The Indianapolis Journal

ELDER MOSE KITE.
His Hair-Breadth Escapes from Seen
and Unseen Foes.
Troy (Kas.) Chief, Jan. 8, 1883.

Most of our older citizens well remember Mose
Kite (who lived in Petersburg Bottom), the hero
of our State's early political history, who was of
stalwart build and powerful physique, who, in
1858, led a colony of our people to Pike's Peak;
who fought the Indians on the plains and was
shot through the body; who, on his return here
after the rebellion, was converted and baptized
by Elder Henshall, of the Christian Church at
Petersburg Bottom, and became a revival
preacher of celebrity all through this section.
They will also recall the fact that, attacked with
consumption and reduced to a skeleton, he was
obliged to remove to the Rockies in the hope of
saving his life. None thought he would suc-
ceed. Last fall, however, the editor of this pa-
per met him at the head of the Republican river,
bigger and more robust than ever. "Why, I
thought you had died of consumption long, long
ago, Elder?"

"Me? I never had consumption, man! though
people thought that was what ailed me, and I
thought so myself. But the doctors had sent me
on a wild-goose chase after a dozen other dis-
eases, just as fatal, and this was the wildest one
of all.

The good Elder then recounted to us, in a
charming vein, his many adventures in the
rough and ready life he had led, "but," he said,
"remarkable as you may think my warlike life
has been, I have a much more interesting story
to tell you.

"You know what a rough, noisy fellow I used
to be; and I could stand any hardship. Why, on
a wager, I have knocked down an ox and a mule
with my fist. I have fought ruffians, border
outlaws and Indians; but I was
DOGGED FOR YEARS
by a more dangerous unseen enemy that was
ever getting me more completely in his clutches.
I was shot by an Indian in a fight on the plains,
but that wound healed readily, and gave me but
little trouble. After I returned to Kansas and
commenced preaching, I first began to give way.
I had a dull feeling, accompanied with a pain in
the right side. Dr. Butler, our family physician,
said my liver was out of order, caused by the
malaria of the bottoms. I had always had an
appetite like an ostrich, but my digestion became
seriously impaired. While on the circuit preach-
ing I consulted a doctor, who said I had dyspep-
sia. After that, distressing palpitation of the
heart followed, and the physician said this was
caused by my indigestion and diseased liver,
which would probably terminate fatally. Some-
times I had a ravenous appetite, at others none
at all. I was feverish and then chilly. My food
seemed to do me no good. A specialist told me
I had a tapeworm! Then I was troubled with
unusual quantities of water and a frequent de-
sire to urinate, which was done with difficulty
and great pain. The specialist said I had a touch
of the gravel, caused by use of the alkaline water
of the plains. I then began to suffer severe
pains in the loins and the small of the back, ac-
companied with sudden attacks of dizziness,
during which I had to sit or lie down, to avoid
falling. I was forced to abandon
TRAVELING AND PREACHING,
because I could no longer ride on horseback, or
trust myself out alone. I began to be seriously
alarmed, and sought the advice of the most
noted physician within reach. He said that my
frequent horseback riding had jolted and jarred
me until the old Indian wound, which had in-
jured my kidneys, had become inflamed. He
treated me with medicines and electricity also,
but gave me no permanent benefit. My painful
symptoms all returned. I began to cough, got
very thin and my legs were disagreeably numb.
I began to despair. At each attempt to cure, my
ailments became worse, with new symptoms. I
next consulted a celebrated physician from the
East, who, after thumping and examining me,
stated that I was in an advanced stage of con-
sumption and threatened with diabetes and pa-
ralysis! He thought I might possibly prolong
my life for a year or two by seeking a higher and
drier climate. This was my condition when the
people in your part of the country last saw me.
Then I started for the Rockies, but liked this
country and settled here. At first the change
helped me, but about three years ago the benefit
ceased. Then I failed so rapidly that I could be
out of bed only a part of each day. All my old
symptoms returned. At this crisis a party of
Eastern gentlemen,
ON A BUFFALO HUNT,
made my house their headquarters. In the party
was a Dr. Wakefield, who informed me that I
had a bad case of incurable Bright's disease, and
gave me a preparation which might, he said,
ease me for a few weeks or months, but that was
the best that could be done. Around the bottle
was a newspaper. Now, a newspaper was a
rarity in our home, and I sat in my chair looking
it over when my eye providentially fell upon an
article relating a most wonderful cure of Bright's
disease—the very malady that was killing me—
by the use of Warner's Safe Kidney and Liver
Cure, (of Rochester, N. Y.). Convinced that
further delay would be fatal, and everything
else failing, the next morning I dispatched one
of my boys to the nearest railroad station, many
miles distant, to obtain a bottle of the Safe
Cure. The druggist said the demand for the
Cure was so great he could not keep it in stock,
and he had to send to Kansas City for more. It
was more than a week before it arrived, and I
was daily getting weaker. But it came at last,
and I at once began to take it. When I told
Dr. Wakefield what I was taking, he gave me a
look, half of scorn, half of pity, as much as to
say,
'POOR FELLOW!
he is putting his trust in a humbug.' Neverthe-
less I persevered and for the past year and a half
I have been as stout and rugged as I ever was in
my life. After escaping the attacks of Indians
and half a dozen doctors, I was lying at the
mercy of a still more dreadful foe that was
about giving me the finishing blow, when that
great remedy stepped in, slew my adversary,
and placed me firmly on my feet once more. I
have commenced preaching again; for I look
upon the circumstances and manner of my cure
as a direct interposition of Providence, and to
Providence are my services due. That is my
story. I think it is as good as a romance—and
much better, for it is true."

Such is the substance, and very nearly the lan-
guage of Elder Kite's narrative. Those who
read it, and are suffering, may benefit by his ex-
perience, if they will follow his example.