Our summer campaign now commenced. The Williamsons, father and son, with Titus, one of the Santee pastors, and myself, proceeded up the Missouri. We made a little stop, as we had done in former years, with the _Sechangoos_, or Brules, near Fort Thompson, preaching to them the Gospel of Christ. Some interest was apparent. At least, a superstitious reverence for the name that is above every name was manifest. "What is the name?" one asked. "I have forgotten it." And we again told them of Jesus. Our next point was the Cheyenne agency, near Fort Sully, a hundred miles above Fort Thompson, at Crow Creek. There we spent a week, and met the Indians in their council house. Our efforts were in the line of sowing seed, much of which fell by the way-side or on the stony places. And then we passed on another hundred miles, to the agency at the mouth of Grand River, where were gathered a large number of Yanktonais, as well as Teetons. This agency is now located farther up the river, and is called Standing Rock. Among these people we found some who desired instruction, but the more part did not want to hear. Our attempt to gather them to a Sabbath meeting seemed quite likely to fail. But there had been a thunder storm in the early morning, and out a few miles, on a hill-top, a prominent Dakota man was struck down by the lightning. He was brought into the agency, and before his burial, at the close of the day, we had a large company of men and women to listen to the divine words of Jesus, who is the Resurrection and the Life. It was an impressive occasion, and it was said by white men that many of those Indians listened that day for the first time to Christian song and Christian prayer. But that agency has since passed into the hands of the Catholics, and David, one of our native preachers, who visited there recently, was not permitted to remain. At this point--Grand River--our company separated. John P. Williamson and Titus returned down the Missouri, and Dr. Williamson and I took a young man, Blue Bird by name, and crossed over to Fort Wadsworth. On Saturday we traveled up the Missouri about thirty miles, where we spent the Sabbath, and where we were joined by a Dakota man who was familiar with the country across to the James River, and who could find water for us in that "dry and thirsty land." As we journeyed that Saturday afternoon, the day grew dark, the sun ceased to shine, our horses wanted to stop in the road. It was a weird, unnatural darkness--an eclipse of the sun. We stopped and watched its progress. For about five minutes the eclipse was annular--only a little rim of light gleamed forth. The moon seemed to have a cut in one side, appearing much like a thick cheese from which a very thin slice had been cut out. We all noted this singular appearance. The Dakotas on the Missouri represent that year by the symbol of a _black sun with stars shining_ above it.