Rev. James S. Griffing from memoirs and letters...

Preparations

...Meanwhile active preparations were going on in other departments. An obliging friend in Richmond [Indiana] selected and bought for me four noble draught horses; two new and substantial wagons were purchased, with appropriate rigging; the tent was prepared and stretched in the yard, by way of experiment; camp utensils were provided, and the family, from the least to the greatest, put in travelling trim. This done, the wagons were placed upon the scales and weighed, driven to the door, packed to their utmost capacity, then re-weighed. By posted notices a crowd of citizens was collected, and the residue of goods and chattels [were] placed under the hammer and sold to the highest bidder -- about the sixth time in our itinerant life that we had been "auctioned out."

All being ready, leave was taken of our kind Richmond friends, and late in the afternoon of September 28th -- I think -- 1854, we crossed Whitewater bridge and took the National Road west. Our company consisted of myself, wife, and seven children, brother Griffing [Actually, James Griffing joined the Goode Party in Indianapolis], and another young friend [John Wilson] who accompanied us, my eldest son [Walton] remaining in Indiana and my second son [Philip] having already gone West. A short drive brought us to comfortable lodgings with a kind friend, and two days following to Indianapolis. A case of sickness occurring along the way, required Mrs. Goode to leave our train and take the railroad to Indianapolis in advance, to procure medical aid for the little patient.

Indianapolis had been our home a greater number of years than any other place, and a large circle of endeared friends surrounded us. A Sabbath was spent; a season of worship enjoyed in Robert's Chapel, and leave taken.

Departure

Monday [October 2, 1854] came, the clouds gathered, and the rain poured in torrents through the day. All looked dark and lowering. But the hour had come; a little past noon the wagons were driven up. The members of the family, sheltered from the pelting storm, were helped on board, one by one. Each of the young men [James Griffing and John Wilson] took his seat on a driver's box and grasped the lines. I mounted an extra saddle horse. Down Washington Street, over White River, and still westward was our course, the rain still descending in torrents. Dark and gloomy seemed the auspices of this, our second long westward removal. But 'ere long the rain ceased, the clouds dispersed, and the sun shone brightly upon the land of our home as we looked a farewell -- the last to one of our company, till housed in the eternal home of heaven.

For several days our route lay through Western Indiana. The entire ground had been occupied by me in my previous field of itinerant labor, all was familiar; friends were met and wants kindly supplied at every stage, insomuch that we were not allowed to take up the regular routine of camp life till our Rubicon, the Wabash [River] was passed, the State line crossed, and Illinois entered; where, though hearts may not have been less large or warm, acquaintance ceased, and we were strangers, falling in with the westward tide of emigration, with nothing to distinguish us from the restless crowd that are eagerly hurried on by the impulses of this world. Thenceforward, we were to make our own way as others, expecting no favors, meeting no sympathy. To myself, this was a trifle; on behalf of dependent ones it cost me some pangs. We submitted to our destiny. The regular quid pro quo gained us the necessaries of life.

Sometimes we met with those whose avowed purpose was to "skin" as deeply as possible, and had to submit to a "sharp practice"; and then again we fell in with others who, learning our position and objects, seemed to take an interest, and doubtless sent up some petitions in our behalf.

Camp Routine

Our tent was first spread in the confines of Illinois, and thenceforward regularly through that great State, and the still broader one of Missouri, till the Territorial line was passed.  The weather, in general, was fine, the roads good, and all circumstances favorable. Several cases of sharp, temporary illness occurred on the way but none proved serious...

A strict camp discipline was introduced. At a fixed hour, long before the dawn, I arose guided by my watch, roused up the fire, and called up the operatives of our company, while the juniors or feeble ones continued to rest. The steeds were fed, curried, and harnessed, the morning meal prepared, our devotions offered, the repast taken, baggage and camp equipage reloaded, the tent struck, and each one reseated.  "All ready," and the line of march was taken up. A rest was allowed at noon, the team baited, and a lunch taken. As we neared the setting sun, a convenient grove was sought, where access could be had to fuel and water; the teams were driven up, some pitched the tent, while others collected wood; a rousing camp-fire was raised, around which the group of all ages assembled, and the early evening hours were spent in cheerful conversation; the steeds were haltered up to the wagons and provided with full supplies; supper was prepared, evening devotions performed, the demands of appetite satisfied down to the youngest, and with grateful hearts all retired to rest, the family occupying our tent, and others making a dormitory of a wagon.

