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E LEFT the farm for a little while in the fall of 1861 and moved to Glencoe, McCloud County, Minnesota. This was, perhaps, in a worldly way, an unwise move for my parents, because we had young stock, cattle, horses and hogs that were sold at a sacrifice when they should have been kept to maturity.

     Wise men talked to my father about that, but he would not hear them. He declared that God had called him to preach and he was determined to do it. I am of the opinion, however, that the religion of Jesus, if we only have the wisdom, can be lived and preached without the sacrifice of everything that people need in this world. God says, "Godliness is profitable, having the promise of the life that now is, and of that which is to come."

      When my father got on his new circuit he found that the people stood aghast at his large family of six children.

      But father did the best he could and we never suffered for food. When we were nearly out of potatoes or meat, some of the brethren or sisters would come in with a new supply.

      It was while we lived at the latter place that the great Indian massacre of 1862 took place. That was in August.

      The Sioux in the southwestern part of Minnesota had been mistreated by the whites and, under such chiefs as Little Crow, they arose en masse and massacred many of the whites, burned and destroyed their property.. I shall never forget that Indian war.

      My father had only one horse and wagon, and with our family started in the direction of safety to St. Paul.

      We could see the houses burning, and it was a time of great terror. We didn't know but what the woods through which we were to pass were infested with Indians ready to scalp or torture us.

      As my father and I were walking along he asked me what I would do if the Indians should attack us. I told him I would do the best I could to get away. My father's question greatly alarmed me.

      There were two ladies whom I knew occupying positions as teachers near Fort Ridgely, Minn., who had a very thrilling experience. They fled for safety with a company of others, having put themselves under the protection of a noted Christian Indian by the name of John Otherday. He guided the company at his own peril safely through the dangerous country. This Indian saved the lives of the whole party.

      One incident that greatly impressed me was the tragic death of a man whom I knew very well. The state authorities wanted to get a message through to the soldiers at Fort Ridgely, and they asked for a volunteer to carry that message. A brave man, about 40 years old, and a splendid rider, volunteered this service.

      They picked out for him a powerful black horse, on which was placed a splendid saddle and bridle and, with the message in his pocket, he mounted and rode away. The distance, it appears to me now, was quite considerable. He was instructed to save his horse for the last grand dash to the fort. In the neighborhood of the fort was the place of peril, because it was surrounded by the redskins, who were armed to the teeth.

      When he reached the valley leading up to the fort he lay down on his horse and, plying whip and spur, made the run for his life, but they were ready for him. Though the black horse flew like lightning, horse and rider fell, pierced by a hundred bullets.

      The people said at the time that he was too brave a man to die.

      I shall never forget the closing tragedy of that massacre. In the winter of 1862-63, at Mankato, Minn., I saw thirty-nine of these men hung at once. They were

on a circular scaffold; they marched with steady step to their doom. The rope was attached about their necks and the white caps put on, and they danced and sang their death song until Mr. Ireland, whose family they had massacred, knocked the block from under them and they died.

      Their squaws stood a short distance off and watched them with faces unmoved and with undimmed eyes. I heard one woman say, who stood near, that if she could see as many more hung she would go home satisfied. I was then a little more than 12 years old, but I had seen enough.

      Today the Indians make us practically no more trouble; they are provided by our government with land and pensions.

FTER the events recorded in the last chapter my father took his family back again to the farm. The Civil War, which began in 1861, had, at the time I now speak of, reached its last and most exciting period. One incident, which I shall now relate, will never be effaced from my memory.

      In the latter part of August, 1864, my father, with many friends, joined the army. I had been greatly interested in the war from its beginning. I had heard the children older than I talk of it as we went to school.

      Some young men whom I knew came back on a furlough, wearing the soldiers' uniform. I heard them tell the story of battles and marches, but when my father went and we were left alone on the farm my interest deepened.

      We were so poor that we had no wagon for our horses, but we had a good team, and my father drove those horses out from our clearing to a neighbor's, who was to furnish the wagon, and away they went to join the army. I shall never forget my feelings as my father drove out of sight, and just before we saw him for the last moment he waved his hand to us as we stood in the door. It was a sad parting and we knew not what the future had for us. People can hardly understand at this day the wonderful interest that was everywhere manifested by the people during those days of the great rebellion.

      I can remember going to the postoffice in those days when a man on horseback, with the animal on a swift canter, carried the mail-bag. People watched for his coming more than they would for some great personage, and the letters which he brought contained the news of life and death.

      Abraham Lincoln had called for 300,000 men, and they answered from every part of our land, "We are coming, Father Abraham, 300,000 more."

      I can never forget the wonderful love that the people had for Abraham Lincoln; it was unlike anything I have ever since seen. He was evidently a man called of God to save the nation and the people looked upon him so. Some hated, but many of the people fairly worshipped him. In my short life I have seen three presidents assassinated, but I never saw a nation really mourn but once; people wept as for an only son.

      My father enlisted in the army at Fort Snelling, near St. Paul, and was sent with other recruits to the front at once. He was assigned to the Fourth Minnesota, then encamped at Altoona Pass. He had not been long in his new position when a terrific battle came on. My father says:

      "General Hood with his starved army made a desperate attack on the troops at Altoona Pass. It was here that Sherman's stores were held preparatory to his march to the sea.

