They attacked and drove them among
the hills, and were pursuing them with great eagerness when they
heard shouts and yells behind them, and beheld the main body of
the Blackfeet advancing.
The second chief wavered a little at the sight and proposed an
instant retreat. "We came to fight!" replied Blue John, sternly.
Then giving his war-whoop, he sprang forward to the conflict.
His braves followed him. They made a headlong charge upon the
enemy; not with the hope of victory, but the determination to
sell their lives dearly. A frightful carnage, rather than a
regular battle, succeeded. The forlorn band laid heaps of their
enemies dead at their feet, but were overwhelmed with numbers and
pressed into a gorge of the mountain; where they continued to
fight until they were cut to pieces. One only, of the thirty,
survived. He sprang on the horse of a Blackfoot warrior whom he
had slain, and escaping at full speed, brought home the baleful
tidings to his village.
Who can paint the horror and desolation of the inhabitants? The
flower of their warriors laid low, and a ferocious enemy at their
doors. The air was rent by the shrieks and lamentations of the
women, who, casting off their ornaments and tearing their hair,
wandered about, frantically bewailing the dead and predicting
destruction to the living. The remaining warriors armed
themselves for obstinate defence; but showed by their gloomy
looks and sullen silence that they considered defence hopeless.
To their surprise the Blackfeet refrained from pursuing their
advantage; perhaps satisfied with the blood already shed, or
disheartened by the loss they had themselves sustained. At any
rate, they disappeared from the hills, and it was soon
ascertained that they had returned to the Horse Prairie.
The unfortunate Nez Perces now began once more to breathe. A few
of their warriors, taking pack-horses, repaired to the defile to
bring away the bodies of their slaughtered brethren. They found
them mere headless trunks; and the wounds with which they were
covered showed how bravely they had fought. Their hearts, too,
had been torn out and carried off; a proof of their signal valor;
for in devouring the heart of a foe renowned for bravery, or who
has distinguished himself in battle, the Indian victor thinks he
appropriates to himself the courage of the deceased.
Gathering the mangled bodies of the slain, and strapping them
across their pack-horses, the warriors returned, in dismal
procession, to the village. The tribe came forth to meet them;
the women with piercing cries and wailings; the men with downcast
countenances, in which gloom and sorrow seemed fixed as if in
marble.
