ENTERED upon our new home, the first thoughts were necessarily directed to arrangements for "a living" through the Winter. High as prices were, it was deemed prudent to lay in, at once, full supplies for the season, that, while absent from home, I might be free from apprehensions of domestic want. This was done at costly rates; and, before I had gone out upon my work, a sufficiency was provided and mainly stored upon the premises. Indian claimants in several departments had to be "bought out" to insure quiet possession, besides the rent to our Wyandott landlord. Other domestic and personal matters were adjusted; dilapidations repaired, unseemly accumulations removed, Indian arrangements overhauled and remodeled more in accordance with Anglo-Saxon ideas of propriety, and a general change effected in the face of things. Our site was pleasant, and the prospect for a temporary home at least endurable. In these labors I necessarily bore a large part, and by exposure on a cold day, in a particular department of unaccustomed labor, my fingers were frozen on both hands, thereby laying the foundation of much future suffering up to this time, and probably to the close of life, should my life of exposure continue.

     In the course of about three weeks all was arranged, and I set out upon my regular work. No plan for regular quarterly meetings had been arranged, the condition of things not admitting of such plan. Instead of this, the country was to be traveled over at large, new points sought out and occupied, and the different charges visited and labored with as necessity might require and ability allow. My plan

was, as Bishop Roberts once said of his habits, "regularly irregular."

     All my Winter traveling was performed on horseback. On my first trip I had a young friend as a companion. My first meeting was held upon the Wakarusa, Sabbath, November 26th. Here I found brother Griffing, who had preceded me, and was actively engaged in his work.

     Leaving this place, I sought out the residence of the preacher appointed to the Maries Des Cygnes mission. He had not yet visited his charge. I proposed to accompany him on the succeeding day, which he acceded to. Early in the morning we set off for his field of labor, and by noon we found ourselves within its bounds. The next thing was to find a temporary foothold as a starting-point for our work. Providence directed our way. Stopping at a cabin on the Santa Fé road, we found a kind and hospitable family, consisting of the man, his wife, and several small children, lately moved in. We were made welcome. After the customary inquiries as to former residence, history, etc., we approached the subject of their religious state. Their hearts seemed moved; they told their tale, and wept as they told it. Once they had been members of the Methodist Episcopal Church, and trying to serve the Lord; changes had come over them, followed by repeated removals; Church membership had been forfeited by neglect, and now for years they had been out upon the wide world destitute of religious restraints, supports, and comforts. This, I may add, was in substance the experience that I subsequently heard from the lips of many. We stated to them our character and objects, and it was immediately arranged that the few neighbors should be collected and we should have religious service that evening. The cabin was small, and a considerable space was occupied by a store of groceries and provisions, laid in for the trade, but it was supposed to be sufficient to hold the few settlers by making close quarters.

     In the course of the conversation a fact was elicited which will shed some light upon a particular feature found largely
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prevalent in the coming struggle, one which taxed the forbearance of our brethren to its utmost tension. A few days previous, the husband being absent, a man had called at the cabin, representing himself as a Methodist preacher, without adding the peculiar cognomen assumed to indicate his "distinct ecclesiastical connection." Without acquaintance or membership, in the absence of the head of the family, he had asked of the lady the privilege of holding a quarterly meeting at her house at a day indicated some weeks ahead. Unsuspecting, and desirous of religions privileges, she had consented, and the arrangement had been made that he should he on hand at the day appointed, bringing with him the presiding elder, thinking doubtless to secure the family and preoccupy the ground. Our friends at once saw that they had been imposed upon, but it was now too late to retract. Their engagement must be complied with,

     On hearing this, my plan was soon fixed. Refreshment over, we were all in the saddle, and, our host in one direction and we in another, started to collect a congregation. On that occasion we proved unsuccessful, missed our way, and wandered the remainder of the day without finding a single settler. But our host did better, gave the necessary notices, the neighbors gladly crowded in, stowed themselves into the little space, and we had a comfortable season, while I endeavored to speak to them of the "privileges of the sons of God" from the first three verses of the third chapter of John's first Epistle. Then and there I held my first quarterly meeting for the Maries Des Cygnes mission, organized a quarterly conference, as far as then practicable, received the man and his wife into the Church of their early, only choice, and established a point from which the missionary then with me should go in and out as he afterward did. Whatever became of the extra presiding elder and his duplicate quarterly meeting, I did not learn. Not long after husband and wife, the heads of this kind family, both died, and were taken, I trust, to the heavenly home, among the first garnered fruit of early missionary labor in Kansas.