After all others were snugly stored away, it was mine to pass around, carefully tuck them all in, closing all apertures, look to the safety and comfort of the teams, adjust the camp-fires, and then myself retire. Candor, however, compels me to admit that, under this process of first up and last down, with other fatigues, before the trip was completed I "caved in," and was compelled to surrender the honor of "firing the first gun" of the morning to a Junior.

Our somewhat spacious tent and two large wagons, five sturdy and sleek steeds, with a numerous and often garrulous company, collected around our evening board, by the light of a blazing log fire, made some show in a grove, and often attracted attention and elicited remark, according to the different habits and tastes of observers. One in passing, perhaps with whetted appetite, was heard to say, "I intend to go there and board." Another, in a group of horseback travelers said, "That looks like a camp meeting." This was a clue to their character. A confab ensued. They were a company of Illinois preachers enroute for Conference. At a later hour in the evening, they visited our camp. A season of conversation and joint worship was enjoyed, and we were refreshed together.

Camp life, while it has its exposures and hardships, has in it much that is exciting and interesting. My family expressed a decided preference for camp lodgings over the quarters at public houses, to which we occasionally resorted. We regular nomads, w ho are much upon the plains, sometimes raise the question whether, after all, this thing of living and lodging within walls, upon floors, under roofs, and walking over carpets, is not an innovation upon the order of nature.

Camp on Illinois River

Our Sabbaths were, of course, spent in camp and, when practicable, we engaged in religious services with those around us. Occasionally, a week-day had to be spent in camp for the purpose of bringing up domestic arrangements; the team rested, and the whole establishment was temporarily converted into a laundry and bake-shop. Provisions, as we advanced, were found to be scarce, and obtained at high rates; and doleful accounts met us of failure of crops, high prices, want, and probable starvation on the frontier, should we have the temerity to go on.

[Traveling on ahead of the group to Hannibal, Missouri, I attended the Missouri Conference and then] started back to meet my family and, on the 15th day of October found them in good health, encamped on the east bank of the Illinois River. In my absence, they had travelled safely and prosperously, part of the time in company with Rev. Mr. [Charles] Blood, a Presbyterian clergyman, and his family, with whom they had fallen in. Mr. Blood was on his way to Kansas... Here my family had encamped to spend the Sabbath and to take another day for domestic purposes. While encamped here a steamboat passed up and stopped for a time at an uninhabited island in our view. I knew the cause of their detention; they were burying a man who had died on board from cholera; but for the time, from prudential motives, I concealed it from our company.

Camp at Hannibal, Missouri

[After crossing the Illinois River,] a few days drive brought us to the Mississippi; [where we] crossed and encamped in the suburbs of Hannibal; were visited by Rev. J. H. Dennis and others;...passed the night and moved on, leaving Brother Dennis and family to follow in a short time. Our way through Missouri lay over a fertile country, but less improved than that upon my former route. It occupied nearly three weeks. The two Sabbaths included were spent in the pulpit, one of them in that of the Methodist Episcopal Church South...

The greatest actual inconvenience suffered was from want of water, through the fertile but dry regions of Missouri. So great was the scarcity that even the few that had a supply  of good pure water, defended it with a jealousy that, to us, straitened as we were, seemed ungenerous. But then, we were looked upon as mere "Kansas adventurers," and little sympathy was felt. Wells were guarded or locked, pump cranks taken off, and access interdicted, sometimes resorted to in an extremity by our juniors, such as the application of a monkey-wrench in place of a removed crank, etc., might possibly amuse but, perhaps, would not bear a rigid moral analysis on any other ground than the super-legal one of necessity. While chuckling over these exploits around the camp-fire, my ears would sometimes be reached; but I could not find it in my heart to censure very severely, especially when enjoying the cool beverage won by their adventures.

Log Cabin Camp

[When we] arrived within about 40 miles of the Territorial line, I deemed it prudent to leave the family and go in advance, reconnoiter, and seek a temporary shelter to which I should take them before they should enter. A vacant cabin was obtained, of which our company took possession for a few days, and I set out again on horseback upon a prospecting tour.

Sometimes I thought of stopping for the winter (in Liberty or Independence, Missouri)... This plan met with no favor in my family consultations; they were for going directly into the Territory.

