h she hoped to
establish in California.

A liberal sum of money for meeting incidental expenses and replenishing
supplies on the journey, if need be, was stored in the compartments of
two wide buckskin girdles, to be worn in concealment about the person.
An additional sum of ten thousand dollars, cash, was stitched between
the folds of a quilt for safe transportation. This was a large amount
for those days, and few knew that my parents were carrying it with
them. I gained my information concerning it in later years from Mr.
Francis, to whom they showed it.

To each of his grown children my father deeded a fair share of his
landed estate, reserving one hundred and ten acres near the homestead
for us five younger children, who in course of time might choose to
return to our native State.

As time went on, our preparations were frequently interrupted by social
obligations, farewell visits, dinners, and other merrymakings with
friends and kindred far and near. Thursday, April 15, 1846, was the day
fixed for our departure, and the members of our household were at work
before the rosy dawn. We children were dressed early in our new linsey
travelling suits; and as the final packing progressed, we often peeped
out of the window at the three big white covered wagons that stood in
our yard.

In the first were stored the merchandise and articles not to be handled
until they should reach their destination; in the second, provisions,
clothing, camp tools, and other necessaries of camp life. The third was
our family home on wheels, with feed boxes attached to the back of the
wagon-bed for Fanny and Margaret, the favorite saddle-horses, which
were to be kept ever close at hand for emergencies.

Early in the day, the first two wagons started, each drawn by three
yoke of powerful oxen, whose great moist eyes looked as though they too
had parting tears to shed. The loose cattle quickly followed, but it
was well on toward noon before the family wagon was ready.

Then came a pause fraught with anguish to the dear ones gathered about
the homestead to say farewell. Each tried to be courageous, but not one
was so brave as father when he bade good-bye to his friends, to his
children, and to his children's children.

I sat beside my mother with my hand clasped in hers, as we slowly moved
away from that quaint old house on its grassy knoll, from the orchard,
the corn land, and the meadow; as we passed through the last pair of
bars, her