This scene repeated again and again, names, places, and some details being changed, will give a fair idea of the character of our early labors.

     Leaving our kind friends, I made my way to the town of Lawrence, which had been laid off since my first visit to the Territory. Here I found a few energetic, intelligent Eastern settlers, with long beards, rough faces, shaggy hair, hard hands, and all the marks of a hardy and vigorous manhood, some burrowing in the earth, and others in tents, or sod-houses covered with cloth, or with a thatch of the long prairie-grass, preparing to spend the Winter as best they might. Little is known in the States of the scenes encountered by these hardy adventurers.

     The day of my first visit to Lawrence was memorable, as being the time of the first election held in Kansas under the Territorial Government. Governor Reeder, anticipating from the signs attempts to control the election by illegal and fraudulent voting, had issued his proclamation, guarding strictly the polls, and taking every possible precaution against fraud and riot. But all was disregarded. Large numbers of non-residents poured into the Territory at different points, usurped the polls, and shaped the vote. Lawrence for this time was left unmolested.

     Here an incident occurred that caused much excitement, and in its results gave me much personal regret. Here took place the first Kansas homicide. I will not say murder, though it has been called such. Here indeed opened the great tragedy that for years subsequent has been so sadly and fearfully acted out.

     The reader may remember the rough, strong, kind Indianian (sic), at whose cabin on Hickory Point I had preached my first sermon, and whose hospitalities I had enjoyed the previous Summer. I met Kibbee at the election. He was a sober, resolute, fearless man. We shook hands cordially and separated. I rode to Wakarusa and spent the night. On my way I passed through a large encampment of the pseudo-voters from Missouri, who had been to the precinct

above Lawrence, and were now on their return with the usual demonstrations. Shortly after stopping, we learned that a man had been killed on the road over which we had just passed, by whom it was not known, but supposed to have been by a man named ----. We passed the night at the house of a friend, and were intending to spend the ensuing day. During the forenoon Kibbee entered, accompanied by two other men, all armed. The carrying of arms on the frontier is so common that it excites no attention; they were seated, and conversation commenced. Reference was soon made to the late fatal occurrence, and one of our company related the circumstance as reported, giving the name of the suspected person. Kibbee listened in silence. The statement over, he firmly responded, "No; ---- did not kill him; Kibbee killed him." We were shocked at his cool candor. "What!" said one of us, "was it you?" "Yes," he replied, "I did it--I killed him with this," exhibiting a long, rough, single-barreled pistol.

     The circumstances were then stated by himself, from which, as I afterward learned, the testimony made no material deviation. Some half dozen rude, boisterous fellows from Missouri, who had taken claims upon the Kaw River, a few miles below, had been in Lawrence during the election hours, in a state of intoxication; had taken the pro-slavery side, and spent the day endeavoring to get up a quarrel. The citizens, however, had the good sense and forbearance to disregard them. Failing in their object, they had started for their home on foot, still keeping up their riotous and insulting behavior. Half an hour after I had shaken hands with Kibbee he had started for home in a wagon with two others. In a little time he passed the drunken company, one of them being in the act of destroying a tent or shanty by the road-side. Kibbee spoke to him and inquired what he meant. The man, enraged, flew at him with a knife, making furious passes at him as he sat in the wagon, which was moving at a slow gate. Kibbee warned him to desist, saying, "I'll shoot you, sure." The assailant still per-

sisted, and Kibbee, finding all his remonstrances vain, discharged his pistol, killing him on the spot.

     After this he had returned to his home, passed the night, and in the morning started, with his two comrades, for Lawrence, intending to give himself up to the civil authorities. But meeting one who informed him of the large encampment on the way, and fearing to fall into the hands of enemies, he had dispatched a messenger to Lawrence for an attorney to meet him at a point where we then were, and advise him as to his further course. I advised him to go to the Governor and deliver himself up, but he declined, fearing that he might be intercepted by the company then passing out. He declared his entire readiness to surrender himself into the hands of the law, but vowed that he would never be taken alive by a mob. Dinner was served, of which they partook; their horses were put away; additional arms were obtained from one of our company, and the three retired to a wooded ravine near by to await the arrival of the expected lawyer.

