Boyhood remembrances of life among the Dakotas and the massacre of 1862

BOYHOOD REMEMBRANCES OF LIFE AMONG THE
DAKOTAS AND THE MASSACRE IN 1862.*

BY JOHN AMES HUMPHREY.

My father, Dr. Philander P. Humphrey, was born in Tor-
ringford, Connecticut, on the 26th day of February, 1823. My
mother, Susan Angier Ames, was born July 8th, 1829, and was
the only daughter of Horatio Ames, who carried on a large iron
manufacturing business in Falls Village, Connecticut. She was
a granddaughter of Oliver Ames of North Easton, Massachu-
setts, who founded the celebrated shovel manufacturing busi-
ness located in that town for many years, and which is still
carried on by the Ames family.

I was born in Falls Village, June 15th, 1850, and about two
years later my parents brought me with them to Minnesota.
They eventually settled at Kasota, near which then promising
village my father pre-empted a good farm of 160 acres. In
1857 he was a member of the Council in the Minnesota Terri-
torial Legislature. My brother, Jay Phelps, eight years younger
than myself, was born in Kasota.

Subsequently my parents determined, inasmuch as the
growth of Kasota had not fulfilled anticipations, to move to
St. Peter, which then seemed certain soon to be made the state
capital and to become a large city. A comfortable house was
built therefore in St. Peter (only the ground floor was actually
finished inside) ; and I well remember the day when it dawned
upon my childish mind what a struggle my parents had made
to clear the home from debt before they moved into it.
Watches, chains, and about everything they possessed of mer-
chantable value, had been sold to make payment for the house
in full. At that period actual money was scarce and difficult
to obtain, while land could scarcely be realized upon. How my
parents managed in those days to secure food sufficient for
healthful existence, is a problem which I have never been quite

♦Read at the monthly meeting of the Executive Council, March 14, 1910.

388 MINNESOTA HISTORICAL SOCIETY COLLECTIONS.

able to solve. Certainly existence is the right word for express-
ing what we went through. Gertrude, the youngest child of
my parents, a sweet baby very much like mother, was born in
St. Peter.

My father was educated at Oberlin College, and became by
profession a homoeopathic physician. Homoeopathy was not
the fashion then, and for that reason the money returns from
his practice were not what they should have been. As a mere
boy, much too young to understand the reason why, I remem-
ber harboring almost murderous feelings toward Dr. Catlin,
who practiced allopathy and appeared to be always on the go.
He kept two horses ; my father kept one. But for Dr. Catlin 's
son, about my own age and a schoolmate at the local district
school, my affection was unbounded, and we were fast friends.
It may be added, however, that it seemed that the harder a
doctor worked the poorer he became, for people really had not
money to pay even modest bills.

In 1860, through the split in the Democratic party and its
putting two candidates in the field for president of the United
States, the election by the Republicans of Abraham Lincoln for
that office was accomplished. It followed that Democratic
government officers were turned out of their comfortable berths
(which they had by long years holding become accustomed to
look upon as theirs by right), and Republicans were appointed
in their places. My father by this time had acquired real es-
state of prospective value, but was without what may be termed
working capital. He therefore applied for the position of gov-
ernment physician at the Lower Sioux Agency, twelve miles
above Fort Ridgely, on the south bank of the Minnesota river.
This he obtained in due course, and thereby became the re-
cipient of the munificent salary of $1,000 per annum, with a
comfortable house to live in, besides some very small perqui-
sites. For example, he was the postmaster, and in that way
increased his income by a few dollars. He removed his family
in 1861 from St. Peter to the Lower Sioux Agency. There we
lived in comparative peace and comfort for a little more than
a year.

Social life, one might say, there was none. My father, un-
fortunately for himself, was not a sportsman; he had no taste

LIFE AMONG THE DAKOTAS AND THE MASSACRE. 339

for fishing, shooting, boating, cards, or horses; he even could
not swim. He took an exceptional interest in politics, and held
such pronounced abolitionist views regarding African slavery,
when these views were decidedly unpopular even in the Re-
publican party, that, although a member of the Congregational
church, he ceased to affiliate with any religious organization,
because they would not take action on this burning question.
He was, however, a religious man to the point that by precept
and example he condemned the sale of, and indulgence in, alco-
holic liquor of all kinds, and also of tobacco. He defended
earnestly Christian doctrine in argument with German and
other infidels and agnostics of his time. His moral tone was
elevated, and his example was helpful in the community.

