Massacre at Slaughter Slough

That it's romanticized is almost beyond question, don't you think? The fancy white horses, the chariot behind, the top hats, the ladies' Sunday-go-to-meetin' dresses--the whole thing suggests something almost courtly, Downton Abbey in Murray County. There are no smiles, and the woman driving is obviously pulling every bit of speed she can from the steeds. The dog is running, as are the gentlemen beside the fancy wagon.

Pardon my doubts. In 1862, I wasn't among them, but then neither was John Stephens, who committed this dark moment of Siouxland history to canvas. It's called The Flight, and its intent, no doubt, was to illustrate the drama and tragedy of the massacre--for a massacre is what it was--of the white settlers who had only recently put down roots in a string of homesteads around Lake Shetek, Minnesota.

What's remarkable, when you go to there yourself, is just how far it is from the string of log cabins that once stood along the lake shore, to the place where so many people died, a place still referred to as "Slaughter Slough," the place the survivors--a couple dozen pioneers--took what refuge they could from the bloody killing they wanted to badly to escape. 

"On the morning of August 20th, I arose and prepared breakfast as usual for my family, which consisted of my husband, myself, Mr. Rhodes, who boarded with us, and our five children." So wrote Mrs. John Eastlick, who lived to describe what she went through that day. In a matter of hours, no family was spared loss. Those who hadn't been killed took flight by way of the road east to New Ulm, fifty miles away. 

With the Dakota warriors in pursuit and gaining ground, they determined to hide as best they could in a slough, a low spot in the land with big blue stem tall enough to conceal them, a place that afforded little cover from the rifle fire that soon enough rained down from here, a high spot in the rolling plain. 

Fifteen white settlers--three children from the same family--were murdered in the fight that followed. Eight women and children were captured somewhere down the hill beneath the commemorative rock. 

In 1925, a monument was constructed over the mass grave of fourteen victims of the massacre at Lake Shetek. Visit the park sometime. You can't miss it.

Not so, however, with Slaughter Slough. Take the gravel--it's the only way, and you'll have to hunt to find it. When you get there, almost certainly you'll be alone. That's okay. Just stand out there above the slough and look over open miles of country, acres of it kept that way by the National Wildlife Refuge System, who maintains the restored prairie wetlands to benefit the waterfowl in the region. The silence all around is only fitting.

I honestly don't know what to do with our Slaughter Sloughs. Is there a statute of limitations on tragedy? How long should the county leave the makeshift monuments people erect along the roads to mark the places where loved ones died? What's the proper season for grieving? Shouldn't we finally forget the Holocaust? Who really cares anymore about the bloody murders of white homesteaders--or the thievery that characterized our own "Manifest Destiny"? So what if my ancestors took virgin land from those who lived there, believing those people weren't really human at all? That's almost 200 years ago. Ancient history.

Maybe we can't do better than visit once in a while, stop by Slaughter Slough and stand quietly in the company of sunflowers waving in incessant winds--and here and there hard-working shorebirds. Maybe standing out there some time and listening to the voices who still tell the story all around is what we all need to do, just get out there and listen. They're there. I swear it--they are.