Bybee Family History & Genealogy

byron lee bybee was my grandpa and iwas liveing with him until i was17, and remember most of his stories.

This book is dedicated to the many descendants of Robert Lee Bybee to help them remember, "Hereditary honors are a noble and splendid treasure. Cherish them!"

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

It was through the dedication and commitment of Lee J. Bybee, a grandson of R. L. Bybee, that the continuation of this good man's history was promoted.

A special thanks to Clendon and Jay Bybee, Ray Bybee's sons, for making available the larger part of the personally written history of Robert Lee Bybee.

To complete this personal history of Robert Lee Bybee, careful and extensive research has been made. This research includes written records of factual events and dates of his life's history. The greater part of this history was written by Robert Lee Bybee. Other sources include: "History of Menan, Idaho;" " History of Milo, Idaho;" "History of Iona, Idaho;" and "Progressive Men of Idaho."

Most of these sources have been made available through the libraries of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. The correct dates and many significant details of L.D.S. Ward histories have been carefully documented.

Other reliable sources are authentic stories and histories of some of R. L. Bybee's grandchildren who are still living (1989). Grandchildren who willingly shared histories, stories, and events as they remembered them of this greatly loved and respected Grandparent, Robert Lee Bybee, are Clendon Bybee and Jay Bybee, (sons of Ray Bybee); and Guinevere Hancey, Denzil Hancey, Wanda Christensen, and Donna Hillman, (son and daughters of Minnie Bybee Hancey.)

Events written by family members are true, however, dates are not certain. So the word "approximate" will appear. All writing submitted I believe to be "reasonably" correct.

So through records, histories, and family writings, I have been able to write and adapt to what I hope is a convincing conclusion to a "labor of love." For without everyone's efforts, I could never have successfully accomplished it. I respectfully present this work for publishing realizing there is yet much that could have been written had the correct information been available.

Signed, Donna Hillman (Daughter of Minnie Bybee Hancey) 1989

In preparing this published history of Robert Lee Bybee, we have not changed the original typed manuscript. We have, however, divided paragraphs and added punctuation to add clarity. We have left misspelled words as we found them when it appeared not to be a typographical error and have enclosed them in accent marks. The many hours spent in typing and editing this history have brought Great Grandfather Bybee to life, and we feel we have come to know him. We appreciate the opportunity to be a part of this work.

Linda Kaye Hillman Shearer and Dale Shearer


I, Robert Lee Bybee, was born on the banks of the Eel River, in Clay County, Indiana, U.S.A., born May 4th, 1838, son of Byram Bybee and Betsy Lane.

I would say as the Prophet Nephi said, "I was born of goodly parents" and was taught in the ways of righteousness and learning as that day afforded.

The following incidents are a few of the events that have occurred in my life. For the first four years of my life my father was engaged in the pursuit of agriculture in the above county and state. As a matter of providing the necessities of life for the family, he also repaired shoes for those who required the service, and as occasion required he would construct the shoe "thruout."
When about four years of age my parents moved from the state of Indiana into the state of Illinois and settled in the city of Nauvoo.

At this point I would like to state that I am 87 years of age and offer these memoirs after an elapse of about 80 years, but to the best of my memory we lived in Nauvoo about one year, moving then from Nauvoo to a farm about two or three miles south of that city. The property to which we moved belonged to Daniel Smith who had married my sister Elizabeth. While living there I recall the following incident. As was the custom among the early pioneers, my mother was making soap in a large iron kettle which she kept for that purpose. While thus engaged five mobocrats came to our home and ordered my father with his family to leave immediately for Nauvoo. At their approach my mother was stirring the soap with a stick she had for that purpose. She shook the stick at the leader and said, "We will not leave here until my soap is done." At that they laughed among themselves, at the captain, and rode away. Next morning my father was standing in the door yard when we heard the report of a rifle, and a bullet whizzed over Father's head. We took this as a warning that we should leave as soon as possible, which we did, returning to Nauvoo after an absence of about one year.

I received my first schooling as a result of our return to Nauvoo. I was then in my sixth year, this being 1844. I remember well the school house as it stood near the bank of the Mississippi River, and the teacher's name was one Mr. Church. We lived west of the temple four or five blocks on the bank of the river.

The mobs at this time around Nauvoo were very bitter against the Saints, and their activities forced the people to leave their farms and other properties and flee to Nauvoo for safety. A man returned to his own property at the risk of his own life to harvest his corn or to get meat for his family.