He had a hasty temper, and I, his eldest son, suffered the
most from it, especially during those months at the Lower
Sioux Agency, probably owing to the fact that there was no
suitable school for white children, so that I was obliged to
study at home and recite lessons to my parents, etc. Parents
often know more about bringing up children when their first-
born arrives, than after they have tried to bring up a number.
It is a dreadful thing to be the firstborn of the family. Per-
fection is expected from them.

My mother, by temperament, accomplishments, and the pos-
session of exceptional personal beauty, was qualified to grace
any position in society. Instead, however, of seeking by mar-
riage the position in life which reasonable ambition would seem
naturally to prompt, she chose for her husband the man she
loved, poor in this world's goods, but rich in high principle and
sound education. She entrusted to him her future happiness,
and hoped to assist him to secure an independence for them
both. Her father, rich at that time, practically disinherited her
for doing so. She become a loyal self-sacrificing wife and
mother, and spent her too short life solely for husband and
children.

The atheist, the agnostic, or the nominal Christian, can give
no reasonable explanation for the fate that befell this Christian
woman, and indeed the entire family, excepting one; and it
would be equally impossible for such persons to give any suffi-
cient reason why the eldest boy escaped with his life.

340 MINNESOTA HISTORICAL. SOCIETY COLLECTIONS.

My father read his books and newspapers ; discussed politics,
religion, and philosophy, that is, when anybody came along to
argue with him ; listened to my recitations ; and prescribed for
and gave medicine to the Indians, and visited them in illness
when called upon. It was true, however, of the Indians that
when they were seriously ill, that is, near death's door, they
chose the incantations and doses of their own medicine men.

I went to some of their "medicine dances" (so called),
where I suppose their most sacred rites were practiced ; and it
was a pitiful sight to see those dying from consumption and
other ailments brought and placed in a certain location, set
apart, supposed to be consecrated and thereby made efficacious.
Unwittingly upon one occasion I stumbled into this enclosure,
and I believe that only my youth saved me from instant death.
I was very roughly handled, and the expressions on the faces
of the Indians, together with the deathlike stillness that fell
upon the scene, unmistakably told me that I was in great dan-
ger. I visited their villages fearlessly, picked up much of their
language, was invariably treated kindly by them, and they
called me the "little medicine man." I can pronounce the
equivalent words in the Sioux language, but cannot write them
properly.

My mother was fully occupied with household duties and
care of the children. She even had to make my suits of clothes.
A servant was quite out of the question in that wilderness, even
if one could have been afforded. I had to be nurse for my little
brother and sister, and am sorry to say that I sometimes re-
belled. This was because after I had studied lessons and re-
cited them, sawed and split all the firewood (no* coal in those
days), looked up the cows (there were no fences), milked them,
taken care of the horses, carried all the water, built the fires,
etc., I felt somehow entitled to a little play. But I seldom got
it.

Sundays I often attended services at the Episcopal mission
close by. Rev. Mr. Hinman, the clergyman in charge, con-
ducted the service with the help of his housekeeper who made
all the responses. Mr. Hinman was married, but his wife was
an invalid and could give him little assistance. He was a pro-
tege of Bishop Whipple, who took great interest in the enter-

LIFE AMONG THE DAKOTAS AND THE MASSACRE. 341

prise and visited it. The many years of patient, self-sacri-
ficing labors of other missionaries, like Dr. Riggs and Dr. Wil-
liamson and their families, were rewarded with better results.
They gathered together a few genuine converts, who stood the
test when the days of trial came. But these missionaries were
overzealous in defense of the Indians subsequent to the awful
massacre of 1862.

As a race, I maintain that the Sioux Indians are cruel,
crafty, and treacherous, and utterly wanting in sense of grati-
tude for favors rendered to them. They would beg for and
accept help from white people, and would sneak back later, not
only to murder but to torture the generous donors and their
helpless women and children. It is idle to attempt to prove
that they were not responsible for their dreadful deeds. They
were quite intelligent enough to discriminate between white
men who had misused them and helpless women and children,
who were physically and morally incapable of doing so. The
simple fact that their defenders were willing to trust their own
lives, and the lives of those dearest to them, in their power, is
quite good enough proof for me that in their opinion the Sioux
Indian was responsible for his acts. Granting that he had been
badly treated by some palefaces, he knew that he was not jus-
tified in committing murder, and especially in outraging and
torturing them as well.

If the red Indian is a human being capable of understand-
ing the teaching of Christian missionaries, he must possess a
soul and the power of choosing good or evil. There has been
implanted in him belief in the existence of ''the Great Spirit,"
desire to worship him, and sense of dependence upon and ac-
countability to him. I quite believe that the Sioux Indians of
the period we are writing about knew beyond question that
killing human beings was looked upon by the Great Spirit as
the equivalent of what the word murder expresses to white men.

