Roving bands of Indians
often used to camp near our home. We never enjoyed these visits, but
neither did we wish them to think we were afraid, so we never locked our
doors or refused them anything they demanded in the way of food. Often
my mother has fed a troop of those hideously painted fellows.

In those days the only means of communication between the settlers was a
messenger, going from house to house. The people of our community wished
to have some way of signaling each other in case of danger. So a number
of tin horns were purchased, each family being given one, with the
understanding that if a blast was heard from one of these horns, the men
would ride as fast as possible to the home giving the signal for help.
Among the settlers was an old German who was given his horn along with
the rest. After a few days, this old fellow became curious to know what
sort of a sound the horn would make. Not wishing to give any alarm, he
went into his cellar, thinking to be out of hearing, and blew a
tremendous blast to test the power of the horn. The effect was far from
what he had anticipated. The neighbors hearing the signal came from all
directions, expecting to find serious trouble. My brother, Nathan, with
his friend Will Fisher, mounted their horses as quickly as they could
and rushed to the scene. In about an hour the boys came back disgusted,
and what the settlers said and did to the old German, I leave to your
imagination.

This same German figured in another amusing incident. When my father was
building one of the roads in Brooklyn, he hired this man to work for
him. One Sunday morning the old fellow reported for duty. My father
informed him they did not work on Sunday. The man threw up his hands and
exclaimed "Mine Gott! is this Sunday? My ole woman is at home washing;
she tinks it is Monday too!"

I enlisted in '62 expecting our regiment would be ordered immediately to
the Army of the Potomac, but within a week after the formation of the
regiment, news was received of the Sioux outbreak on the frontier. We
were ordered to report at once to St. Peter where we arrived August 24.
Four days later we were hurried across country forty miles to Fort
Ridgely which was then in a state of siege. After a sharp skirmish with
the Indians, we drove them off on the second of September. We were
ordered to Birch Cooley, sixteen miles away. Capt. Grant, with his
command had been sent out to bury the victims of the Indian massacre,