[Upon making arrangements for lodging in the Territories on the Wyandotte Reservation] I once more set off to join the family. On the 2nd day, in the morning, I met the teams advancing. They were in the midst of a rugged country, the road steep, rough and craggy; and to my surprise I found Mrs. Goode occupying the driver's seat of one of the wagons, and guiding the team over the difficult way. The cause was soon explained. Brother Griffing, who had officiated as teamster, had had during my absence, a violent attack of disease, which had quite prostrated him. Mrs. Goode, unwilling to remain longer when the day for starting arrived, had stowed him away comfortably in the rear of the wagon, taken the lines herself, and was moving on safely. For the rest of the journey, this duty devolved upon me.

The Kaw Ferry

On the evening of November 3rd, we encamped upon the bank of the Missouri River nearly opposite Kansas City; on the following morning ferried over to the city and took our course upward.  One mile brought us to the line of the Territory, and one half a mile further to the Kaw or Kansas River, at the Wyandotte Ferry near its mouth. A long journey had been performed in safety. We were now within about three miles of our destination, little dreaming of the exciting scene just before us.

[When we came to the ferry at the mouth of the Kansas River, we found that the banks had been] left mucky and soft by the receding water, without footing for man or beast, save at the immediate points of landing on either side. The ferry was managed by Indians; the boat was a crazy flat, with a rope stretched from bank to bank, by which it was propelled and guided with the hands. The lighter wagon was taken over first and safely landed, the family remaining on the near shore. Next, the heavier wagon was drawn in, and to insure the ascent of the rock at the place of the landing, the team was doubled, thus necessarily increasing the weight. Brother Griffing sat in the wagon, and the other young man [John Wilson] and myself took charge of the horses. Scarcely had we fairly got into the stream till we found that the water was gushing in upon us at an alarming rate. There was no turning back; all hope was in pulling ahead with vengeance, and that was "forlorn." The Indians worked with desperation, and we commenced to free our horses. All were loosened, and one or two stripped of the harness. The boat sank deeper and deeper, the loose false-bottom floated up and the horses all went overboard into the current. The Indians held on vigorously to the rope till the weight of the boat, filled with water, compelled them to loosen the grasp, and the crazy old craft floated away down the current with its load, and Griffing seated in the front of the wagon, as he afterward said, "alone in his glory." Early in the struggle I had been knocked overboard, an event for which I had prepared myself by doffing the outer garment; and thus fairly committed to the stream, I was at liberty to play to and fro as occasion required.

The course of the current providentially drifted the boat down into shoal water near the further side, where it rested, the body of the wagon being out of the water. The horses all swam to the further shore, and at the brink mired down almost inextricably.

Here we were; on one side four large horses almost hopelessly sunk, and nearly covered from view, and the bank so spongy as not to admit an approach by some rods; in the stream the boat, the wagon, and Brother Griffing; and on the opposite side the family looking anxiously on. It being Saturday, a great crossing day, a crowd of mingled whites and Indians began to accumulate on each shore, unable to cross for want of the lost boat, and held on by the novelty of the scene.

We were not long idle. The first effort was to relieve the horses. The crowd, Indians especially, came to our aid. A skiff was procured, and an approach was made by water. Timber was obtained, and a bridge made over the mud, so as to reach them from the land side. Still it was difficult to afford aid. The poor beasts struggled, and we labored for a great part of the day. One horse, with some aid, made his way to terra firma. Another was helped back into the stream, swam by the side of the skiff to the rock landing, and was taken ashore. Two got back into the river, and swam to the opposite shore, where they mired down again, and the scene had to be repeated again; one of them dragging me in a skiff, while I was vainly striving to lead him in another direction. At length, when the day was well-nigh spent, we succeeded in landing the last horse upon Wyandotte soil.

Another boat was then obtained and thrust in between our sunken craft and the shore, forming a bridge; the loading all carried ashore; the wagon taken asunder, and, piece by piece, carried to land; put together again, and reloaded; the family brought over, and taken in; the team reharnessed and hitched up; and not an article found wanting, except a set of trace-chains, afterward recovered from the bottom of the boat. The places of these were soon supplied by cords, and we were again in moving trim; though our horses were in rather sorry plight from their protracted conflict with Kaw River muck. Almost that entire November day was spent by me in the river, or the mire, and nearly destitute of clothing.