     After their withdrawal a consultation was held over the state of affairs. The occurrence, we knew, must produce excitement, perhaps violence. A large body of desperate men were at hand, just ready to act. All the elements seemed ripe for an explosion. Upon a little reflection I determined that myself and young companion should start forthwith, and, by riding through the night, reach the quarters of Gov. Reeder, place the facts before him, and leave him to take such measures as he might think necessary to prevent an outbreak and save human life.

     In a little time we were under way, expecting to encounter the foreign crowd upon the road, and having our plans pre-arranged for that contingency. In this we were disappointed. Traveling to a late hour of the night, we found the road clear. The gang had been more rapid in their movements than we anticipated, having, as we were told, passed on before and evacuated the Territory, whether with or without a knowledge of the rencounter (sic), I have never

known. All apprehension of immediate difficulty being thus removed, we stopped with an Indian by the wayside, and passed the remainder of the night.

     In the morning we rode to "Johnson's Mission," as the Shawnee establishment was then called, where the Governor had his temporary residence. Arriving, we found a man in the act of applying for a warrant for the apprehension of the unknown murderer. Without designating the person, the process could not be issued, and he was about returning. I requested that he should be called back; took the Governor aside and stated to him the facts. One of the Territorial Judges was called, and consultation had. Returning to the office, I gave to the proposed informant the real name, whereupon he filed an affidavit, a warrant was issued, and Kibbee arrested. My motives for having him arrested were the public peace, and his own personal preservation from mob violence. We shall have occasion to speak of him again.

     So ended my first trip on the district, during which I had fared, personally, tolerably well, but my animal was upon short allowance, and must have suffered, but for the grain which he had transported upon his back, with myself and baggage. Through much of that year I carried provisions and horse-feed for emergencies.

     A single Sabbath was spent at home, and the next week found me on my way up the Missouri, to visit the work in Northern Kansas and Nebraska, still accompanied by my young friend. My first quarterly meeting upon this tour was at Fort Leavenworth mission, held at a settlement upon Independence Creek, a few miles back from where the town of Atchison now stands. On the way we crossed over to Missouri and visited my old friend Rev. T. B. Markham; I tried to induce him to supply Fort Leavenworth mission. He accompanied us to the meeting, but feeling aggrieved by his superannuation and supposed ill treatment from his brethren of the Conference, he declined taking work. There was no preacher on the mission; the family at whose

house the meeting was to be held were afflicted, provisions for man and beast were scarce; and as a result our meeting was short. We did not literally starve out, but, to avoid that catastrophe, we were under the necessity of leaving in the afternoon of the Sabbath and recrossing the river to a place of greater plenty. This brought us into the neighborhood where, the Summer before, the lynching process had been magnanimously proposed, but I met no demonstration.

     On Monday morning the journey northward was resumed. Our route in the Territory had been rough and fatiguing my horse became lame, and, on the second or third day, failed. Availing myself of my acquaintance with Colonel Archer, already mentioned, I obtained another, and left him. In the afternoon of the first day's travel the new steed became sick, and seemed about to die. Now I was among strangers; but I found friends; a farrier of note, in the neighborhood, was sent for, and, after a time, appeared, book in hand, with all the dignity of a veritable M. P. But he was too late. Nature had done her own work; the patient was convalescing; and he lost, for that time, the opportunity of exhibiting his skill. A third horse was obtained, upon which, after a laborious week's travel, I succeeded, on Saturday afternoon, in reaching the ferry opposite Old Fort Kearney, alias Nebraska City. But the steam ferry-boat was gone, and slender substitutes were left. The ice was running in large quantities, and the prospect gloomy of reaching my intended point for the Sabbath, though now in sight. Ordinary ferrying was suspended. Finding, however, a bold, skillful man--whose kind services I have repeatedly since had in time of need--about to cross, we tied ourselves on to his fortunes, entered the skiff, and made our way through the vast field of floating ice to the opposite shore.

