Los Angeles Star, Volume 5, Number 49, 19 April 1856 — LosAngelesStar [ARTICLE]

OLIVE OATMAN, THE APACHE CAPTIVE

So much interest has bean manifested in the story of the captivity of Olive Oatman, that we visited her a few days since, when she gave us an intelligible account of her adventures, which is here embodied. This account we obtained only by asking questions, as her timidity and want of confidence prevented her from giving the details unassisted. Her faculties have been somewhat impaired by her way of life, but her friends assured us that in the short time she has been among them she has made very perceptible improvement. Olive has found good friends at the Monte, in the families of Mr. Ira Thompson and Mr. David Lewis, and is regarded and treated as a member of their families. The Oatmans started from lowa in company with the family of Mr. Thompson, with whom they trav ellrd together as far as Tucson, in Sonora, where Mr. T. resolved to lay by to recruit his cattle and wait for other trains to come up, so as to insure the safety of the road by numbers. But the Oatmans pushed on, impatient to get through, and wet their fate on the Gila about two hundred miles from the Colorado. While at Tucson the Thompsons had many opportunities of noticing the terror which the Apaches excited in the people. One evening a Spanish woman arrived in the village, saying she had just escaped from the Tonto Apaches,where she had been a prisoner. She related that a day or two before, the band returned to camp from killing and plundering a party of Americans, and also bringing in prisoners. She was left alone with the threat that if she attempted to escape she would be killed. That night while they were dancing tho war dance, she escaped and returned to Tucson. By comparing dates they were satisfied p this was the band that attacked the Oatmans. Inquiries were made at the time, but nothing could be learned concerning the captives. Olive is rather a pretty girl, with a skin as fair as most persons who have crossed the plains. Her face it disfigured by tatooed lines on the chin, running obliquely and perpendicularly from her mouth. Her arms were also marked in a similar manner by one straight line on each. The operation consisted in puncturing the skin and rubbing a dye or pulverized charcoal into the wounds. It was about sunset when the attack was made, which resulted in the capture of herself and her little sister, Mary Ann. Olive was thirteen, and Mary Ann seven years of age. The Indians stripped her of her shoes and nearly all her clothing— her sister had no shoes on at the time—and they started off with the speed of horses in a northerly direction into a mountainous region. They travelled all night without resting. At noon next day they stopped a few minutes to breathe, and then hurried on again until night-fall, when they came into camp. She thinks they travelled a hundred miles. She was barefoot, and the sharp stones lacerated her feet, and her blood sprinkled the whole distance. Whenever she lagged, they would come behind and beat her, to urge her on. Her sister soon gave out, but being small, the Indians carried her in her arms. The reason of their hurrying on bo rapidly, was fear lest they might be pursued. The clothes left ti her were worn out, and fell from her back in two weeks, and then she matted together the bark of trees and tied it around her person like the Indians. It was a slight covering, but it did not leave her entirely exposed. Among these Apaches Olive supposes they remained one year. At any rate, the same kind of season returned as that when she arrived. Time among the Indians is not noted. If they note it at all, it is only by moons. The country was mountainous, and barren of grass or timber. The Indiana live in the small vallies. The girls were treated cruelly by these Indians. They were overtasked, and when they could not understand what was said to them they were beaten. There was no timber nor running stream. The only fuel to be had was scattered sage bushes, and when it rained the water would collect in tho holes of the rocks, and these two little girls were compelled to pack all the wood and water from long dig- • lances upon their backs. They felt themselves to be slaves. .The Indians told them they should never see their friends again, and concealed them as much as possible. There was no snow, but they suffered from cold in the winter. The Mohaves and Apaches were friends and sometimes visited each other. It was during one of these visits that the Mohaves learned of the captives and offered to purchase them. The Apaches consented and received in exchange a few pounds of beads, two horses, and two blankets - They were ten days travelling, "like horses" as she describes it, to the Mohave villages,barefoot andd over a rough mountainous country, each day stopping a short time at noon to rest. She thinks they travelled 350 miles in a northwest direction. On this journey they eat nothing until the fourth day when they received a piece of moat about as large as her hand, and this kept them alive. There were no roots nor berries, and they dared not ask the Indians for food. The Indians would kill such