I knew the notorious Little Crow. He had the face of a
fanatic, the voice of a hypocrite (its quality was insincere),
and the bearing of a leader, but he did not impress one as being
the possessor of sound judgment. He was a dreamer and a
schemer. He overestimated his own ability and misled his peo-
ple. He had been given exceptional opportunities for acquir-

342 MINNESOTA HISTORICAL SOCIETY COLLECTIONS.

ing some adequate estimate of the relative strength of the In-
dians and the whites, but he utterly failed. He gave his people
oratory, but could not give them wisdom. Neither was he any
braver than the average of his race. He would not stand up
to an open fight, even when the chances were tremendously in
his favor. He ought to have easily captured Fort Ridgely, with
its decimated garrison and filled with refugees; but his tactics
of dodging behind trees and crawling in the grass, instead of
walking right in with the loss of a few of his braves, withheld
from him the prize and the prestige. I was there, and am quite
able to form an opinion.

There was freedom, and even grandeur, about my boyhood
life at the Sioux Agency. It was perfectly natural and health-
ful ; body and mind were sound. The atmosphere of unselfish
mother love surrounded me at home; and when I walked, or
rode abroad astride a noble horse, nature soothed and satisfied
me. The God of my boyhood was exacting and despotic, and
fear of the consequences of sin was always in my mind. How
much more delightful would have been this life, if his infinite
love and care for me had been taught me as well ! My condi-
tion would then have been ideal. To know that punishment is
remedial and not vindictive, think you it would have made any
difference? 0, the comfort of existence in this world in the
conscious presence of a personal God of love ! Such relation-
ship was intended for the child, and for him when grown up,
too.

At length, after a bright, restful Sabbath, the fateful Mon-
day, the 18th of August, 1862, arrived. My mother was ill in
bed, but had nearly recovered. I slept with my dear little
brother in an upper room. In the small hours of that morning
I could not sleep soundly; like a nightmare, apprehension of
impending disaster settled down. Shake it off I could not, until
in desperation I dressed and went downstairs. Talking about
premonition, I quite understand what the word means. Appar-
ently nobody else in the house was awake. I took the water
pails, and, quietly leaving the house, went a short distance to a
spring, with the intention of making journeys enough back and
forth to fill the tubs for the weekly washing. The weight of
my foreboding was so heavy upon me that I walked slowly and

LIFE AMONG THE DAKOTAS AND THE MASSACRE. 343

lingered when I got to the spring, expecting every instant to
see or hear something horrible. Leaving the spring and reach-
ing the top of the hill, I saw Indians in parties of three or four
hurrying into our small village from the direction of the en-
campment of Little Crow and other chiefs. These took up con-
venient points for observation at first. Soon I saw a teamster
approach a wagon, with his pair of horses. Then one party of
Indians ran to him and demanded them. He refused the re-
quest, when one of them emptied the contents of his gun into
his abdomen. His suffering was so dreadful to witness that
another Indian soon quieted him with the butt end of a gun.
This was the beginning of the outbreak at the Lower Sioux
Agency.

I immediately ran, as fast as my bare feet would carry me,
to our house. By this time father had dressed and was in the
surgery, and I said to him, ** Father, something awful is going
to happen." He replied, ** Nonsense," and kept on with his
work. I then begged him to step outside the house and look
for himself. He would not move. I then told him what I had
seen; not before would he move and show any interest. After
a good look outside, without saying a word he walked into the
house hurriedly and assisted mother to get up and dress. I
meantime looked after the children, and then we all walked out
by the back door, leaving everything behind. We started
toward the ferry, with intention of crossing and making our
way to Fort Ridgely. But father had been too slow. Those
precious minutes through his blind sense of security cost the
lives of himself, wife, and two of their three children.

"When we reached the ferry, it was to find the ferryman
gone and the then typical western flat-bottomed boat, which
was propelled across the stream by means of a rope and pulleys,
on the opposite bank. All the small canoes and row-boats were
there as well. Hopelessness was depicted in father's face, for
he could not swim ; and he had threatened me with punishment
such as I had never experienced (which was saying a great
deal), if he ever found that I had ''been in swimming." Oc-
casionally when my guilty eyes had noticed a searching glance
of his shot at me, I had felt that I wilted ; but congratulate me,
my hair was dry, and punishment was postponed. I had learned

344 MINNESOTA HISTORICAL SOCIETY COLLECTIONS.

to swim. There had been nobody to ''give me away," for I al-
ways sneaked off alone ; and I did nearly drown once, but the
fascination was upon me and I persisted. I now boldly plunged
into the river, swam to the other side, secured a small boat and
rowed back to them, and we all crossed in silence. Looking
back, I somehow feel that, after this exhibition of my skill, all
should have been allowed to escape. Had we been only those
few minutes earlier, all our lives would have been saved, for a
number of our neighbors who were ahead of us at the ferry
escaped to Fort Ridgely by wagon conveyance.

