. The father fired a shot at them through the window. Before he had time to load again the Indians broke in; the family rushed out by the back way, but before they had gone many yards the father, mother and son were killed. The daughter, seeing herself alone, fell likewise, and holding her breath feigned herself dead. The savages came up and commenced hacking and mutilating the bodies. Seizing the girl by her feet they began to drag her off. As she instantly made an ef fort to adjust herself, they took her and sent her back with the others they had captured. Only those that might serve their base passions were saved, the rest were shot down and butchered or tortured to death by inches.

One incident, if possible, more horrible than any other, was perpetrated on a member of the Schwandt family. All had been murdered but a son of Mr. Schwandt, aged thirteen years. He was beaten by the Indians until dead, as was supposed; but he lived to relate the entire incidents of the tragedy. This boy saw his married sister, Mrs. Waltz, who was enciente, cut open, the child taken alive from the mother, and nailed to a tree in the yard. It struggled some time after the nails were driven through it!

Mrs. Justina Kreiger, in her narrative, relates some shocking incidents. She was, with a party of others, men, women and children, fleeing with their teams, and for safety, to Fort Ridgely, when they were overtaken on the road by a band of Sioux, and most of them butchered. After relating how she saw her husband shot, she contin

ues :

I now determined to jump out of the wagon and die beside my husband; but as I was standing up to jump, I was shot; seventeen buckshot entering my body. I then fell back into the wagon box. I had eight children in the wagon bed, and one in a shawl; all my own children, or my step children. All that I then knew was the fact that I was seized by an Indian and very roughly dragged from the wagon, and that the wagon was drawn over my body and ankles. I remained on the field of massacre, and in the place where I fell until eleven or twelve o'clock at night, unconscious of passing events. At this time of night, I arose from the field of the dead, with a feeble ability to move at all.

I soon heard the tread of savage men, speaking the Sioux language. They came near and proved to be two savages only. These two went over the field examining the dead bodies, to rob them of what remained upon them. They soon came

to me, kicked me, then felt my pulse, first on the right hand, then on the left, and to be sure, felt for the pulsation of the heart. I remained silent, holding my breath. They probably supposed me dead. They conversed in Sioux for a moment. I shut my eyes, and awaited what else was to befall me with a shudder. The next moment, a sharp pointed knife was felt at my throat, then passing downward to the lower portion of the abdomen, cutting not only the clothing entirely from the body, but actually penetrating the flesh, making but a slight wound on the chest, but at the pit of the stomach entering the body and laying it open to the intestines themselves. My arms were then taken separately out of the clothing. I was seized rudely by the hair and hurled headlong to the ground, entirely naked. How long I was unconscious I can not imagine, yet I think it was not a great while; when I came to I beheld one of the most horrible sights I had ever seen in the person of myself. I saw also these two savages about two rods off; a light from the north, probably the aurora, enabled me to see objects at some distance. At the same time I discovered my own condition, I saw one of these inhuman savages seize Wilhelmina Kitzman, my neice, yet alive, hold her up by the foot, her head downward, her clothes falling over her head; while holding her there by one hand, in the other he grasped a knife, with which he hastily cut the flesh around one of the legs, close to the body, and then by twisting and wrenching broke the ligaments and bone, until the limb was entirely severed from the body. The child screamed frantically, O God! O God! when the limb was off. The child thus mutilated was thrown down on the ground, stripped of her clothing and left to die. The other children of Paul Kitzman were then taken along with the Indians, crying most piteously. I now laid down, and for some hours knew nothing more.