     Again in Nebraska City, I called on my friend, Major Downs, who, meantime, had erected a large frame hotel. His house was crowded to its utmost capacity, and the

weather severe. He offered to take me in, but the prospect was forbidding. I inquired for the preacher, whom I understood to be on the ground, and was pointed to a cabin on the opposite side of Table Creek, at quite a distance, where he was supposed to be boarding. Dark was about setting in, when, leaving my young companion to the chances of the hotel, and taking my course, I set out on foot for the place. The creek intervened, with a thicket of timber and brushwood, and the cabin was lost from my view. It grew darker and darker as I crossed the creek and ascended the opposite hill, till I found myself entangled in the brushwood, and bewildered in my course. For a time I wandered and called, but met no response. The lights in the city were yet to be seen. Wishing to take an observation while I could, I drew out my pocket-compass, lighted a match, and took the course; then started again, traveling as I could, and calling aloud. At length, through an opening cabin-door, I espied a light, and heard a female voice in response. Seldom has a gentle voice fallen more gratefully upon my ear. I made way to the place, and was invited in. The preacher was not there; the husband was absent, and the lady was alone with her little children. I told her who and what I was. Late and dark as it was, I accepted her kind invitation for the night, was well entertained, and formed an acquaintance with a worthy Christian lady. The husband returned soon, and I made the brushwood cabin my home during my stay.

     On the day following, being the Sabbath, Major D. tendered a room of his hotel for public service, and I occupied it for preaching. The day was cold; men kept within doors; same rudely running up and down stairs; a group of shivering Indians stood and looked curiously on; but there was a goodly number of attentive and solemn hearers; and I trust the seed was not sown in vain. The Major would have me dine with him, but, to secure the object, had to take me in privately and seat me before the rush of hungry men in waiting was let in; for frontier's-men are proverbial

for appetite, and not always very deferential to the appetites or the positions of others.

     This was all of the first quarterly meeting for Old Fort Kearney mission. We could do no more. Consultation was had as to the means of prosecuting the work in this growing field, and especially the erection of a house of worship on the lots already donated. This done, my further course was to be determined. I had desired to go as far north as Omaha, there being, as yet, no preacher on that work; but my means of conveyance had failed. I had, then, three horses between me and my home, in what condition I knew not. Abandoning, for the present, my design of going further, I determined to set my face homeward. But the ice still filled the river. Finding again my former adventurous friend, I a second time tacked myself to his train, and made the passage in safety back to the Iowa shore. A few hours' brisk ride over the wide bottom prairie brought us to the foot of the bluff, where a day or two were spent with some friends from Indiana.

     Returning by the same route, I found my horses successively so far restored as to be able to travel. A third Sabbath on the way was spent in endeavoring to find an entrance into Leavenworth City, which was then beginning to show itself about two miles below the Fort. I attended a burial, uninvited; called on a few families, and spent the day in an unsuccessful effort to gain a foothold; but "the time was not yet." The night was passed in "the hotel," lodging on the floor, tying my horse to a stake, and paying the moderate sum of two dollars. The night previous had been passed in the old Kickapoo meeting-house, with a family that had taken up their abode there. They appeared well disposed while we were with them, but afterward, as I learned, affected great indignation at having "entertained" abolitionists "unawares;" though we had concealed nothing. Threats and ill words followed; but, as in other instances of my history, they came either too early or too late to affect me. My suit of tar-and-feathers was never

ready at the right time. A quarterly meeting among the Delawares, and some labors among the Wyandotts, wound up my first quarter's labors upon the district.

     Home was rendered the more inviting by the straitened circumstances of the settlers. Part of the Winter was severe. Prairie winds blew piercingly. Houses were small and open. Frequently there was no warming apparatus but a small cook-stove. Often there were two or three families in a cabin, with boarders and occasional guests besides. But there were warm and hospitable hearts, and this made all cheerful.

     EARLY in the Winter responses began to be received to the public calls for ministerial aid, which we had made through the Church papers. These calls were general. No man was individually requested or advised to come into our new and exposed work. All were left to follow the promptings of duty or of inclination. Our tables were loaded with letters of inquiry, expressing good wishes, and making contingent and indefinite proposals for the future. But these did not fill the immediate and urgent demands of our work. Occasionally, however, one was found whose first proposition was, "Here am I; send me." With such our work in the Territories has been supplied. None have been pressed into service.