      "The southerners were hungry and fought as only hungry men could fight. This was in the month of October, 1864. Hood was making his raid in northern Georgia toward Nashville. Altoona Pass had about 1,200 men, while Hood's army numbered 7,000.

      "They made their attack about midnight on our skirmish line. They drove in our pickets and got into position before our men were called out to man the trenches. The boys in blue were given to understand that there was to be hot work.

      "While standing in the trenches and waiting for orders I thought of my Testament. It was a nice book, covered with red morocco, that I had bought in St. Paul; but to my sorrow I found I had left it in my tent and was deeply impressed that I ought to go and get it.

      "Giving my gun to my comrade, I went to get it and placed it in my blouse in my left breast pocket. Then my mind became easy on that subject and I thought no more of it as the battle was just commencing and every man had his hands full.

      "The rebel general had promised his men a good breakfast as soon as they captured the fort. There was a large amount of hardtack, pork and all other things to satisfy a hungry man, and the rebels wanted the food.

      "The battle extended nearly around the fort. They pressed up from every side to the top of the hill. 1 loaded and fired as fast as I could; everything else was forgotten in the deadly interest of the hour. In the midst of the fight I felt a peculiar sensation in my left breast and knew I was hit. I saw at a glance a piece of the red cover of the Testament on the outside of my coat. The ball had struck near the top of the book, cutting half way through it and turned, carrying a bit of the book with it. The bullet made two holes in my coat, one on the left where it entered and the other on the right where it came out. I then could understand why I had forgotten to take my Testament, which had been left at home, but which would have been too short to have caught the bullet. Then I could see very plainly why I was so deeply impressed to get the Testament after I had taken my place in the line of battle. God had shielded me. Is it not true, as the Scripture says, 'Not a sparrow falleth to the ground without His notice.' "

      When my father came home from the war he brought the blouse that he had worn in the battle with the two holes in it, and we children, being a little short of clothes, wore it out on the farm. If I had that blouse today 1 would not take $100 for it.

      He also brought home with him a chestnut sorrel mare, a horse of fine stock and great spirit. She had been

captured at Nashville, Tenn., from the rebel army, and was first owned by the surgeon of the Fourth Minnesota, from whom my father bought her. She was the finest saddle horse I ever saw.

      I well remember when peace was declared over this great nation; how happy we all were to think the boys were coming back!

      It was a great question with the people at that time whether a great army such as we then had could quietly disband and take up the pursuits of a quiet life. But there was no trouble on that score.

      After the fighting ceased the troops were ordered to pass in grand review at Washington. My father states he was there and rode a large white horse, as he was at that time chaplain of the Fourth Minnesota and ranked as an officer. He declared that was the only time he was ever proud; but he was proud that day, as well as grateful to God.

      After that he, with the rest of the great army, was mustered out and came back to their wives and children and sweethearts in the north. Such a thing had, perhaps, never occurred in the memory of civilized man. A vast army engaged in the destruction of their fellows laid down their arms when the conflict was settled and engaged in the occupations of peace.

      And now, in the past few weeks, the Blue and the Gray have met on those very fields of carnage and death; have shaken hands on the very ground where they, fifty years ago, destroyed each other. Will the time not come in the near future when we shall lean war no more? May God grant it.

URING my early life in Ohio I was taught about God by my parents, and I was taught to pray the prayers of childhood and was taken to Sunday School. I can remember very clearly my first Sunday School teacher; her name was Mrs. Bell. I can remember the little clothes I wore. Who can tell the power of early impressions?

      Some object to children taking active, decided steps in the way of seeking God and uniting with the church. In my judgment they make a great mistake. The most sincere, sensible Christians, as a rule, are those that make an early start for heaven. There is no need of sowing oats with the expectation of reaping wheat. I never sowed any wild oats and never reaped any--nor shall I.

      When I was 7 years old I remember of marching in a Sunday School procession as clearly as if it were yesterday, and at an early age I had clear and decided impressions of God, of my relations to Him and of my duty toward Him. As early as my eighth year I had a decided call to the ministry; this was on our farm in Minnesota. I had a very remarkable experience in the summer of 1858. The spirit of God came to me in a most wonderful way. He talked to me and made me understand that I should be a Christian; that I should serve God all my days; and He impressed me that my life was to be out of the ordinary (and it has been); that I was to shun the sins and vices of ordinary men; that I was to live a Godly life and that I was to be a minister. I thought at the time, so deep and so solemn were my impressions, that I wouldn't live; that I was to die. The interview I had with God was a very solemn matter, and I was

made to understand many things; but my knowledge was not perfectly clear at the time. It became more so as the revelation that came to me was unfolded.

      In my childhood days my mind was often very solemn. I did not play much with other children, but I delighted to read and ponder over the lives of great and good men. I also loved to read the Bible and I committed whole chapters to memory.

      The Lord did not permit me to think my own thoughts or go my own way, but His spirit strove with me mightily.

      I seemed to have gifts by nature which inclined me to the ministry and to a great degree fitted me for the office. I loved to commit verses of Scripture and also pieces for recitation and declamation; those that pertained especially to patriotism and Christianity. These were my delight and I spoke them with satisfaction and benefit to the people. In particular was this so in connection with the Sunday Schools and Sunday School concerts.

      Is it not true that from the very beginning of our lives we show the call that we have from God or our refusal to obey Him? "As the twig is bent the tree is inclined."

© 2003 for the NEGenWeb Project by Pam Rietsch, Ted & Carole Miller.