From Chap. 52, Missouri, 1836
Little Christiana, who had been spitting up blood for months, was now at our house. She had come there so that we might enjoy her company in her last days. Of the eight deaths among our fourteen children, five had occurred in my absence. In three instances I had left them on their deathbeds. Now to repeat this heart-rending self-denial, though in a cause that seemed to justify great sacrifice, required more strength than could be collected from earth. For many weeks we sought direction from heaven. Then, after all things were in readiness for my departure, I deferred the painful separation for another week. On the eighth day my daughter summoned me to her bedside.
"Father," she whispered. Her throat was sore from incessant coughing. "I want you to go on to Washington. The cause lies near my heart as well as yours."