I took my children to go forth; but the Indians shot so thick that the bullets rattled against the house as if one had thrown a handful of stones.

We had six stout dogs; but none of them would stir.

A bullet went through my side, and another through a child in my arms, and I was made captive, having of my family only one poor wounded babe left.

I was led from the town where my captors halted to gaze on the burning houses.

Down I must sit in the snow, with my sick child, the picture of death in my lap.