She sat by them, with only moccasins on her feet, and
a blanket drawn over her shoulders and head, within which, and a shawl
she constantly wore, she nursed her poor baby on her knees. Her milk had
been gone several days, and the child was so emaciated and lifeless that
she scarcely expected at any time on opening the covering to find it
alive. Mrs. Graves lay with her babe and three or four older children at
the other side of the fire. The storm was very violent all night, and
she watched through it, dozing occasionally for a few minutes, and then
rousing herself to brush the snow and flying sparks from the covering of
the sleepers. Toward morning she heard one of the young girls opposite
call to her mother to cover her. The call was repeated several times
impatiently, when she spoke to the child, reminding her of the
exhaustion and fatigue her mother suffered in nursing and carrying the
baby, and bidding her cover herself, and let her mother rest. Presently
she heard the mother speak, in a quiet, unnatural tone, and she called
to one of the men near her to go and speak to her. He arose after a few
minutes and found the poor sufferer almost past speaking. He took her
infant, and after shaking the snow from her blanket, covered her as well
as might be. Shortly after, Mrs. Breen observed her to turn herself
slightly, and throw one arm feebly up, as if to go to sleep.
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