The Indians had staid by us and labored faithfully to the last. At the close of the scene I proclaimed that I would, with many thanks, bestow a gold dollar upon everyone of the company who would receive it. Save the ferryman and 3 or 4 others, all present had the magnanimity to refuse a remuneration.

Kansas Territory Reached

The family, one again seated, under the guidance of the late Brother Clark, a native local preacher and interpreter, we were driven to our hired home, which we reached about dark on Saturday evening, November 4, 1854. Others had gone in advance, and kindled a fire, around which we gladly assembled, after a toilsome journey of five weeks; thankful to a kind Providence for his gracious care, and glad once more to find a home, temporary though it was, and that "in a strange land."

Preparations

...I came out [to Kansas] in company with Brother Goode and family on the overland route. Our outfit consisted of a heavy waggon to bring necessary household goods and a lighter waggon for the family. There were eleven [of us] in all.

Kansas [Territory] had not then, as at present, come to the front as a great grain growing, stock raising, and fruit producing state. The geographers placed it on their maps as a portion of the Louisiana Purchase and had it marked with great letters reaching from the Missouri river to the Rocky Mountains as the "Great American Desert."

Whilst private associations and individual influence was operating at the North to induce emigration to make Kansas free, a counteracting influence was made in the South to people the territory with those in favor of slavery and the result was just what might have been expected -- a great mass of emigrants of opposite views and feelings crowded into the territory.

Camp Routine

I was happy indeed on Wednesday last whilst passing through Springfield [Illinois] to receive your so long welcome letter. It was so pleasant to hear from yourself as well as from Owego. Oh, I have so many things to tell you and then such a brief time this evening to say anything.

You will notice that we are about 200 miles out of Indianapolis slowly moving toward our destination. I had not formed much of an idea of a travellers life in the way we are going and could hardly have imagined it as pleasant as the trip has proved thus far. We have two very large covered waggons, one for [Brother Goode's] family and one for the furniture, especial bedding, trunks full of clothes, &c. We seldom ever try to stop at a house but every evening pitch our tent near some convenient place for wood and water, build a large fire, and take care of our horses whilst the ladies are preparing our supper.

After family evening prayer, we gather around our frugal board and with appetites sharpened by the exercise of the day, eat with a relish that a king might covet. I wish you could only look in upon us as we fall upon the large pile of sweet potatoes we have just raked from the ashes of our welcome fire. These, with the excellent "sour" baked apples, toasted bread, and a number of other frequent yet favorite dishes, cause us to be very fond of our migratory life. And when at noon we stop near some brook in the best grove we can find, spread out our tidy cloth on the smooth grass and gather around for our rich repast, I know were it not for our big waggons and unshaven faces, you would mistake us for some picnic party. The long thickly interspersed grape vines serve in the place of ropes and scarce a noon passes but what the younger part of our company must have quite a glee and seem to feel quite at home.

I never had an idea that such a large family of children could be taken from their pleasant home and be carried so great a distance travelling from early sun until it reaches its most western limits and with no impatient dissatisfied disposition. I like the family very much as I become acquainted with them.

The routine of the day is something like the following. Arise at 4 o'clock, feed the horses, water and curry them, roll up the bed clothes and tie them -- make preparations for breakfast, have baked sweet potatoes, corn dodger, have fried ham sometimes, baked apples, and occasionally have an extra good meal, eat heartily, then take down our tent, stow away all our things and journey on. Stop under some refreshing shade to wait for dinner, have feed troughs attached to the hind end of our waggons so that we can buy oats or corn off the people and feed at any time. Stop near sundown at some stream or watering place where wood is convenient and try to be near some good frame house. So far most of the journey has passed very pleasantly.

...Last Thursday [October 12, 1854], [Rev. Goode] left [our company] and went to Hannibal, Missouri Conference, to which we both belong. Yesterday he returned and brought our appointments. Mine is to be the Wakarusa Mission, Kansas River, covering an area of a great many miles. I was expecting to go to Omaha's Mission nearly opposite Council Bluffs but the Bishop made the change in order that I might be in the vicinity of Brother Goode with whose kind family I shall probably make my home.

