He had taken the skin peeled off a Chippeway who was killed in the battle, wound it around a stick until it assumed the appearance of a curl, and tied them over his ears.

Another child had a string around his neck with a finger hanging to it as an ornament.

The infants, instead of being amused with toys or trinkets, are held up to see the scalp of an enemy, and they learn to hate a Chippeway as soon as to ask for food.
After the battle, the mother of a Sioux who was severely wounded found her way to the fort.

She entered the room weeping sadly.

Becoming quite exhausted, she seated herself on the floor, and said she wanted some coffee and sugar for her sick son, some linen to bind up his wounds, a candle to burn at night, and some whiskey _to make her cry_! Her son recovered, and the mother, as she sat by and watched him, had the satisfaction to see the scalps of the murdered Chippeways stretched on poles all through the village, around which she, sixty years old, looked forward with great joy to dance; though _this_ was a small gratification compared with her recollection of having formerly cut to pieces the bodies of sundry murdered Chippeway children.
A dreadful creature she was! How vividly her features rise before me.
Well do I remember her as she entered my room on a stormy day in January.