game as came in their way, but they did not offer it to their captives. She describes them as being too lazy to exert themselves to procure food, and only killing such game as change brought to them. Her days had thus far been dark, and she was almost ready to despair. Not an act of kindness, nor a word of sympathy or hope had been addressed to her by her captors, who treated her and her sister as slaves. Arrived among the Mohave, the Chief, whom she calls Espanesay, took them into his own family, and they were treated in every respect as his own children. Two blankets were given to them for covering ; food was divided with them ; they were not obliged to labor, but did pretty much as they pleased. Lands were allotted to them, and they were furnished with seeds, and raised their own corn, melons and beans as the Indians did. There is little or not rain at the Colorado, and the Mohaves depend on the overflow of the river for the irrigation necessary to germinate and ripen their harvests. Sometimes there is no overflow of the river, and much suffering follows. The Indians are too indolent to plant more than will suffice for their actual necessities. Three years ago there was no overflow, and a famine was the consequence, in which many perished. It was this famine that Olive suffered her greatest grief. Her little sister, Mary Ann, had endured all her captivity with her. They supposed that they were alone of their family ; they had suffered together the cruelties of the savages ; but they had not been separated. They could sympathise and cheer each other in their dreariness, and sometimes they would whisper together a faint hope of future redemption. But new came the trial. The child wasted away by degrees - she knew that she was to die, and talked calmly of death to Olive. She had no disease, but there was no food - and she wasted miserably in the famine that desolated the tribe. Olive herself was near perishing, but the strength of her constitution saved her life. She speaks of the Chief's wife in terms of warmest gratitude. A mother could not have expressed more kind hearted sympathy than did this good woman, whose gentle treatment saved her life. This woman had laid up seed corn to plant, and which even the dying groans of her own people could not make her bring out. When she saw Olive's distress, she ground this corn between stones, made a gruel and fed it to her, not reserving any even to herself. The Mohaves always told her she could go to the white settlements when she pleased, but they dared not go with her, fearing they might be punished for having kept a white woman so long among them, nor did they dare let it be known she was among them. She could not go alone, for she did not know the way, and she despaired for ever seeing her friends. Hope almost died within her. For three long years she mourned her captivity - though well treated she was restrained, for she knew not how to extricate herself. What were her sensations during all this time, must be imagined ; for she is not, as yet, able to express her thoughts in language. Before the arrival of the Indian messenger charged to release her, she heard his departure from the Fort, by an Indian runner. Her joy was great, but she forced herself to appear indifferent, lest the Indians should still restrain her. She had little confidence in their sincerity. when they gave her permission to leave them, because they refused to go with her, and they knew she cold not go alone. At length, Francisco, the Yuma, arrived with the requisition from Col. Burke for her delivery. The packet was examined by the Indians, but no one understood it. It was put into her hands to explain. It was written in bold, round hand, the letters being a third of an inch long. It was the first words of English she has seen for five long, weary years, and she could not restrain her emotions. The cold chill of Indian reserve seemed to melt away, and she saw before her mind the old home scenes ; and happy voices seemed to welcome her return. She readily deciphered the meaning of the rescript and communicated it to the assembled Indians. Accompanying it were six pounds of beads, four blankets, and some other trinkets, to be given in exchange. These were accepted, and the Chief told her she was at liberty to depart for her friends. Many of the Indians, however, objected to her going, fearing they would be punished by her captors. The Chief's wife, the kind woman who saved her life in the famine, cried a day and a night as if she were losing her own child, and then gave her up. With the guide she started for the Fort with a light hear, on foot as usual. She was ten days on the road, travelling with greater speed than ever before. This time the days were short to her, and so great was her mental excitement, than she knew neither wariness nor hunger. The trail was tortuous and rough, leading through mountains and gorges, and several times she was compelled to swim the Colorado. This time, too, her feet were protected from the sharp stones by sandals, such as are worn by the Indians. During all her captivity she does not remember to have seen a wild flower, or shrub. If there were any, her mind was so absorbed with her own misery, that she did not observe them. Among the Mojaves there is no food except what is raised - that is, corn, wheat, melons and beans. A few fish are caught from the river ; a small bulb, resembling a brodeia, is taken from the ground, which is boiled or roasted. This bulb is almost tasteless, and is found in such small quantities that a whole day is required to gather enough for a meal. There are no berries nor fruit trees of any kind. The Yumas and Mojaves are friends. Their manners, customs and dress are the same, and their lodges are build upon the same plan. Their language, also, is similar - they easily understand each other. The two tribes last year made war upon the Cocupas, and took several prisoners. - When they arrived at their villages the prisoners were killed, and the dead bodies suspended on a crucifix, while the whole tribe danced round the pole, singing and throwing arrows into the bodies. She converses with propriety, but as one acting under strong constraint; and she has not forgotten the instructions of her childhood. She reads well, writes a fair hand, and sews admirably; though in her captivity she saw no implement nor instrument of civilization. She is very ambitious to learn and spends most of her time in study.