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 clasp tightened, and I, glancing up, saw tears in her eyes and sorrow in her face.  I was grieved at her pain, and in sympathy nestled closer to her side and sat so quiet that I soon fell asleep.  When I awoke, the sun still shone, but we had encamped for the night on the ground where the State House of Illinois now stands.

Mr. Reed and family, and my uncle Jacob and family, with their travelling equipments and cattle, were already settled there.  Under father’s direction, our own encampment was soon accomplished.  By nightfall, the duties of the day were ended, and the members of our party gathered around one fire to spend a social hour.

Presently, the clatter of galloping horses was heard, and shortly thereafter eight horsemen alighted, and with merry greetings joined our circle.  They were part of the reading society, and had come to hold its last reunion beside our first camp-fire.  Mr. Francis was among them, and took an inventory of the company’s outfit for the benefit of the readers of The Springfield Journal.

They piled more wood on the blazing fire, making it a beacon light to those who were watching from afar; they sang songs, told tales, and for the time being drove homesickness from our hearts.  Then they rode away in the moonlight, and our past was a sweet memory, our future a beautiful dream.

William Donner, my half-brother, came to camp early next morning to help us to get the cattle started, and to accompany us as far as the outskirts of civilization.

We reached Independence, Missouri, on the eleventh of May, with our wagons and cattle in prime condition, and our people in the best of spirits.  Our party encamped near that bustling frontier town, and were soon a part of the busy crowds, making ready for the great prairie on the morrow.  Teams thronged the highways; troops of men, women, and children hurried nervously about seeking information and replenishing supplies.  Jobbers on the street were crying their wares, anxious to sell anything or everything required, from a shoestring to a complete outfit for a four months’ journey across the plains.  Beads of sweat clung to the merchants’ faces as they rushed to and fro, filling orders.  Brawny blacksmiths, with breasts bared and sleeves rolled high, hammered and twisted red hot metal into the divers forms necessary to repair yokes and wagons.