was, "We are going to California in
the spring." My mother was more than agreeable and from that time
nothing was talked or thought of but the journey to California. The old
refrain was sung from morning to night,

"In the spring we 're going to journey,
Far away to California."

My chum, Tant, a negro boy of my own age, and I seriously discussed the
prospects and dangers of the journey. Direful tales of the tomahawk and
scalping knife were recounted by the older children. But Tant's fears
were allayed by the assurance that the "Injuns" would not kill and scalp
a black boy with a woolly head. For once in my life I envied that imp of
darkness.

In February a gentleman came to our home and after dinner he and my
father rode over the plantation. The next morning they rode over to
Bolliver, the county seat. Returning in the evening my father announced
that the plantation was sold. Then began the real preparations for the
journey. My father was constantly in the saddle. Oxen, wagons, ox yokes,
ox bows, cattle, covers for wagons, arms, ammunition and provisions were
purchased and brought to the plantation. All was hurry and excitement.
Two shoemakers came to our home to make up the leather purchased at St.
Louis or from neighboring tanneries. Meantime Aunt Ann and the older
girls of the family were busy spinning and weaving. Every article of
wearing apparel must be made at home. "Store clothes" were out of the
question in those days. Wool must be carded and spun into thread for.
Aunt Ann's old wooden loom. The cloth was then fashioned into garments
for clothing to last a year after we should reach our goal far out on
the Pacific shores. The clank of the old wooden loom was almost
ceaseless. Merrily the shuttle sang to an accompaniment of a camp
meeting melody. Neighbors also kindly volunteered their services in
weaving and fashioning garments for the family. All was bustle and
hurry.

At last all was in readiness for the start. Spring with all its beauty
and glory was with us, and friends from the country round and about had
come to bid us a final farewell--friends, alas, we were destined never
to meet again. The parting I remember as the first real sorrow of a life
that has experienced most of the hardships, dangers, privations and
sufferings of a wild frontier life. It was a beautiful morning early in
April, 1852, that the leaders were pointed to the west and a start was
made. Four wagons were drawn by five yoke