Yet there are times when the passion and vehemence of the warriors in the neighborhood of Fort Snelling can hardly be brought to yield to the necessity of control; and were there a possibility of success, how soon would the pipe of peace be thrown aside, and the yell and whoop of war be heard instead! And who would blame them?
Has not the blood of our bravest and best been poured out like water for a small portion of a country--when the whole could never make up for the loss sustained by one desolate widow or fatherless child?
The sky was without a cloud when the sun rose on the Mississippi.

The morning mists passed slowly away as if they loved to linger round the hills.

Pilot Knob rose above them, proud to be the burial place of her warrior children, while on the opposite side of the Mine Soto [Footnote: Mine Soto, or Whitish Water, the name that the Sioux give to the St.
Peter's River.

The mud or clay in the water has a whitish look.] the frowning walls of Fort Snelling; told of the power of their enemies.

Not a breath disturbed the repose of nature, till the voice of the song birds rose in harmony singing the praise of the Creator.
But a few hours have passed away, and how changed the scene.