An interesting description is given of the Indian prisoners, by a gentleman who saw them at South Bend. He writes:

They are confined in strong log prisons, and closely guarded, not so much to prevent their escape as to secure them from the vengeance of the outraged settlers. They are the most hideous wretches that I have ever seen; I have been in the prisons of Singapore, where the Malay pirates are confined-the Dyacks, who are the most ferocious and bloody-thirsty of their kind—but they are mild and humane in their appearance, compared to these Sioux warriors. Quite an incident occured while I was there: A boy who had escaped, after seeing the murder of his mother and sisters, was brought in to look at the prisoners and, if possible, to indentify them. One of the friendly Indians, who had distinguished himself by his bravery and humanity, accompanied the party to act as interpreter. When we entered the log house that served for a prison, the captives were mostly crouched on the floor, but one of them arose and confronted us with a defiant scowl. Another, supporting himself on his arm, surveyed the party with a look like a tiger about to spring. The boy advanced boldly, and pointed him out without hesitancy. Subsequent investigation showed that this wretch had murdered eleven persons. The boy's eyes flashed as he told the sickening tale of his mother's murder, and the spectators could scarcely refrain from killing the wretch on the spot. He never relaxed his sullen glare, and seemed perfectly indifferent when told of his identification by the interpreter.

The closing scene in this fearful tragedy, the execution of the thirtyeight condemned, at Mankato, Friday, December 26th, is thus described. Several of them smoked their pipes during the reading of the death warrant; and but little emotion was manifested.

On Thursday evening the ordinance of baptism was solemnized by the Catholic priests present, and received by a considerable number of the condemned. Some of them entered into the ceremony with an apparently earnest feeling, and an intelligent sense of its solemn character. All seemed resigned to their fate, and depressed in spirits. Most of those not participating in the ceremony sat motionless, and more like statutes than living men.

On Friday morning, we accompanied the Rev. Father Ravoux to the prison of

the condemned. He spoke to them of their condition and fate, and in such terms as the devoted priest only can speak. He tried to infuse them with courage— bade them to hold out bravely and be strong, and to show no sign of fear. While Father Ravoux was speaking to them, old Tazoo broke out in a death-wail, in which one after another joined, until the prison-room was filled with a wild, unearthly plaint, which was neither of despair nor grief, but rather a paroxysm of savage passion, most impressive to witness and startling to hear, even by those who understood the language of the music only. During the lulls of their death song they would resume their pipes, and, with the exception of an occasional mutter, or the rattling of their chains, they sat motionless and impassive, until one among the elder would break out in the wild wail, when all would join again in the solemn preparation for death.

Following this, the Rev. Dr. Williamson addressed them in their native tongue; after which, they broke out again in their song of death. This last was thrilling beyond expression. The trembling voices, the forms shaking with passionate emotion, the half-uttered words through the teeth, all made up a scene which no one saw can ever forget. The influence of the wild music of their death-song upon them was almost magical. Their whole manner changed after they had closed their singing, and an air of cheerful unconcern marked all of them. It seemed as if, during their passionate wailing, they had passed in spirit through the valley of the shadow of death, and already had their eyes fixed on the pleasant huntinggrounds beyond. As their friends came about them, they bade them cheerful farewells, and, in some cases, there would be peals of laughter, as they were wished pleasant journeys to the spirit-land. They bestowed their pipes upon their favorites, and, so far as they had, gave keepsake trinkets to all.

They had evidently taken great pains to make themselves presentable for their last appearance on the stage of life. Most of them had little pocket mirrors, and, before they were bound, employed themselves in putting on the finishing touches of paint, and arranging their hair according to the Indian mode. All had religious emblems, mostly crosses, of fine gilt or steel, and these were displayed with all the prominence of an exquisite or a religieuse. Many were painted in war style, with bands and beads and feathers, and were decked as gayly as for a festival. They expressed a desire to shake hands with the reporters, who were to write about how they looked and acted, and with the artist who was to picture their appearance. This privilege was allowed them. The hands of some were of the natural warmth, while those of others were cold as ice. Nearly all, on shaking hands, would point their fingers to the sky, and say, as plainly as they could, "Me going up White Day told us it was Little Crow who got them into the scrape, and now they had to die for it. One said there was a Great Spirit above who would take him home, and that he should die happy. Thus the time passed during the tying of hands, and striking off the manicles.

