My name is, or was, Sandra Fields.

It was Spring 1855, or so, I cannot remember the year exactly but I just had turned 18.

With my father, a widowed Presbyterian clergyman, I was on the way from Charles Ville in the Mid West to a farm where the farmer’s wife was quite ill after child birth, and had asked to see my father. I wanted to keep him company and maybe nurse the woman, as I was an assistant to the town’s midwife. We were driving our horse-drawn cart, and on our way out we were attacked by a band of eight Red Indians, Comanche’s.

The savages were merciless. They ripped me my long black dress off, stripped me fully, and gang-raped me then and there, forcing my father to watch all that happened, before killing him.

I was tied on horseback, sitting up on our own horse, stark naked, fully exposed, my thighs spread. They took me with them to their camp at a four hours distance, parading me around, proudly showing off their naked raped captive to all men, women and children.

They then took me off the horse and tied me between two poles, standing, arms and legs widely spread, for all to look at up close and to touch and examine, as no one ever had seen a white, blonde-haired and blue-eyed woman before.

There was a whip hanging on one of the poles; it was used by several women who wanted to find out how a white girl reacted to being whipped.

The men and the adolescent boys were very interested in my full breasts; they helped themselves to handfuls of them, hurting me. Some of them abused me even more.

Later they untied me and branded me on my left thigh with a white-hot iron ……..I screamed …. I smelled my flesh burning and passed out …….

The revengeful savages liked to subdue a white woman. They forced me to do chores in the camp, keeping me naked all the time, as an animal, to be used in whatever way anyone fancied. That was to be my fate. The women shouted their orders at me and whipped me if I did not understand them, so quite soon I learned enough of their tongue to avoid that.

Once a warrior, called Riding In, whose woman had been killed by whites, tied me between the poles again and whipped me, harshly.

They gave me the name Woman called Pony, but they would shout “pale” or “pony” at me.

Often I had to wear a belt made of rawhide, with leather straps fastened to some kind of sled. My arms then were tied to my back tightly, pushing out my breasts, which pleased the males. The sled was used to transport things for the women in and around the camp. If the sled was heavy my walking was slow, and an old woman would encourage me with a whip until I walked fast enough. My legs soon became very strong and muscular.

They fed me leftovers from their meals or threw me bits which amused them greatly. The food was dumped on the ground here and there in the camp and I had to eat all of it with my hands tied behind my back. If I left something or if I failed to find it, I was punished.

I liked feeding time, as it was the only time I was permitted to move around in the camp on my own, even if I had to crawl on my knees.

I drank from the same trough as the horses.

During daytime I was used by the women, to do chores for them. At night I was to be a toy to warriors, even had to beg them to use me, as they would beat me if I did not do so. Sometimes I was used maybe a dozen times a night, in all ways possible. They taught me very well how to please them.

Having given up all resistance I almost always was climaxing during rapes as the animal I had become; my body had taken over. Climaxes became my only pleasure to look forward to; I needed them to survive.

My breasts became much firmer.

Most women were hating me, as their men preferred using me to making love to them; apparently the men did things to me they could or would not ask of their women. So I was whipped often by those hateful jealous females; sometimes my crotch and anus were bleeding after they had whipped me there. My voice constantly was hoarse because of my screaming.

During winter I was given an uncured hide and permitted to sleep inside a storage tent; the rest of the year I was to be naked and had to sleep outside, like all other animals. Soon my skin was as tanned as that of the savages.

To clean me they now and then threw me into the nearby river, with a rope tied around my neck.

When my first and my second bastard were born they took them away, I never saw them.

Then, after maybe two years, something happened that radically changed everything.

One day the chief’s woman, Keela, hitched me to the sled and directed my out of the camp into the direction of the river to fetch water, at about a 15 minute walking distance. On the sled she had put a number of vessels used for containing water. It would be a very hard job for me dragging the loaded sled back to the camp, up the slope, but the way out was easy and I could walk fast, even pulling ahead of Keela.

Close to the river I may have been some twenty meters in the lead, when I suddenly heard Keela cry out. I looked around and saw her lying on the ground, writhing and holding her left lower leg; it appeared she had been bitten by a snake.

I turned around and hurried back, dragging the sled behind me. When I reached her I saw her lower leg already discoloring and swelling. I could not use my hands, having them bound behind my back as usual, but, without thinking, I dropped to my knees and did the only thing I could do, sucking the wound in her leg. I had seen that done before, so I sucked and sucked, drawing blood and poison and spitting it out, sucking it again and again. Keela had almost fainted and was moaning softly.

After a while it seemed to me most of the poison had gone, but Keela was unconscious, and surely would die without help. So, using my teeth, gripping her leather clothes, I at last managed to get her on the sled, after getting the various vessels off, and I began dragging her back to the camp. Once she slid off the sled and I had to get her on it again.

At last I reached the camp and when we were seen there was quite an uproar. People carried Keela off the sled, into a nearby tent and the medicine man was alerted.

Some time later everything calmed down a bit and Keela, who had regained consciousness, was carried off to her own tent, looking to me, with a slight smile.