I relate an incident here to show how the mobs were treating the people. When we decided to move back to Nauvoo, my sister Elizabeth and family decided to remain on their farm and harvest their crops. At this particular time Elizabeth"s husband was not at home due to the fact that the mobs were pursuing the men so closely that they were forced in hiding to protect their lives. Sometime during the fore part of this particular day four or five mobbers came to the house and told Elizabeth if she had any personal properties or valuables she wanted in particular to get them immediately as they had come there to burn their home. Among the things she removed from the house was a fine stone jar that belonged to my mother, and which she had brought with her from her home in Indiana. Elizabeth had the jar because Mother had no cows in Nauvoo and so had no use for the jar which was used for a churn. As she came out with the jar one of the mobbers said to her, "There is my mother's churn. You stole it from her." But Elizabeth replied, "You are a liar, my mother brought that churn from her home in Indiana," to which she received no reply.

Before we left Indiana two of my sisters married. One of them, my oldest sister Polly Chapman Bybee, married Levi Hammon. The other sister following her in age, Rhoda Bybee, married David Bair. To the best of my recollection, Levi Hammon joined the Church and moved to Nauvoo in the spring of 1843. David Bair did not join the Church and did not move west, spending all his days in Ohio and my sister Rhoda with him.

When Levi Hammon came west to Nauvoo, he brought with him a team of horses and a wagon. One day Levi, Father, and myself, with my younger brother Byram who was three years younger than myself, went up to watch the work on the temple. As we were returning home in Hammon's wagon, we met an outfit of three or four mobbers, all armed, and they had my brother-in-law Daniel Smith prisoner. When we met them Levi Hammon stopped them, and Father spoke to Daniel, and one of the mobbers after an oath of profanity said, "Don't speak to him," and ordered the driver to drive on. Within a few days Daniel returned to Nauvoo having in some manner secured his release. We never knew how he gained his freedom.

We lived during the winter of 1843-44 suffering much for the want of provisions. Corn could be purchased in the market in Nauvoo for 10 cents per bushel, the problem being to secure the ten cents. I remember one day, my father who was somewhat of a sickly nature, very seldom doing any hard work, secured 10 cents just how I do not know, perhaps for repairing someone's shoes, a trade he sometimes followed and at which he was good for the day and age. He was honest in every respect, and his work was of the highest quality. The 10 cents that Father had he spent for a bushel of corn a part of which Mother used to make hominy. Father took the rest of the corn down to a grist mill down the river from our place to have it ground. The mill was owned by one Mr. Micksell. Father and Mr. Micksell were great friends. He left the corn at the mill with the request that it be ground as soon as possible and to which Mr. Micksell agreed. We were in need of the grist very badly at home as we had neither bread or flour in the house. Never can I recall while we lived in Nauvoo of having flour in our home. We considered ourselves indeed lucky to have corn meal, and there were times when we did not have that. The only flour that we ever enjoyed was given to us by a Nauvoo merchant named David Yearsley who lived near us. He was a splendid man and was surely a friend to us. Sometimes his wife would bring us a pan of flour or a plate of biscuits, and we would enjoy one of the rare treats of that time. The fact that the corn meal was so badly needed at home forced Father to see Mr. Micksell again about the grist but was told that it was not ready. After securing a promise that the grist would be ready as soon as possible Father returned home. Another visit followed the next day with the same result. The meal was needed very much at home so Father returned for the third time, somewhat out of patience, and reminded Mr. Micksell that this was his third trip. Mr. Micksell agreed with him and told him to come once more and that would be the fourth. So Father, returning the next day for the fourth time, got the meal.


During the winter 1843-44 our family consisted of the following children: Louan, John, Lucene, David, Byram, and myself. One morning in the early spring of 1844 Father called the family to his side and said, "Children, there isn't a bite of bread in this house and nothing to make it of. If you want to go up and work on the temple this morning, alright. I am not asking you too, but if you do I will try and have bread for your dinner." John and David were then working on the temple, and Byram and I spent most of our time up there helping to do what we could. We all went to the temple and worked that forenoon, and upon our return home, we found a corn-dodger which we certainly enjoyed.

In the early summer of this year, 1844, an incident occurred in my young life that marked itself very clearly in my mind, making an impression that is as clear today in my mind as it was then. I feel that it had much to do with the confidence I learned to place in the life of the Prophet Joseph Smith. The Prophet was a military man in no small degree, and it was an interest that he displayed along this line toward the youths of Nauvoo that prompted him to ask the parents of the community to allow their sons to subject themselves to the conditions and discipline of military training. It was during one of the sermons he preached appealing for the support of the parents and their sons in regard to this military training that he said, in effect, if they would allow their sons to come to him and subject themselves to military training and discipline, he could promise that they would never be killed by the bullet of an enemy.

