From Chap. 17, Indiana, 1820

Just as we were beyond the last Mississinewa village, rain began to fall and continued all day. But immense relief dispelled any discomfort we foresaw in our night's lodging on the ground. After several hours of trying to dry outerwear at the campfire, we were finally compelled to lie down in wet clothing.

Though severe storms were frequent the next two days, we kept moving. During the heavier showers we threw blankets over the children. Saturated clothing continued to be our lot day and night.

We passed through two more Indian villages without incident. At White Raccoon's town, made up of widely-scattered huts, we observed an Indian mother standing calf deep in a rainy swamp. She had one child tied on her back and another at her side. "They're digging for food," I told my family. "We'll teach them that an acre of corn will yield more nutrients than all the roots and truffles they can gather in a season."

"I see now what you've spoken of," Christiana commented sadly. "I'm glad we came." She had no sooner said that when she called out in a kind of shouting whisper, "Delilah!"

Eleven-year-old Delilah had jumped off her horse. I jerked around to see her clutching the copper kettle and running toward an Indian woman surrounded by children. The rest of us sat frozen in our saddles while she handed the kettle to the mother. The Indians, unaware they were witnessing the fulfillment of a promise, appeared as stunned as we were. Delilah returned to her horse, mounted it, and we rode on in silence.