Camp on Illinois River

[It is Sunday, October 16th and] we have concluded not to travel today. It is very pleasant and the Ladies wish to wash [clothes]. And here I am, sitting on the washboard by the side of an elm, ready to bring water, help hang out the clothes, and finish my letter to you. Miss Martha [age 17], Clara [age 15], and Sister [Sarah] Goode are very busy near[by] ringing the clothes. The [other] children, [William, age 13, Sarah, age 10, Harriet, age 7, Ellen, age 4, and Elizabeth, age 2,] are all busy out at the tent fire cracking hazelnuts.  Brother Goode has gone to a large farmhouse over the [Illinois] river to get some eggs, chickens, cheese, butter, &c. Here he comes with two large chickens. What a feast we will have. John Wilson and Brother Goode must go to preparing the chickens whilst I help wash. This afternoon we go out in the prairie with our shot gun to see if we can kill any wild geese as many are reported to be there. Nothing of especial interest has happened on the way. I have charge of one team -- a large pair of cream colored horses. Came very near tipping over the second day out passing a bad place. We have been troubled along to get a sufficient supply of good water for ourselves and teams. Some have been truly indifferent.

Camp at Milton, Missouri

[It is Sunday, October 25th and] a whole week has passed since I last tried to write. I ought to have sent this [letter] before. I have been truly busy. [John Wilson,] the young man with us [who is] in charge of one of the teams has been sick the whole week and has thrown the burden of all the work upon myself and Brother Goode which is no inconsiderable. The past week, sickness among ourselves and horses has tended to mar the pleasure of the trip in a measure...

Today, Brother Goode preached a most excellent discourse in the meetinghouse in this small village (Milton, Randolph County, Missouri). How much I like this most excellent Brother. How very often he reminds me of my own dear departed father. His voice, his disposition, his kind fatherly heart all attach me to him very much. Besides, he is so very kind. I know you will greatly love him when you come to form his acquaintance. You could hardly believe what great numbers are constantly flocking to the new territories. Provisions are reported very scarce this fall so that I am afraid many will suffer.

It is my intention to enter immediately upon my work -- preaching about in the territory wherever the way opens. I am looking for hardships. I expect, the Lord favoring, to lay a claim of the very finest 160 acres I can find along the Kansas River and, if I like the land and country first rate, and if you would not disapprove, I would sell my land in Illinois and buy what I could adjacent Brother Goode who has been all through the country. He says the country is most delightful there. Hither most are migrating.

I would be glad to have your brother James come there if he comes West. I almost know he will like it. I believe thousands from the East will locate on the Eden-like river. I want, if I conclude to live there, to get just as many of my friends as possible. What say you? Pardon the penciled letter written on my knee and please write me soon as possible. I wish I knew how and where you are today. The Lord bless you. Please write soon as you receive. Direct to Westport, Jackson County, Missouri. Give all the news from home. -- James

Log Cabin Camp

[It is October 31st and we are in a "Log Cabin Camp" about 30 miles from the Kansas line.] On account of the continual tax upon nearly every moment of my spare time, I am confident you will pardon me for not having much oftener written to you. Could I have done so as often as I have thought about it, you most certainly could not think yourself forgotten or in any way neglected. When I have descended into some rocky ravine with all its variety, or ascended some long eminence that overlooked an apparently limitless prairie with its gentle hills, its shallow valleys parting on purpose to allow the sweep of the eye to discern the hillocks and plains away beyond, I do think I witnessed far richer scenery than ever my eyes fell upon before...and although there were others that enjoyed it with me, yet it would have afforded very great pleasure if yourself could have been added to the number.

I am not sure whether you could have endured such a trip so very long. With the days travel, you could get along well enough as we try to introduce sufficient variety to make it a sort of recreation. But, as you say, the camping at night might be more than you could endure. Yet, to a person in good health, with the precautions which brother Goode uses, there can be but little danger. For a floor to the tent made of the heaviest drilling, a large oil cloth is spread, upon which the mammoth ticks -- well filled -- are spread, which tends to prevent all danger from dampness. And when the hour for retiring comes, the tent is entirely closed to prevent the great familiarity of the wind and also to exclude all dampness.