     In a very large majority of instances our supplies were men of the right stamp, volunteers, men of energy, willing to "endure hardness as good soldiers." There were a few instances to the contrary. Attempts were made to foist upon us, from the older Conferences, men who were either too indolent or incompetent to labor acceptably where they were; but who, in the judgment of good brethren, "would do for the frontier." Such efforts were generally detected before consummation; or, if not, soon afterward, in which case they were disposed of in the most summary way practicable. The speculating mania, that has sometimes seized Western recruits, or perhaps even prompted their transfer, has been but little known among the traveling preachers of these Territories. They have been, for the most part, Homines unius operis.

     Early in the Winter, on my way to Kansas City one

cold bleak day, I met a man on foot seeking my residence. I found him to be a brother from Missouri Conference coming to join our little band. It was REV. A. L. DOWNEY, the first volunteer that came to our aid. He was appointed to Leavenworth mission, and is still in the ranks. The second in order of time who appeared among us, was Rev. ISAAC F. COLLINS, a transfer from the Arkansas Conference, and a man of considerable experience in the work of Indian missions, who was assigned to the Omaha City mission.*

     In the Spring of that year, Kansas Territory received a valuable citizen, and the Church an efficient laborer, in the person of REV. JOSEPH DENNISON, a graduate of Middletown University, and a member of New England Conference from 1843. About the same time came REV. CHARLES H. LOVEJOY, for many years a member of one of the Conferences of New England. The two last named came by location, labored as supplies a portion of the year, and at the ensuing Conference were regularly readmitted. Brother Dennison had a severe attack of disease immediately after landing at Kansas City. His health is fully restored, and he has labored faithfully in the circuit or district work ever since. His companion has fallen at his side.

     Overtures for a transfer were about this time received from REV. LEVIN B. DENNIS, of Iowa Conference, then filling the station at the seat of Government. Knowing the already established character of brother D., not only as a Christian and minister, but as a bold and unflinching pioneer, his proposals were gladly met; he was, at my request, transferred at once, and soon reported himself on the ground, ready for work. I had, as before stated, met him in the Arkansas field, making his first efforts in itinerancy. Now he had grown prematurely gray; his head like a whitened shock; but with a firm constitution and a soul on fire. With him was transferred his son, REV. BAXTER C. DENNIS, then a youth on trial. The father was associated with the

preacher on Wakarusa mission, including the town of Lawrence, and, being the senior, was placed in charge. The son was sent as junior preacher to the Leavenworth mission.

     Some new fields, also, were laid off and supplied. Meeting, providentially, with REV. HIRAM BURCH, a young man from Illinois, who had, in feeble health, been laboring as a supply in Northern Texas. I employed him to take charge of a new field in the northern extreme of Kansas, known as Wolf River mission. His health improved; he was received into the Conference the ensuing session, appointed to Nebraska, and has ever proved a faithful and efficient minister. Upon a steamboat in Missouri River, I met with a young Englishman with credentials and apparent qualifications for the work, and employed him to travel between the Nemahas, and organize the Nemaha mission. This was REV. DAVID HART. A preacher, transferred from Indiana Conference, was sent to supply Fort Scott and surrounding country.

     Thus, in the course of the year, our entire work was manned. The order of time has been anticipated in this statement, for the purpose of presenting all the names at one view. My Wyandott home became a place of resort, and an outfitting point for preachers coming into the Territories; a circumstance which probably had much to do in fixing the jealousy and inveterate hate of pro-slavery sentinels, secular and ecclesiastical, posted along the border.

