keep me, considering my poverty. As a special favor, he agreed to give us one day’s board for a dollar. “Then,” said I, “I think I will go to Mr. Bauder’s, as he will keep us free and pay my stage-fare to St. Charles.” This being a degree of generosity beyond his conception, he charged me a quarter for my ride to his house, and, having paid him, I went to Mr. Bauder’s. In the evening, Mr. Bauder brought me twenty-five cents which he said was sent me by a blacksmith, who also promised that when I came again to Winona he would pay my fare. I do not know the man’s name, but I know he has a kind heart. Next morning Mr. Bauder handed me a small sum of money which he and others had contributed, and the stage agent gave me a ticket to St. Charles, so I was soon on my way. On the stage was a man named John Stevens, an artist by profession: he had learned of my misfortune, and asked me a great many questions. He had a panorama of the war nearly completed, and offered, if I would stay with him until he had painted some additional scenes of the Indian massacres, to give me the benefit of the first exhibition at Winona. He thought it would pay me well for staying, and said it would be about four weeks before its completion. I concluded to stay until that time, among my old neighbors, who, when I reached my old home, gave me a hearty welcome. While stopping near St. Charles, I was delighted to receive a visit from one of my old neighbors from Lake Shetak: namely, Mrs. Cook, who, I heard, had been taken prisoner by the Indians, and afterwards, released, with a great many other women and children. I was so glad to see her alive once more, that I threw my arms around her, and wept for joy. She related how she had escaped from her captors, and, though rather a long story, it may not be uninteresting here. She was taken, with the rest of the prisoners, to Mr. Ireland’s house, where a great many Indians were encamped for the night. The Indian who claimed her, told her to stay in the “teepe” or the Indians would kill her. They had a great dance that night notwithstanding the storm. Some one of them would jump into the ring, declare that he had that day killed a pale-face, and then proceeded to represent in pantomime the manner in which his victim had died. He would jump as though struck by a bullet, stagger around till he fell, groan a few times, and lie as though he were dead, while the rest joined in a demoniac dance with yells, whoops, and songs, around him. Then another would spring out and boast of his exploits, acting out the sufferings of the victims, and thus they spent the whole night, perfectly intoxicated over their banquet of blood. Their chief had been killed that day, so this night they chose old “Pawn” chief. Next morning they brought Lily Everett into their camp, so chilled and wet that she could hardly speak. Mrs. Cook and Mrs. Duly took compassion on her, wrapped her in a shawl and set her close by the fire. But the