EARLY DAY STORIES. 61 



they could. The teams so doubled could easily draw the 

 remaining wagons, and it was thought there might be pro- 

 visions enough left to last those that tarried with the teams, 

 until supplies could be reached. There were four of us to 

 go on ahead, my cousin, Wesley, a man by the name of Root, 

 another whose name has gone from me, and myself. We 

 bade them all good bye, and started off, but our journey of 

 400 miles on foot will be told in the next chapter. 



Mrs. Knapp and her babies I never saw a^'^m. I saw 

 Mr. Knapp in Portland about a year later, ana he told me 

 this sad story. Soon after we left the company the baby 

 was taken sick and died and was buried in a poor, little, 

 lonely grave, only another added to the thousands that al- 

 ready marked the whole course of the trail. It was too 

 much for the mother — she probably had not become very 

 strong and in just a few days she followed her baby to the 

 better land. Poor Mrs. Knapp — her lot for the last few 

 months of her life was a hard one. Born of well to do 

 parents in Louisiana, her father an owner of slaves, reared 

 in a good home, well educated, surrounded by luxuries, she 

 yet consented, and willingly, I think, to undertake this trip, 

 knowing of some of the things at least, that she was to 

 endure. She had energy, courage and grit, but had never 

 been drilled in the school of adversity. Her strength was 

 insufficient for the burdens she had to carry. Mr. Knapp 

 was born in Ohio but went to Louisiana when quite young, 

 and married his wife there. He did not believe in slavery 

 and wanted to go to a state where it did not exist, and his 

 wife was willing to go with him. They decided that Oregon 

 was the place. The reader has heard the story but I could 

 scarcely summon sufficient resolution to relate it. 