     Meanwhile another round upon the district was in progress. Commencing again with Maries Des Cygnes mission, I set off for the appointed place on Black Jack, afterward famous as the retreat of John Brown and his party during their celebrated campaign. My way led me via Wakarusa. Failing to find there a certain local brother who was to have accompanied me, I continued the trip alone. The direct road led me to the residence of Kibbee, already spoken of, at Hickory Point. Kibbee, as before stated, had been arrested on my information. A preliminary examination

had been held before one of the judges, bail had been refused, and he had been committed to the guard-house at Fort Leavenworth. This, however unjust, was fortunate for the accused, as it probably saved his life from a mob. On a subsequent investigation, before another of the judges, he was let to bail, and had returned to his home and family. Not knowing what feelings he might entertain toward me for having him arrested, I had no relish for an interview, and sought to take a by-way that would avoid his residence; but his cabin was a concentrating point in those days, and, despite my efforts to the contrary, my trail would lead me there. Ere I was aware, emerging from the grove, I was on the broad prairie in full view of the house.

     What was my surprise to find the cabin filled and surrounded by armed men, discharging and reloading their pieces, and evidently making ready for a rencounter (sic), either of attack or defense. I was seen; it was too late to retreat. I advanced to the cabin, wondering what the demonstration might mean. All was soon explained. A man near by had been assaulted in the woods, brought to the ground, and nearly killed. While the perpetrator was yet standing over his prostrate victim, Kibbee had come up and interfered. To escape detection himself, the villain had charged Kibbee--already under bail--with the deed, and had a warrant issued for him. Process was also issued for the real criminal. Both were in the hands of officers from Lawrence, and they were then in the pursuit. Kibbee's friends had come together to defend him, if need required. All were sober and orderly, but determined and resolute.

      Taking Kibbee aside, I explained to him my motives for his arrest. He expressed entire satisfaction, treated me cordially, apologized for not entertaining me through the night, under the circumstances, and introduced me to a neighboring settler with whom I might lodge. I was kindly entertained, and, in the morning, I learned that the trick had been detected, the proper person arrested, and, greatly to his mortification, brought to Kibbee's house and there guarded

through the night. But Kibbee was kept in perpetual alarms. Once he came near firing upon a small party of men that unwittingly came to his house, in such a way as to excite his suspicion of a mob, but who really had no such designs. Weary and harassed with perpetual apprehensions for his life, and doubtful as to obtaining a fair trial, he indemnified his bail, fled the country with his family, forfeited his recognizance, and I have not heard of him since. So closed the first scene of the opening Kansas tragedy. Hickory Point, and the surrounding localities, witnessed many subsequent scenes of violence and bloodshed.

     With the aid of my kind host, who accompanied me, I succeeded, in the forenoon of the next day, in finding the spot where the quarterly meeting was to be held, it was the cabin of one of the sons of my old Indiana friend, "Uncle Billy Moore," already sketched in a previous chapter. The boys were settled around; all sober, orderly, pious, but well-trained regulars in the freestate ranks. One of them afterward served under John Brown in the desperate battle of Black Jack, resulting in the capture of a force largely superior, and the rescue of the father and other prisoners from death. The sire and sons, with their wives and children, and the few neighbors, composed the congregation. We had a good time together in worship and Christian society. I had the happiness to receive my accompanying friend into the Church. His family followed his example; his house became a preaching-place and a home for preachers.

     Leaving these parts I catered the bounds of Wakarusa mission, where it had been concerted that I should make a week's excursion with Rev. J. S. Griffing, who was always ready for that kind of work. Taking the great Santa Fe road, we traveled out into the neighborhood of Council City, stopping upon a stream known as the Hundred and Ten, a place subsequently notorious for its ability, with a small population, to poll a heavy vote. The post became a

prominent one in early Kansas history, and its proprietor acquired quite a name among its first actors. He had some means; had a large number of men in his employ, and his improvements were in advance of most others of that day. Making virtue of necessity, we determined to pass the night with him incog. We found good "border ruffian" quarters, and, for our money, were well treated. We were directed first to a separate cabin, where we found a comfortable fire, a large stock of arms, and an imposing array of well-filled bottles, with a carte blanche liberty in the use of their contents. A good Kentucky supper was dispatched in one of the neat family cabins, whose female inmates seemed to deserve a better association; after which we returned to our reception-room. Conversation took a very free range, and we were able, unsuspected, to note many items of interest.

