VERY INTERESTING PIONEER LETTER FROM DAKOTA TERRITORY

Sioux Falls, Dakota TR.
July 11th, 1872

Dear Sister,
I am sitting in the doorway of our western home. It is just before sunset, and the country before me is very beautiful, as the shadows of evening fall over it. I wish you could see the Indian Train that just passed by on the Yankton road; it is fantastic I assure you; perhaps I can describe part of it. There were ponies with saddles, and to each pony two very long poles were strapped, one on each side of the saddle, the other end of the poles drag on the ground; there were cross pieces from one pole to the other and quite a load of goods and traps packed on. Some of the packs were topped out with a squaw. There were a good many of these turnouts, and all driven by squaws dressed in gay costumes; but one needs to see it to appreciate it. We have just had a bit of experience in camp life and I will tell you about it. We have long wished to visit the Pipestone Falls, rendered famous by Longfellow, and distant from here a little more than sixty miles. Last Friday morning, July 5th, a company of four, my brother, aunt and uncle Sawtelle, and myself started for the Falls. We had a fine team and a light canvass wagon, well packed with provisions, blankets, pillows, a tent, and everything we thought we were likely to need. Our route lay up the Sioux River. At noon we stopped at the "Dells" made tea and coffee, and set our table on a large flat rock, beneath overhanging cliffs. It was a beautiful place. We rested two hours and then went on. We reached Flandrau just before dark. This is a place on the river 40 miles north of Sioux Falls. It comprises an old store built as a trading post for the Indians and an Indian church. Here is a fine water power, and as fine a farming country extending for hundreds of miles around, as was ever seen. Three of our company have located--have a quarter section each. Campbell of Evansville, has an adjoining claim, whom we found here making improvements. Also a gentleman and his son from the East. These composed the entire white population, although all the land has recently been taken up for miles around, and another year will see the country dotted with homes. Our horses were put out, supper dispatched, and our tent pitched for the night. We enjoyed the scenes around us until a late hour. Upon a little hill was our tent, two or three covered wagons, the old store and the church. At the foot of the hill a beautiful meadow reached to the river, and on it were horses, cattle and Indian ponies without number. Beneath the shadow of the trees on the river bank was an Indian encampment. Plenty of Indians all around us, and no whites except those mentioned. Early the next morning, I went with one of our company to visit one of the Indian families. They had a good log house all in one room. They seemed glad to see us and gave us a seat on the best bed. This bed had a nice clean patchwork quilt, two large pillows with cases, and sheets turned back from the head, a large piece of carpeting was spread on the floor in front of it; the stove was well polished. The family were eating breakfast; they had a nice set of dishes, and sat at the table eating from their plates and drinking from their cups just as anybody would do. There was a shelf in the room filled with books and papers, and some pictures hanging on the walls. This is only one of a good many such families. Saturday afternoon we started for Pipestone Falls, twelve miles distant. We were five miles on the way, and where the earth and sky seemed to meet all around us, when there came up on of the most fearful hailstorms I ever heard of. The horses were unhitched, but pelted by the large hailstones, were frightened and tore around fearfully. It was by almost superhuman efforts that they were restrained from rushing off before the storm. For a few moments I thought we should all perish. The thunder and lightning was dreadful, and it rained as I never saw it rain before. Of course we were thoroughly drenched. We were only in the edge of the storm and were soon able to go back to camp. Campbell, like the good hearted boy that he is, met us on the way with dry blankets and then hastened on and had a hot fire ready for us by the time we reached the old store. Well, we got dry after awhile, and passed the night the best we could. Sunday morning was delightful. Before we were through breakfast we saw the Indians coming to church over the hills and prairies, in all directions as far as we could see. Indians, squaws and papooses, some walking, some in ox teams and some riding on ponies. As they reached the place they sat down in groups on the ground to visit until church time. It was truly a fine sight to see these red men coming quietly and peaceably to church, dressed in citizens clothes, without paint or war gear. Soon the minister, a very intelligent half breed, rang the bell for service. Then all filed into church, we followed and were given the honoured seats beside the minister; eight whites in a church with 150 Indians. Many of them were once chiefs, warriors, and braves, who have often been on the warpath, and often engaged in massacres. I saw Big Eagle, who was formerly chief of the Sioux nation, and who surrendered his whole band to the United States, rather than fight with the troops. I doubt if any of us ever enjoyed a service more than we did that morning. Just think of those Indians singing our old church songs, and offering just as earnest and sincere prayers as were offered in any church. The singing was about as good as any congregational singing I ever heard. They kept perfect time and there were many voices. The men all wore white shirts with collars, neckties, and good suits of clothes. The most of them were intelligent, smart looking men. The squaws did not look quite so well, yet their looks indicated that they tried their best to dress like white women. I saw one very pretty Indian girl, the only one I ever saw. She was about 18 years old, medium height and straight as an arrow. She is said to be very reserved and haughty, won't let an Indian come near her. She says she will never marry until she can marry a white man. After service seven or eight of the leading church members came to shake hands with us, and expressed their pleasure at seeing us there. Towards night Fred wishes me to take a canoe ride, and I never enjoyed a boat ride more than I did that. Floating down the Big Sioux in a regular Indian canoe just at sunset. The branches nearly meeting over our heads, the birds singing their good night songs to their mates and the banks on either side were overgrown with vines and willows. As we were going back through the woods, an old squaw and pappoose came along and for the fun of it I took off my neck ribbon, and tied it around the little girl's neck. The squaw looked on much pleased, saying, washta, washta, which means, good, good. Monday morning we started again for the falls. On crossing the prairie, where the worst of the storm passed, we saw tons of hay torn out from the roots by the hailstones. We went on truly thankful that we were no further within its limits. Before noon we reached the falls, and camped near a beautiful little lake just below, for dinner. We had huckleberries for desert, which we gathered from the bushes. After clambering over many rocks, we at last stood below Pipestone Falls, so famous in Indian legend. The water falls down perpendicular rocks 50 or 75 feet high, the spray forming a beautiful rainbow constantly hanging over it. With a great deal of assistance we reached the top of the rocks above the falls and then found the rock that Longfellow describes, where "Gitchie Manitou the might, He the Master of life descending. On the red crags of the quarry stood erect and smoked the Calumet, the peace pipe, as a signal to the nations." Fred stood on the rock and we stood around him while he read the poem of "The Peace Pipe," which Longfellow has so beautifully written, and we appreciated it as we never did before. had we been here five or six years ago, we should in all probability have had our hair pulled. I could describe to you the quarry, and how the Indians work it, but will leave it for another letter. We went back to Flandrau Monday and came home Tuesday. This we we intend to visit the "Palisades," which Frank says are more wonderful than anything we have yet seen.
E.