We had been accustomed to muddy roads, rocks, hills, mountains, gulfs, rapids, dangerous streams, but this route excelled them all for difficulty and danger. We traveled several hours in the rain and gained nine miles. We came to Elder’s Inn, where, though not a very desirable place, we were glad to put up. It poured all night. The next morning we proceeded through the solitary woods, that had been the abode of Indians, and where the wild beast still found a home, through deep mud, over huge rocks and lofty hills, down deep gulleys, to where two branches of the Elk waters formed a junction. The current being so rapid we thought it not safe to venture over; but we soon perceived that the water was falling, and in about an hour and a half we passed over in safety. Of this journey Bishop Asbury makes the following mournful record: “We must needs come the Northumberland road; it is an awful wilderness. Alas! Read and prayed in the woods. I leave the rest to God. In the last three days and a half we have ridden one hundred and forty miles. What mountains, hills, rocks, roots! Brother Boehm was thrown from the sulky, but providentially not a bone broken.” This record needs no comment. It makes me weep when I look back and remember how patiently he suffered. I was suddenly thrown from the sulky and might have been killed, but as the bishop said I was providentially preserved, or I might have found a grave in the wilderness and left the poor infirm old man to have pursued his journey alone. The road was so rough that Father Asbury could not ride in the sulky; it jolted and hurt him, so he and I exchanged, and he rode my horse and I in his vehicle. If he had been thrown out as I was he probably would have been killed. No bone of mine was broken, and yet the flesh was torn from my left leg so that I was a cripple for months. I suffered more than if it had been broken. Riding on horseback with that poor leg, no language can describe my suffering. We will resume our narrative, for we are not yet out of the woods. When we reached the other side of the stream we fell in with a man by the name of John Brown. As it was dangerous for us to proceed, Mr. Brown kindly invited us to his cabin. No endangered mariner was ever more glad to get into harbor than we were to find a shelter, for houses in that wilderness were very “few and far between.”