ek of
such rare surprises. A strange chanting voice, like that of a herald
mingled with our day-break dreams. Had we been among the Moslems, we
should have thought it the muezzin's cry. It was all Indian to us, but
it was indeed a call to prayer with this translation in English:--

"Morning is coming! Morning is coming! Wake up! Wake up! Come to sing!
Come to pray."

Very soon, the sweet music of prayer and praise from the white teepees
on the hillside, rose sweetly on the air, telling us that the day of
their glad solemnities had begun. The great congregation assembled in
the open air. Pastor Renville, who as a little lad played at the feet
of the translators of the Bible into the Sioux language, and who as a
young man organized a counter revolution among the Christian Indians in
favor of the government in the terrible days of '62, presided with
dignity, baptizing a little babe and receiving several recent converts
into the church. A man of rare powers and sweet temperament is the Rev.
John Baptiste Renville, youngest son of the famous Joseph Renville. A
wonderfully strange gathering is this. Hundreds of Indians seated in
semi-circles on the grass, reverently observing the Lord's Supper.
Probably one-third of the males in that assemblage were participants in
the bloody wars of the Sioux nation. The sermon was delivered by
Solomon His-Own-Grandfather, who had taken an active part in the war of
1862, but was now a missionary among his own people in Manitoba. The
bread was broken by Artemas Ehnamane ("Walking Along"), who was
condemned and pardoned, and then converted after that appalling tragedy
in 1862. The wine was poured by the man whom all the Sioux lovingly
call John (Dr. John P. Williamson) who led them in the burning revival
scenes in the prison-camp at Fort Snelling in 1863. And as he referred
to those thrilling times, their tears flowed like rain. It is said that
Indians cannot weep, but scores of them wept that day at Ascension. One
of the officiating elders was a son of the notorious chieftain Little
Crow, who was so prominent against the Anglo-Saxons in those days of
carnage. As we partook of those visible symbols of our Saviour's broken
body, and shed blood, with this peculiar congregation, so recently
accustomed to the war-whoop and the scalp-dance, we freely mingled our
tears with theirs. And as our minds ranged over the vast Dakota field
and as we remembered the thousands of Christian Sioux, their Presby