The Kaw Ferry

The smile of Providence seemed to rest upon us throughout our whole journey. We could not have asked for a more pleasant trip. Several adventures, such as the running away of horses, the stepping through bridges, &c. occasionally happened to add to the variety. But the crowning one of all was reserved for our last day. We had passed all the rivers but the Kanzas. Bridges and ferries were objects of dread as our wagons were so heavy. The ferry over this stream at its mouth is kept by Wyandot Indians. We had passed safely with our lightest waggon, and took the boat back for the second. The banks were quite steep on either side, so that any step taken could not well be retraced. We drove down into the flat with the second waggon which was very heavy. No sooner did the old rickety boat become fully conscious of the unusual weight pressing upon its sides than it began to draw in water at a tremendous rate. The boat is propelled by a rope stretched across the river. Seeing the boat fast filling, we seized the rope and sent the boat forward soon as possible for the other shore. Away we went -- faster we reached the opposite bank. Already the loose boards in the [false] bottom were floating about. What was to be done? Near the opposite shore, the water was very deep and already the boards had become so deranged we knew the horses could not stir the waggon. Quickly we unloosed the horses from the waggon, four in number -- had time to strip the harness from one, when we bade them escape for their lives.

While this was going on, the boat had reached near the shore but had drifted down some rods below the usual landing. One Indian with a rope jumped for the shore which it seemed he might strike at one leap but, judge of our position when I tell you that the soil which seemed firm, allowed him to sink down to the waist -- the noble fellow struggled for firmer land.

Another Indian, the assistant ferryman jumped in with him and hung to the rope. This caused the boat to careen about and come along the muddy shore broad side. Before this, however, the horses had plunged over from the boat and swam to the shore -- but it was only to find a shore upon which it was impossible to gain firm land. They plunged and splashed and floundered in the bottomless mud for a long time. At length, the one freed from the harness succeeded in drawing his almost exhausted frame upon the solid bank. And such a sight for a horse -- especially for one who had served us so faithfully. {the horse] turned around to look after his companions whose efforts for life had well nigh ceased and seemed to say, "Well, I guess you'll learn to keep out of the mud next time."

What was to be done!? There was one little corner of the boat in front upon which we could stand out of the water. The boat had sunk but not so as to wet a single thing in the waggon. We could not be of the least service to our horses as it was impossible to get at them. Neither could we even leave our place until they came for us with a skiff. By this time, quite a number of Indians had collected on the shore. The skiff took away Bro. Goode and John Wilson, and left me to care for the waggon. They went up the river, obtained an old flat, came down in below our boat, managed to get ropes over the horses, drew them back into the river one at a time, took the skiff and large flat boat and with them, managed to get [the horses] to swim up the river to the ferry landing about thirty rods, so that all were finally saved but it was with great difficulty. We then unloaded our waggon by extending an old flat between it and the shore -- carried the things all out, then took the waggon to pieces and carried them in the same way. We then placed everything in the waggon, arranged our teams, and reached this place of destination awhile after night, which we hoped to have reached before noon. Yet I trust we were thankful that amidst so many dangers, the Good Lord had delivered us and brought us to our final place of destination in such good health and fine spirits.

Kansas Territory Reached

The horse which I had intended for myself is a most excellent workhorse, but not a fleet saddle horse. I shall let Brother Goode retain him and dispose of him as he can -- and must buy me an Indian pony, or a horse that can endure the hardships of this new country.

I can but believe that I shall be delighted with this country. The soil appears of the very best kind. Coal seems to be abundant. Iron ore of a rich quality abounds. And the whole valley of the Kansas [River] is said to be equal to any in the world for agricultural purposes. Hundreds are fast making their way up into the Territory, and hundreds more seem to fall right into their wake.

A gentleman [Brother Clark] who had been a missionary among the Wyandots the past year told me that a great many Yankees had passed up the river recently. That they had begun a town just above the reserve, and were settling along very thickly. Said he had not the least doubt but that their little town, which they call Lawrence, will number in less than a year two thousand inhabitants.  So you have some idea of the work put in my hands the present year. I shall probably not find so much to do before Spring only to ride from one appointment to another -- it may be a distance of forty miles -- and preach as Providence seems to open the way.  In the mean time, I shall endeavor to erect me a little cabin on some 160 acres that may suit and try my hand at bachelor's hall. If I get lonesome, I will betake myself to some open door and ask admission. I want also to secure a few lots in Lawrence which I am sure will be valuable 'ere long. This place may become the Seat of Government.

[We are now] in the Territory and in the house to be Brother Goode's home for a time. It is situated on land reserved by the Wyandots and consequently some distance from where Eastern men are squatting. It is a small, brick dwelling owned by an Indian named Dane. He (Brother Goode) rents at ten dollars per month including a farm of twenty five acres, having a fine orchard and many things by means of which, with good management, he can make his family very comfortable.