Identifier: reminiscencesoff00hamm (find matches)
Title: Reminiscences of frontier life
Year: 1904 (1900s)
Authors: Hammond, Isaac B
Subjects: Frontier and pioneer life
Publisher: (Portland? Or.)
Contributing Library: The Library of Congress
Digitizing Sponsor: Sloan Foundation

View Book Page: Book Viewer
About This Book: Catalog Entry
View All Images: All Images From Book
Click here to view book online to see this illustration in context in a browseable online version of this book.

Text Appearing Before Image:
prisedby a band of warriors. We then ran back to the milkman and joining him,followed the trail of the reds for about a mile, where wefound a big buck cold and stiff. The milkman took hisknife and scalped him in true Indian style, after whichwe put the body on the running board of the engine andbrought it to the station, where it lay on the platformwhen the passenger train came in. The killing of the two Indians put a stop to the depre-dations for a long time thereafter. CUSTERS MASSACRE. (Written by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow on the massacre ofGeneral Custer In the Big Horn Mountains by Sitting Bull and theband of Sioux Indians.) In the desolate land and lone, Where the Big Horn and Yellowstone, Roar down their mountain path,By their fires the Sioux chiefsMtittered their woes and griefs, And the menace of their wrath. In the meadows spreading wide.By woodland and riverside. The Indian village stood.All was silent as a dream,Save the rushing of the stream, And the bluejay in the wood.
Text Appearing After Image:
Custers Massacre. 57 Revenge, cried Rain-in-tlie-faee,Revenge upon all the race Of the white chief with yellow hair.And the mountains daik and highFrom their crags re-echoed the cry Of their anger and despair. In their war paint and their beads,Like a bison among the reeds, In ambush the Sitting BullLay with three thousand braves,Crouched in the clefts and caves,. Savage, unmerciful. Into that fatal snare, The white chief with yellow hair And his three hundred menDashed headlong, sword in hand;But of that gallant band Not one returned again. The sudden darkness of death,Overwhelmed them like the breath And smoke of a furnace fire;By the river banks and betweenThe rocks of the ravine, They lay in their bloody attire. But the foemen fled in the night,And Rain-in-the-face in his flight. Uplifted high in air.As a ghastly trophy boreThat brave heart that beat no more, The white chief with yellow hair. Whose was the right or the wrong,Sing it, oh funeral song, With a voice that is full of t

Note About Images