At a little after nine o'clock, A. M., the Rev. Father Ravoux entered the prison again, to perform the closing religious exercises. The guard fell back as he came in, the Indians ranging themselves around the room. The Father addressed the condemned at some length, and appeared much affected. He then kneeled on the floor in their midst, and prayed with them, all following and uniting with him in an audible voice. They appeared like a different race of beings while going through these religious exercises. Their voices were low and humble, and every exhibition of Indian bravado was banished.

While Father Ravoux was speaking to the Indians, and repeating, for the hundredth time, his urgent request that they must think to the last of the Great Spirit, before whom they were about to appear, Provost Marshal Redfield entered and whispered a word in the ear of the good priest, who immediately said a word or two in French to Milord, a half-breed, who repeated it in Dakota to the Indians, who were all lying down around the prison. In a moment every Indian stood erect, and, as the Provost Marshal opened the door, they fell in behind him with the greatest alacrity. Indeed, a notice of release, pardon, or reprieve could not have induced them to leave the cell with more apparent willingness than this call to death. At the foot of the steps there was no delay. Captain Redfield mounted

the drop, at the head, and the Indians crowded after him, as if it were a race to see which would get up first. They actually crowded on each other's heels, and, as they got to the top, each took his position, without any assistance from those who were detailed for that purpose. They still kept up a mournful wail, and occasionally there would be a piercing scream. The ropes were soon arranged around their necks, not the least resistance being offered. The white caps, which had been placed on the top of their heads, were now drawn down over their faces, shutting out forever the light of day from their eyes. Then ensued a scene that can hardly be described, and which can never be forgotten. All joined in shouting and singing, as it appeared to those who were ignorant of the language. The tones seemed somewhat discordant, and yet there was harmony in it. Save the moment of cutting the rope, it was the most thrilling moment of the awful scene. And it was not their voices alone. Their bodies swayed to and fro, and their every limb seemed to be keeping time. The drop trembled and shook as if all were dancing. The most touching scene on the drop was their attempts to grasp each other's hands, fettered as they were. They were very close to each other, and many succeeded. Three or four in a row were hand in hand, and all hands swaying up and down with the rise and fall of their voices. One old man reached out each side, but could not grasp a hand. His struggles were piteous, and affected many beholders.

We were informed by those who understand the language, that their singing and shouting was only to sustain each other-that there was nothing defiant in their last moments, and that no "death-song," strictly speaking, was chanted on the gallows. Each one shouted his own name, and called on the name of his friend, saying, in substance, "I'm here!" "I'm here!" Captain Burt hastily scanned all the arrangements for the execution, and motioned to Major Brown, the signal officer, that all was ready. There was one tap of the drum, almost drowned by the voices of the Indians-another, and the stays of the drop were knocked away, the rope cut, and, with a crash, down came the drop. The cutting of the rope was assigned to William J. Duly, of Lake Shetck, who had three children killed, and his wife and two children captured.

There was no struggling by any of the Indians for the space of half a minute. The only movements were the natural vibrations occasioned by the fall. After the lapse of a minute several drew up their legs once or twice, and there was some movement of the arms. One Indian, at the expiration of ten minutes, breathed, but the rope was better adjusted, and life was soon extinct. It is unnecessary to speak of the awful sight of thirty-eight human beings suspended in the air. Imagination will readily supply what we refrain from describing.

After the bodies had hung for about half an hour, the physicians of the several regiments present examined the bodies and reported that life was extinct. Soon after, several United States mule-teams appeared, when the bodies were taken down and dumped into the wagons without much ceremony, and were carried down to the sand-bar in front of the city, and were all buried in the same hole. The half-breeds were buried in one corner of the hole, so that they can be disin terred by their friends.

Every thing was conducted in the most orderly and quiet manner. As the drop fell, the citizens could not repress a shout of exultation, in which the soldiers jointed. A boy-soldier, who stood beside us, had his mother and brothers and sisters killed his face was pale and quivering, but he gave a shout of righteous exultation when the drop fell.

The people, who had gathered in great crowds, and who had maintained a degree of order that had not been anticipated, quietly dispersed as the wagons bore the bodies of the murderers off to burial. Few, we take it, who witnessed the awful scene, will voluntarily look upon its like again.