er saw a human being. We had our wheat ground and
started back. As I was walking beside the oxen while my husband slept, I
started up a flock of very young geese. I caught them all and they
became very tame. They once flew away and were gone three weeks, but all
returned. When we got home, we had a regular jubilation over that flour.
Twenty of the neighbors came in to help eat it. They were crazy for the
bread. I made three loaves of salt rising bread and they were enormous,
but we never got a taste of them.

The Indians were always kind neighbors. They learned evil from the
whites. The father of Inkpadutah used to hold my little girl and measure
her foot for moccasins. Then he would bring her the finest they could
make and would be so pleased when they fitted. The Indians always had
wonderful teeth. They did not scrub the enamel off. They used to ask for
coffee and one who had been to school said, "Could I have a green
pumpkin?" and ate it raw with a relish.

We had a carpet sack for stockings. An Indian orator used to look at it
with covetous eyes. One day he came in, laid two mink skins on the
table, took the stockings out of the bag and stepping right along with
victory in his eye, bore that sack away.

We lived on salt and potatoes for five weeks that first winter. We paid
$1.00 for three pounds of sugar and $18.00 for a barrel of musty flour
that we had to chop out with an ax and grate. That was in the winter of
'55. During the Inkpadutah outbreak, the soldiers ate everything we had.

During the outbreak of '62 we moved to Mankato. I belonged to the ladies
aid and we took care of the wounded and refugees sent from New Ulm. We
made field beds on the floor for them. One poor German woman went to
sleep while carrying a glass of water across the room to her husband,
who was wounded. She just sank down in such a deep sleep that nothing
could arouse her. I never could imagine such exhaustion. Old man Ireland
had sixteen bullet holes, but had never stopped walking until he got to
us. Mrs. Eastlake, that wonderful woman, was in this hospital. She was
the woman who crawled all those miles on her hands and knees.

Mrs. Nancy Lowell--1854.

I came to Faribault in 1854 and boarded at the hotel kept by the
Nuttings the first winter.

One evening I stepped to the door to throw out a washbasin of water and
saw a large dog standing there. I put the dish down and was going out to
call him. When my husband saw me going tow