We were toe late and therefore now plodded on foot along
the main road toward the fort. The sun's rays soon beat down
upon us with such power that they began to affect my mother,
while the small children were unable to walk rapidly. When
we had covered probably two and a half miles, we stopped, for
by that time mother had become actually faint. We had no
breakfast, not even a cup of tea before starting. We then dis-
covered a path and at the end of it, only a few yards distant, a
cabin, which we reached to find it vacant, as its occupants had
fled. Until then we had neither seen nor heard Indians, and
prospects for escaping seemed to brighten. My father took
down a pail, and directed me to follow a footpath till I should
find the spring and to return with water. I secured water,
down in a ravine which proved to be well wooded, as was also
the pathway leading to the spring.

Returning a little more than half the distance, I heard the
crack of a rifle and listening presently heard the sound of
voices, both from the direction of the cabin. I knew we had
been overtaken, and debated whether or not I should complete
the return and try to help. Quickly I decided that my pres-
ence would be useless. Then I deposited the full pail a few
yards from the path, ran back to the spring, and from it ran
along the ravine. There I was hidden from sight, and could
make plans in comparative safety. I must have been alone an
hour or two, when I decided that the Indians would not have
waited longer in the expectation that I would return to the
family. Then I decided to carefully seek the open road toward
Fort Ridgely and below the cabin. In doing so I met the owner
of the cabin, Magner by name, who, accompanied by another

LIFE AMONG THE DAKOTAS AND THE MASSACRE. 345

man, was sheltering as I had been. I joined them, and before
long we venteured to the main road.

Looking down the road, we discovered men coming toward
us, who proved to be Captain Marsh with about fifty soldiers,
hastening to the Agency to quell the disturbance there, which
had been reported early in the forenoon by the first refugees
who had fled to the fort. Magner and his companion imparted
to Captain Marsh what information they had, and we all joined
the expedition.

This to me was a return journey, but I knew it was the
safest way to get a look at that cabin and learn the fate of our
family. To go there was the matter of only a few minutes.
The little force halted when the footpath was reached, and,
with Magner and a few soldiers detailed for the purpose, I ap-
proached the spot where the building had been. The murderers
had set fire to it, and the smouldering ruins which had fallen
into the cellar contained the mortal remains of my mother and
brother and sister. That was the first suggestion, as we all
stood there, and subsequent investigation (made a few days
later) proved that it was correct. My father's body lay a few
feet away. A bullet had pierced the center of his forehead,
and the fiends had cut his throat. His axe, a poor weapon for
such conditions but the only one he possessed, lay near him,
showing that he went outside the cabin and met them like a
brave man. How long I stood there, I do not know ; the shock
was so great that I became momentarily insensible to material
surroundings and saw only in spirit the scene of death, — truly
I was alone with my dead.

When I came to my normal self, every living person had
vanished, and I ran fast up the road to overtake the soldiers.
This had been their first introduction into the land of desola-
tion, which was extending rapidly. Soon the road descended
along the valley bluff which follows the north side of the Min-
nesota river. The sight of dead men, women, and children, now
became frequent all the way to the ferry which we had crossed
a few hours before. The effect was depressing, and the few
words spoken were in undertone. Those poor souls fleeing for
their lives had been shot down from the cover of underbrush
and tall coarse grass which grow rankly in these western river
valleys.

346 MINNESOTA HISTORICAL SOCIETY COLLECTIONS.

The ferry boat had been left temptingly on the north side
of the river, and Indians were in plain sight on the opposite
side, on the bluff which rises abruptly to the Agency. A parley
took place, through interpreter Quinn, between Captain Marsh
and the Indian leader. It is now apparent that the object of
the Indians was to induce Captain Marsh to send his force
across, and when the boat was in midstream to pick his men off
from both banks. Probably not a man would have escaped,
and, had the Indians who were hidden in the tall grass on the
side where we were not been too impulsive, I believe that their
plan would have succeeded. There was not a suspicion that
we were surrounded by them until they rose suddenly and
poured their fire across into us. More than half of our men
fell, and it seems a miracle that a single man escaped. But the
grass that had hidden them hid us, and those who lived were
led by Providence out of the ambuscade to a point not far down
the river. Captain Marsh was unhurt and escaped with a small
party of survivors. During the firing I had sat in an army
wagon on top of a barrel of provisions. When I saw the im-
mediate effect of the fire from the Indians and realized the po-
sition, I joined the survivors and made it a point to keep about
in the middle of them so that I should not fail to keep up. Sev-
eral soldiers did become separated from us in the confusion and
excitement.