In our own family this was readily accepted, and as a result, I received some of the early impressions that have remained with me "thruout" my life and are as clearly impressed on my mind now as they were then, being more clearly outlined than some things of much more importance seemingly.

There were only two members of our family whose age would allow them to participate in the organization. There were to be two companies each representing a different age. My brother David, some six years older than myself, [and I] were the two of our family. I can remember very distinctly the uniforms that were used. They consisted of practically anything that would keep us covered up. The only thing essential in the line of a uniform was the cap. It consisted of two strips of pasteboard fastened and so arranged as to slip over the head, with blue yarn tassels one on either end and one on top. The difference in the uniforms of the two companies was the red trimmings of the caps of the older company. I regret even now that I haven't that little old paste board cap to treasure, not only as a remembrance but as a reality as well. I remember very well the fate of that cap. My mother's impression of that cap was much the same as mine for when we left Nauvoo that cap was one of the treasured possessions lying in the bottom of Mother's wooden chest.

I was about 16 or 17 years of age, and we were living in Uintah, Utah, where I was prevailed upon by Malan Chase, a neighbor of ours, who had aspirations toward the stage, and who always wanted the cap and felt much surer of success when he had it on, to trade it to him for an old slate. A good slate in those days was considered quite a valuable piece of property, there being no tablets or blackboards for use in the home or in the schools.

Myself and my younger brother Byram spent much of the time during this period watching the progress of the men working on the temple raising the large stone to their places on the high wall of the building with the crude implements at their command. The process, though somewhat slow and inefficient, employed the block and tackle system. I can see very plainly in my mind the men as they prepared to hoist a stone to its place. They always sang the following song:


Rolling, a bolling and the ship is rolling,
Oh! Ho! Ho!
Rolling , a bolling and the ship is a rolling,
Oh! Ho! HO!

And following the last "Ho" they united their efforts and up went the stone.

Our other form of amusement that we enjoyed very much was watching the progress of the steamboats in the Mississippi River. Some little distance below our home in Nauvoo there was quite a rapid in the river caused by a projection of rock, and above these the larger vessels could not go. There were some "side-wheelers," a boat built with its power wheels on either side, that could pass over the rapids. There were also some stern wheel boats. I think one or two of them were able to pass over the rapids, and one, the "Warsaw," we were always particularly interested in because it not only carried the mail from Nauvoo up or down the river, but it always seemed to appeal to us with the ease with which it came or went. We, too, were perhaps more particularly interested in the "Warsaw" because it's name always reminded us of a community by that name whose people were embittered against the Saints.

There was very little work in Nauvoo that winter. The work on the temple was all donated. Aside from this there was a Cooper Institution, its purpose being to make barrels and kegs for the transportation of whiskeys, etc. There was some employment offered by this company in securing "hoop-poles" which were made from a slender growth of hickory, perhaps in their second season and very tough and pliable, and which were used very successfully for the purpose.

It was during the late spring and early summer of this year, 1844, that the mob actions of our enemies made it necessary for us to look to the future for a new place to live. Their depredations increased, and there was a constant flow of the Saints to Nauvoo. I remember the preparations of my folks to move westward to the Rocky Mountains for the whole Church was planning to go there. Previous to this time, as early as 1843, possibly 1842, there was discussion among the Saints of a move westward.

During this time and as far back as 1839, there seemed to a determined effort on the part of the mobbers to have the life of the Prophet Joseph Smith. For a period following the issuance of the Exterminating Order by Governor Boggs of Missouri, and after the Saints had moved to Illinois, the Prophet Joseph was allowed his freedom almost undisturbed, and during this time in the years of 1842 and 1843, I have seen the Prophet Joseph many times. I remember very distinctly having heard the Prophet preaching and teaching the people on Sundays in the beautiful grove in the eastern part of the city of Nauvoo, where the summer meetings of the Saints were held, and where we were nearly always on Sundays. My mother was a good church goer, and she always took the family with here. Perhaps the clearest and most impressive of my boyhood memories of the Prophet are the ones I recall of parades and drills of the Nauvoo Legion which made up the militia of Hancock County. I can see now the beautiful bay horse upon which he was always seated when in command of the Legion, and the figure he presented in the uniform he wore, which was as clean as a new pin and as neat as he could possibly be. I remember, too, seeing him frequently when he would pay our company a visit while we were in training.


