eceive the rite, who did not do it
heartily to the God of Heaven, whose eye penetrated each of their
hearts. All, by an apparently hearty response, indicated their desire
to receive the rite on the proffered conditions. As soon as the
arrangements were completed, they came forward one by one, as their
names were called and were baptized into the name of the Father, Son
and Holy Spirit, while each subject stood with the right hand raised
and head bowed and many of them with their eyes closed with an
appearance of profound reverence. As each came forward to be baptized
one of the ministers addressed to him in a low voice a few appropriate
words. This was the substance of these personal addresses. "My brother,
this is a mark of God, which is placed upon you. You will carry it with
you while you live. It introduces you into the great family of God who
looks down from heaven, not upon your head but into your heart. This
ends your superstition, and from this time you are to call God your
Father. Remember to honor Him. Be resolved to do His will." Each one
responded heartily, "Yes, I will."

Gideon H. Pond then addressed them collectively.

"Hitherto I have addressed you as friends; now I call you brethren. For
years we have contended together on this subject of religion; now our
contentions cease. We have one Father, we are one family. I shall soon
leave you and shall probably see your faces no more in this world. Your
adherence to the medicine sack and the Natawe (consecrated war weapons)
have brought you to your ruin. The Lord Jesus Christ can save you. Seek
him with all your heart. He looks not upon your heads nor on your lips
but into your bosoms. Brothers, I will make use of a term of brotherly
salutation, to which you have been accustomed to your medicine dances
and say to you: "'Brethren I spread my hands over you and bless you.'""
Three hundred voices responded heartily, "'Amen, yea and Amen.'"

Chapter V.

It was 1884. Fifty years since the coming of the Pond brothers to Fort
Snelling--twenty-one years since the organization of the church in the
prison-pen at Mankato. One bright September day, from the heights of
Sisseton, South Dakota, a strangely beautiful scene was spread out
before the eye. In the distance the waters of Lake Traverse (source of
the Red River of the North), and Big Stone Lake (head waters of the
Minnesota), glistened in the bright sunshine, their waters almost
commingling ere they bega