Mr. and Mrs. Delaney were
a short distance ahead of my husband, I having my husband's arm. Mr.
Williscraft, an old grey-headed man about seventy-five years of age
came running by us, and an Indian shot at him and knocked his hat off,
and he turned around and said, _"Oh! don't shoot! don't shoot!"_
But they fired again, and he ran screaming and fell in some bushes. On
seeing this I began crying, and my husband tried to comfort me,
saying, "my _dear_ wife be _brave_ to the end," and immediately an
Indian behind us fired, and my husband fell beside me his arm pulling
from mine. I tried to assist him from falling. He put out his arms for
me and fell, and I fell down beside him and buried my face on his,
while his life was ebbing away so quickly, and was prepared for the
next shot myself, thinking I was going with him too. But death just
then was not ordained for me. I had yet to live. An Indian came and
took me away from my dying husband side, and I refused to leave. Oh!
to think of leaving my _dear_ husband lying there for those cruel
Indians to dance around. I begged of the Indian to let me stay with
him, but he took my arm and pulled me away. Just before this, I saw
Mr. Delaney and a priest fall, and Mrs. Delaney was taken away in the
same manner that I was. I still looking back to where my poor husband
was lying dead; the Indian motioned to where he was going to take me,
and on we went.
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