     An incident was related of a man being eaten by the wolves shortly before, as he returned home from this place, intoxicated, one cold night. Great indignation was expressed at the lupine monsters that had savagely devoured him, and vengeance sworn against the race, but no word of disapprobation of the hyenas that had furnished the liquor which prepared him to be their victim. At a suitable hour we were invited to comfortable lodgings, while the company entered upon the games and revelry of the night. Weary and worn we slept soundly till the scene closed, were awaked only by the retirement of worn-out gamesters, then slept again till dawn. Breakfast over, we paid our bill, and left our host and his band, little suspecting that he had "entertained ------ unawares."

      We laid our course for the head-waters of the Wakarusa, passing the grave of the wolf-devoured man, making or finding no stopping-place till we arrived at the site of the old Catholic mission, then abandoned and occupied by settlers, since succeeded, I think, by the town of Brownsville. Here we found friends, had an appointment circulated, and I endeavored to preach the Word to a few "sheep in the

wilderness." On the succeeding day we traveled through the Pottawatamie Reserve, passing the residence of the lordly old polygamist Chief, and toward evening took up at the newly-laid-off town of Topeka, since famous for free-state Constitutions, Conventions, and Legislatures, then consisting of a solitary frame shanty occupied as a hotel, with a cabin dormitory hard by, and a few claim structures in the suburbs. In this vicinity, brother G. had, a short time before, out of his scanty allowance, paid one dollar for "a short-cake and half a dozen ears of corn."

     At Topeka we found a company of intelligent, enterprising men, mostly at that time from Pennsylvania, full of hope as to their town; laboring hard, and living on rough fare. We were kindly received, found a place to stake out our animals, and a little prairie hay to place before them. Our plain evening repast over, the men assembled in the cabin room, and I endeavored to present, for their acceptance, the Gospel "treasure" from 2 Cor. iv, 7. They were willing hearers, and enlivened the exercises by excellent singing from a well-trained choir. At bedtime I found that I was to be exempted from a lot in the crowded, floorless, common dormitory, and honored with a superior position in the main building. Ascending by the aid of a ladder to a high bunk, I stowed myself away, and slept securely. The main article of diet for our evening and morning meal was "hasty pudding," or, in Western parlance, "corn-mush," without any of the accompaniments usually considered appropriate. But our hosts were kind and generous, and our appetite good; we ate freely, and I trust with grateful hearts. Three years afterward the session of Kansas and Nebraska Conference was held in this place.

     Our practice was to converse as far as practicable with all, seek out Church members, encourage them, and, where practicable, form them into classes, leaving appointments for regular preaching. Often we had affecting scenes, when first meeting with those who had long been shut out from the privileges of the Gospel.
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     Passing through Tecumseh, and visiting Christian families on the way, we stopped at the cabin of a German Methodist, from near Brookville, Indiana. Meeting was agreed upon for the evening, and brother Griffing set out at a rapid gait upon his pony to notify the settlers. Taunts had been thrown out in this neighborhood, our pretensions to influence had been ridiculed by those in a different interest, but the evening brought a goodly number of quiet and willing hearers. I addressed them from Mark xvi, 15, and organized a society of nine members; others having attempted an organization of a different character and failed,

     From this place we went to Lawrence, where we held the second quarterly meeting for Wakarusa mission. Our place of service was the hotel, a long sod-building, thatched with prairie-grass, the one great room serving as dining-room, parlor, and dormitory, a table with bench-seats reaching from end to end, and a line of double bunks stretching the same length, with sleeping accommodations. Here also we organized a society with respectable numbers and fair prospects.

     In the afternoon of the Sabbath I attended the funeral of one of the prominent citizens, and saw his remains slowly borne away up the winding ascent to their long resting-place in the mound cemetery. The early deaths of newly-arrived settlers are peculiarly affecting, cutting short all their fond plans and expectations, and leaving often a grief-stricken companion and helpless little ones in a rude, wild scene, far from home and friends. Yet this was the fate of not a few.

     Brother G. was faithful and diligent for two years upon the Wakarusa work, encountered many hardships, and near the close of the second year was prostrated for months by severe illness. About the same time his faithful pony was lost, probably stolen, but his Indianapolis friends, on hearing his misfortune, generously made up an amount sufficient to buy another, and sent it to him by my hand.

     During this entire trip, and indeed much of the Winter, I traveled and preached with my arm in a sling, suffering intensely from a felon on the left hand, aggravated by exposure to cold, from the effects of which the hand has never fully recovered.

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