Then, some warriors and most of the women came to me, remained standing at a little distance and were looking at me for some time, silently, before turning away.

Two women then came to me, untied me from the sled and freed my hands. They took me to a smaller tent, at a little distance from the other tents. There they gestured me to sit down and one of them fetched a leather tunic like they themselves were wearing and indicated I was to put that on.

From that moment on I no longer was naked anymore.

Later one of them brought me a bowl of food and, when I put it on the ground, said to me: “You no longer are an animal, sister, please eat as the woman you are.” She was the first one to call me “sister”.

Sometime later I had managed to build a little fire in front of my tent, taking some burning wood from a nearby fire. When I was sitting there, chief Poolaw, whose woman I had saved, came towards me and, when I started to rise, gestured me to remain seated. He himself sat down, cross-legged, on the other side of the fire, saying nothing, just looking to me. After maybe a half hour, he said: “You saved my woman’s life.”

I said: “Yes chief, I did.”

He asked me: “Why did you do so? She maybe was the one who was the harshest to you, whipped you the most. And you could have escaped.”

I said: “Chief, she was a woman in need, badly hurt, I could not do anything else.”

He nodded, then said: “We treated you like an animal, not like a human being like us.”

“Yes chief,” I said, “but in my mind I never stopped being a human being.”

He nodded again, and was silent for some time, then said: “Welcome, Woman called Pony.”

I smiled to him, feeling greatly relieved.

He said: “You are free now, what are you going to do?”

I said him that I needed to think about that. He nodded, rose to his feet and walked off.

That night, the men did not come to me, they never did anymore.

A day later, a woman from a nearby tent invited me to come and sit in the circle of her family to join in their meal.

After that, and from that time on, I joined the other women, the same women who had been whipping me, sharing their work in and around the camp. They are treating me now, as they are treating each other, and we talk, like women are talking among each other. Often they are giggling among each other about their men, what they were doing with each other during the night. They are making gestures then, as if comparing sizes, but I am not sure about that.

When I had my third baby, I kept her, a lovely black-haired, blue-eyed girl. I called her Dorothy, “given by God”.

Once, from a distance, I saw a group of white traders. They camped outside the camp for a day and a night and did some trading with our people. I could see that their cart was pulled by five or six naked black pony-girls, being whipped without mercy. I shivered, imagining a life like that.

I am free now. I am not sure yet if I will remain here, with this tribe. After all, warriors from here murdered my father, and many did bad things to me. But then, my “own” race committed many atrocities to the Red Indians here too, sometimes much worse.

And, where could I go, my parents being deceased, no other relatives, no means of supporting myself and my little daughter, except the usual one for a single woman? Maybe I could build a life here, after all.

I have seen Riding In, the warrior, whose woman had been killed by whites, looking to me several times. He talked to me some days ago, and asked me: “Woman called Pony, what are you going to do, leaving here?”

I answered that I had not decided yet.

He said: “I am without a woman, your people killed her.”

I said: “I am not sure I belong to that kind of whites anymore, maybe I belong here.”

He nodded, then said: “If you stay here, you should not be alone.” He then walked off.

Riding In is strong, not bad-looking at all and when using me he never was cruel. He did whip me once, but that is not unusual here. When a man takes himself a woman, he will strip her, tie her between those poles naked and give her an initiatory whipping in public; it is a custom with this tribe. Maybe he then already was interested in me.

I have noticed that my body needs the attentions of a strong man now.

Then. today, something happened that made me make up my mind.

With two of my sisters I went to the river to fetch water. We were standing in the water, having some fun, with our tunics hoisted up, when we heard voices behind us. Soldiers, in blue uniforms, five white and one black, on horseback. We were deadly afraid, but could not flee. They were laughing, and pointed at me. The soldier in charge called to me: “Hey blondie, what are you doing here with those injuns?”

I answered that I belonged with them.

He asked: “Are you sure? We want to treat you as a white woman, but then you should come with us, after we have dealt with these bitches.”

I answered: “No, I cannot come with you, as I cannot leave my daughter behind. And please, do not harm my sisters.”

He said: “Your sisters, huh? So you turned injun, didn’t you? Then we will treat you as one, and we will give all three of you a sweet baby.”

The soldiers dismounted, chased us when we ran off, but easily caught us. They stripped us and raped the three of us brutally.

After they had used us, they rode off, laughing, taking our clothes with them, leaving us naked and crying.

We stumbled back to the camp, and told what had happened. The wsarriors were furious, and ten of them, including Riding In, set off on their horses in pursue of the soldiers.

Our sisters took care of us, washed us and cared for our hurts, gave us clothes.

Six hours later the warriors returned, grimfaced, one of them dead and two wounded. They had six horses with them, and the uniforms and the weapons of the soldiers, but not the soldiers themselves. They did not want to say how they had made them pay for what they did.

I have made up my mind. I no longer consider myself a white woman anymore; I now am Woman called Pony, a Comanche woman, so I will stay with my tribe, with my daughter Doro.

Maybe Riding In will whip me; I will welcome it.