and this time they sent out three men with a horse and cutter to
look for him.

After traveling over the route for some time they came to a shack on the
Des Moines river, near where Jackson, this state, now is and in this
shack they found my father, badly frozen and barely alive. He lived but
a few moments after shaking hands with the men who found him. They
brought the body back to Mankato and he was buried out near our place of
residence, at the foot of the hill. The weather was so extremely cold at
that time that the family could not go out to the burial.

Later, after I was married, myself and husband came down to what is now
the central part of town for the purpose of buying a lot for building a
home, and we selected the lot where I now live, at the corner of Walnut
and Broad streets. We purchased the same for $487. We could have had any
lot above this one for $200, but selected this for the reason that it
was high. The country around us was all timber and we had no sidewalks
or streets laid out at that time.

At the time of the Indian outbreak I lived on what is now Washington
street, directly across from where the German Lutheran school now
stands. The Indians started their outbreaks during the Civil war. They
started their massacres in this neighborhood in July and August of 1862.
I can distinctly remember seeing, while standing in the doorway of my
home, a band of Indians coming over the hill. This was Little Priest and
his band of Winnebagoes. These Winnebagoes professed to be friendly to
the white people and hostile to the Sioux. They claimed that a Sioux had
married a Winnebago maiden, and for that reason they were enemies to the
Sioux. To prove that they were their enemies they stalked the Sioux who
had married a maid of one of their tribes and murdered him, bringing
back to show us his tongue, heart, and scalp, and also dipped their
hands in the Sioux's life blood and painted their naked bodies with it.

Mrs. Mary Pitcher--1853.

The old Nominee with a cabin full of passengers and decks and hold loaded
with freight bound for St. Paul was the first boat to get through Lake
Pepin in the spring of 1853. The journey from Dubuque up was full of
interest, but although on either side of the Mississippi the Indians were
the chief inhabitants, nothing of exciting nature occurred until Pigseye
Bar on which was Kaposia, the village of the never-to-be-forgotten Little
Crow was reached. Then as the engines were s