engagement--or whether they considered we did not meditate flight, I
cannot say--but most certainly they neglected their guard that day.

Some of them came in as usual, but we were making tea, and they went
off. As soon as the coast was clear we left our tea, and all, and we
departed. Maybe they did not know which way we went, or perhaps they
were too much engaged with their own immediate danger to make chase,
but be that as it may, we escaped. It was our last night under the
lynx-eyed watchers. We went about two miles in the woods, and there
hid. So far I had no covering for my head, and but scant raiment for
my body. The season was very cold in April and May, and many a time I
felt numb, chill, and sick, but there was no remedy for it; only "grin
and go through." In the last part of my captivity, I suffered from
exposure to the sun. The squaws took all my hats, and I could not get
anything to cover my head, except a blanket, and I would not dare to
put one on, as I knew not the moment we might fall in with the scouts;
and they might take me for a squaw. My shawl had become ribbons from
tearing through the bush, and towards the end I was not able to get
two rags of it to remain together. There is no possibility of giving
an idea of our sufferings. The physical pains, exposures, dangers,
colds, heats, sleepless nights, long marches, scant food, poor
raiment, &c., would be bad enough,--but we must not loose sight of the
mental anguish, that memory, only two faithful, would inflict upon us,
and the terror that alternate hope and despair would compel us to
undergo. I cannot say which was the worst. But when united, our sad
lives seemed to have passed beneath the darkest cloud that could
possibly hang over them.

When the Indians held their tea-dances or pow-wows in times of peace,
the squaws and children joined in, and it was a very amusing sight to