The Prophet always spoke to us urging us to be good, clean boys. The last time I remember distinctly having seen the Prophet alive was in one of the parades of the Legion.

I remember very well the excitement prevailing among the Saints when the report of the Prophet's assassination reached Nauvoo. I saw the bodies of both the Prophet and his brother Hyrum after they were brought to Nauvoo. My mother took us boys to see them, father being unable to go on account of ill health, and both my sisters were away from home at the time. So I can say that I have seen the Prophet and his brother Hyrum both in life and death, and that is something that very few men living today can say.

It seems to me now that the remaining months of the year 1844, and until the early spring of 1845, my life was somewhat uneventful, there being nothing particularly worthy of note, unless it was the fact that during this time we labored under a false impression in regard to the preparations that were necessary for our trip west later. The idea was generally accepted that there was a scarcity of fuel for fires over the plains, and as a result we were cautioned to prepare as much food as we could before we started on the trip. Thus, the corn that we did not need for our daily use, we parched to be used later when we moved west.

This information concerning the scarcity of fuel for fire was in error, as we were later to find out, and as a result the practice of parching corn was discontinued early in the year of 1845. It was found that buffalo excrement, or "buffalo chips" as it was more familiarly known, could be used to very good advantage for fuel and were very plentiful, there being an abundance to be had nearly everywhere on the plains.

If I remember correctly, the first move of our migration was made about this time. It is true there was no movement among the Saints westward, but everyone seemed to be figuring on a move in that direction eventually. Circumstances I suppose had something to do with the move also. Nevertheless, when we crossed the Mississippi River in the month of May of this year, we always considered it the first of the moves we were to make with the Rocky Mountains as our eventual goal.


I remember very distinctly that the leaves were out on the trees, and the spring flowers were just coming out in bloom, and the birds were returning from the South, and their cheerful songs rang merrily out "thru" the woods.

Finally when all our preparations were completed, the family was all assembled on the east bank of the Mississippi waiting our turn for the ferry boat, which I remember well was a large flat-bottomed boat large enough to accommodate two teams and wagons at the same time. The boat was a very sturdy affair and was so constructed to make it practically impossible to sink or tip them over. They were operated entirely free of cables, the power being furnished by man, which consisted of one, two, or three sets of oars, as the case happened to be, arranged on either side of the boat, the size and character of which determined the number of sets of oars used, usually one man for each oar. The boat was guided by a man at the helm of the boat using the rudder.


At this point the river was practically one mile wide, and the current of the stream made it necessary to tow the boat a considerable distance up the stream in order to effect the proper landing on the opposite side of the river.

I wish here to make a note of the fact that Levi Hammon had also made preparations to move westward with us. He had joined us previously in Nauvoo in the year 1843, also joining the Church the same year as a result of missionary work of my father. The combined properties of the two families were insufficient to make the second trip across the river necessary, so we were both loaded on the boat at the same time. Our trip across the river was made without mishap, and we landed at Montrose, Iowa, almost directly opposite Nauvoo. (?) At this point the river forms the boundary between the present state of Illinois and Iowa. Our move westward was, as before noted, somewhat in advance of the Saints in general, this because of the foresight of my father in anticipation of the trouble the mobbers were later to cause the Saints. Father often remarked about the cloudy future of the Saints and seemed to sense the fact that trouble was in store for the Saints.

Previous to our move across the river, my father had made arrangements with a certain Dr. Todd to move upon a large tract of land he owned in Iowa, not far from Montrose. Dr. Todd wanted the land fenced. The kind of fence he wanted made was known as the "worm-fence." The rails and other materials for the fence were to be from the trees on the place. And it was with the intention of doing this work that we settled on the place. Father and Levi Hammon had contracted the work together so that we made the trip to the property from Montrose together and made our home together such as it was.

We did not have a house to move into so things were arranged as best we could which was indeed a very crude affair. There were many things that served to make things hard for us, and the presence of snakes and insects made it impossible to sleep on the ground. So we cut sticks long enough to stand above the ground about three feet after they had been driven in the ground far enough to be quite solid, and arranged cross sticks on these so that we could place the wagon boxes on these and which formed our sleeping conveniences. Levi and his family lived near us in a tent protected as well as possible.

There never was a time in Father's life that I can recall when he could do any strenuous work, and as a result the burden of our share of the work fell on the shoulders of John and David. John was then in his seventeenth year and David was fifteen.