Captain Marsh insisted upon crossing the river at the point
just mentioned, in opposition to the judgment of his men. He
was in command, however, and would have had his way had
he not entered the water first, considerably in advance of his
men, and drowned in midstream in sight of all. He could not
swim, and help did not reach him.

How it came about I do not know, but the party I was with
had now dwindled to perhaps ten or twelve men. We kept on
down the river, still on the north side, and about dark filed up
onto the bluff into the Fort Ridgely road. I think Magner was
with us. The poor fellows were tired, and having, as it seemed
to them, escaped from the jaws of certain death, became a bit
demoralized and relaxed their vigilance. Two of them dropped
their muskets, and were going on without them ; I picked them
up, and was trudging along, having a strong feeling within me

LIFE AMONG THE DAKOTAS AND THE MASSACRE. 347

that they might be wanted, when they took them from me with-
out saying a word. We reached the fort about midnight, and
then ended a long and eventful day.

I stayed during the siege, but will not give my experience
of it, as many others have written faithful and graphic ac-
counts. Final relief came when General Sibley arrived with
men and a long line of wagons loaded with provisions for the
besieged. This was a happy day for everybody. The wagons
were soon unloaded and filled \yp again with several hundred
refugees, who, in care of Mr. B. W. Smith, of St. Paul, with a
very small escort, started on the afternoon of the same day on
the return journey to St. Peter. I climbed in somewhere, and
reached St. Peter in due course unharmed. I went to the home
of Governor Swift, who lived across the street from my father's
house, where I was kindly received. "While there I struggled
hard with soap and water to get rid of some of the outside dirt,
but it was grimed in too deep to come off with one operation.

Leaving St. Peter, I walked to Traverse des Sioux and
stopped a night with the Mclntyres, who were old friends of
our family. The following morning one of them walked with
me to a spot where the stage coach for Shakopee passed, gave
me $1.50, and with his blessing boosted me up to the front seat
witE the driver, at the same time telling him briefly who I was
and something of my recent experience. A boy soon gains the
good will of a man who lives with horses, and we got on to-
gether famously all day.

When we came to the point where fares were collected, mat-
ters were put right for me by the stage driver and payment was
not pressed. But when we stopped at the hotel at noon for
lunch and I had partaken heartily along with the other pas-
sengers, I was stopped on the way out and payment was de-
manded. Having only $1.50 and a long journey before me, I
was economical of the truth and told the collector that I could
not pay him. When he had about exhausted his vocabulary of
profanity, he asked my name. This I was willing enough to
give him, and a gentleman who had been listening to the one-
sided argument ordered him to allow me to pass, stating that
he knew my father well, etc. I never learned the name of this

348 MINNESOTA HISTORICAL. SOCIETY COLLECTIONS.

kind man, but I was glad to get up on the coach again with my
capital still intact.

We reached Shakopee about sunset and drove to a hotel,
where all alighted and passengers for St. Paul were obliged to
stop for the night, as the steamboat to complete the journey
did not leave until the following morning. I walked to the
hotel counter, and when my turn came was asked what I
wanted. **A bedroom," I replied. Again I was in trouble; I
wonder that the man stopped to ask my name, when my style
of dress is considered, and that I did not carry even a small
parcel. But he did, and God had sent another gentleman to
stand there at that special time to hear it, and to explain that
my father was a personal friend and business customer of his.
His name was Mr. Howe, and his firm supplied my father with
drugs. So I was made comfortable, and when I left that hotel
in the morning the $1.50 still traveled with me. But I parted
with some of it for steamboat fare, for I knew that when I
reached William L. Ames, my uncle, in St. Paul, I should be
looked after and not need it.

You shall now hear what I wore when I presented myself
at my uncle's in St. Paul: a man's black soft hat (expecting to
swim the river, I had left my own hat and coat at the river
bank where Captain Marsh was drowned, and had replaced
both at the fort) ; a man's linen duster, which nearly swept the
ground; trousers (worse for wear, of course); a very dirty
shirt ; and a flannel band which my mother had fastened around
my neck for sore throat a day or two before the massacre. I
had one brace to hold up my trousers, possibly two ; but I cer-
tainly had no other clothing nor luggage on that day when I
entered the confines of civilization.

14

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