me. The Indians
were there in great numbers. Many of them were from the far west and
these were much more uncouth and savage looking than any who lived
around us. Some of their women wore no garment but the skin of animals
which formed a skirt reaching from a few inches above the waist to the
knee and hung from the shoulders by straps. The Indians pitched their
tents on different terraces of the bluff some little distance away from
the white people's camp.

Daily the Indians had their feasts, dances and games of different sorts.
They seemed a little afraid to treat, were afraid of being wronged and
were very cautious. The commissioners were very kind to them and treated
them with great respect. They prepared for a great celebration of the
Fourth of July. The mission families, Hopkins and Huggins, were invited
to be present. Mr. Hopkins was asked to make an address and lead in the
opening prayer. He rose early that fair beautiful morning and went, as
was his custom, for a bath in the river. I made haste to prepare
breakfast for my family of seven. My youngest child was seven weeks old
that day. But the father never came back and the body was found three
days later.

There were four white women at the place at that time, Mrs. Huggins, the
wife of the other missionary, Miss Amanda Wilson, a mission school
teacher, Mrs. Chute, a fair, beautiful young woman visitor and myself.
We were just a short distance from the old crossing called by the
Dakotas, Oiyuwega, (O-e-you-way-ga) and by the French Traverse de Sioux.

In September I went back to my mother in Ohio with my three little
children. Mr. and Mrs. Riggs were going east, too, for a visit, and
again I journeyed with them. As there was a large party of us and the
American board which paid our expenses was not wealthy, Mr. Riggs
thought we ought not to travel first class, so we went in the second
class coaches. The seats were hard, like benches. My daughter, Sadie,
then two and a half years old, was taken sick and cried and begged for
water but there was none. I was in the deepest distress at not being
able to give the poor sick little thing a drink. In the night the train
stopped somewhere for water and a young man whom I could not remember
ever having seen before got off and bought a cup of water for
twenty-five cents and gave it to the poor, sick baby. If I have thought
of that young man once I have thought hundreds, perhaps thousands of
times of him and wished that