We continued our journey until we reached the town of Columbus, Hickman county, Kentucky. Here we put up with Captain Robinson, formerly an officer in the army, who treated us very kindly, assuring us that we were welcome to stay at his house until a boat should come, if it were three months. While here a company of thirteen hundred Cherokee Indians encamped on the bank of the river, to wait for ferry privileges. They felt deeply wounded at leaving their native country for the west. They said they were leaving a fine country, rich in mineral, but the whites knew very little of its value. They excited our sympathies very much; little did I think that my own wife and helpless babes were objects of greater sympathy than these. At length a boat came along, and we went on board. We had to pay all our money (five dollars) for fare, and eat and lie among negroes, as we took a deck passage. About ninety miles from St. Louis, our boat got aground, where it lay for three days. During this time we had nothing to eat but a little parched corn. They finally gave up the boat and left her. We went to the clerk and got two dollars of our money back, after which we went on board of a little boat that landed us in St. Louis the next morning. Here we found Elder Orson Pratt; he told us that Joseph was a prisoner with many others, and that David Patten was killed, giving us a long and sorrowful account of the sufferings of the Saints, which filled our hearts with sorrow. The next morning we started again on our journey. When we arrived at Huntsville, we stopped at the house of George Lyman, to rest, he being uncle to Cousin George, whose feet had now become very sore with traveling. Here we heard dreadful tales concerning our friends in Daviess county, that they were all murdered, and that my brothers, Joseph and Hyrum, were shot with a hundred balls.