Dr. Todd furnished our axes, a crosscut saw, and two or three iron wedges. The wooden wedges or gluts we made ourselves. The rails to be used in the fence were to be twelve feet long and were to be made of the easiest obtainable wood. The boys always preferred walnut because it split easily and the grain of the wood made it possible to make a nice uniform rail. David was a splendid worker, and his job in particular was to start splitting the logs that had been sawed into lengths by John and Levi. There is much more to splitting a log properly than is generally supposed. First the iron wedges are started in the ends of the log, one near the center above the heart, and the other one the same distance below the heart. The distance between the wedges was governed by the size of the log. The wedges were driven by being hit alternately with a maul. After the log started to split, the gluts were used if necessary to split them clear to the end. The portions were then quartered and split as many times as possible leaving the rail about four inches square. The piece of land we were fencing was only a portion of the whole property and was about one-half mile square, so that we had about two miles of fence to build. The rails were distributed by loading them on Levi's wagon to the places where they were to be used. Our supplies, particularly corn and pork, were furnished by Dr. Todd as part pay for our work. I don't know the particulars of the contract drawn up between them but when we finally finished the fence, sometime about the first of September, in addition to paying for our summer supplies, Father left there with a good wagon and a good yoke of young cattle.

Dr. Todd was certainly a fine friend of our family, and I believe Father could have made his home with him there if he had so desired. But Father's aims and desires were to go west with the Saints, and nothing was permitted to interfere with the plans. During the few months we spent on Mr. Todd's place, Byram and I were allowed almost perfect freedom to roam the woods as we pleased. We had no responsibilities except occasionally carrying water from a nearby spring for Mother. Usually we came when we pleased and went the same way.

When Byram and I were alone, we loved to hunt the nest of the quail, and this was possibly our greatest pastime. It not only afforded us great fun, but the eggs could be used by Mother in her cooking. There were times too, when we were allowed to go with Father into the woods to hunt squirrels. There were a great many of them in the woods around us. They were principally of two kinds, the gray and the fox squirrel, and either were very fine meat.

Father was certainly a very fine marksman. He owned a small calibre Kentucky rifle and prided himself in the fact that he could use it perhaps as well as any Kentuckian. Many times have I seen him spy a squirrel high up in the small branches of a tree and deliberately raise his rifle, and after a careful aim, fire, and down would come the squirrel, and very seldom would the meat be shot up very bad.

The squirrel meant more to our family than simply meat, for my mother was unfortunate in having very poor feet and only leather of the very softest kind could be used. The squirrel pelt when properly tanned made good, tough, endurable leather, and her shoes were always made of them by Father.

First Father put the pelt of the squirrel in the ash hopper, which contained the ashes Mother used in making soap for family use. Care was taken to cover the pelt with three or four inches ash and also that the ashes were quite damp. Perhaps it would be well to explain the ash hopper and why we kept the ashes. There was no particular shape to the hopper except that it would hold the ashes and was as nearly as possible watertight. The lower end of the hopper was arranged with a slightly sloping bottom, and on the lower side was a trough. When the proper time came for soap making, ashes were the source of our lye to be used in the process. Sufficient water was put on the ashes, and as it came "thru"to the trough, it as saturated with good, strong lye, which we caught in a bucket.

The pelt after having been left in the ashes three or four days, or until it was possible to easily remove the hair, was then removed and "thoroly" washed and placed in some soft soap. After three or four days, it was again "thoroly" washed then worked by hand near a fire until it was perfectly dry. It was then very soft and pliable.

One day about this time something happened to me I have no good reason for forgetting. Mother had sent me to the spring for some water, and some other things there I had become far more interested in. After I had been gone about one-half hour, Father passed the spring on his way to the woods and noticed what I was doing, and after reminding me to hurry up and to tell Mother when I arrived at camp to punish me. Well I hurried with the water alright, but I "thot" maybe by some lapse of memory Father would forget the licking business, and Mother would never know I was supposed to have one. I got by fine and dandy until Father came home and almost the first thing he asked concerning the licking, I admitted I had failed to tell Mother, and he assumed the task. I was much better satisfied with this arrangement for I would rather have taken two whippings from Father than one from Mother, as she had a process that commanded respect and no efforts on her part were misdirected.

Another thing that happened in our lives that was worthy of note much more then than now was one of Mother's Johnny cakes. Very few times after we crossed the Mississippi into Iowa we were without cornmeal, and here to our supply of white flour increased. Mother was an expert on the well-known corn dodger. But the times when Johnny cakes were made every one sat up and took notice. The things used to make the cake and the dodgers were practically the same. But the method was quite different. The cornmeal, salt, and water were mixed as for the dodger, but the big secret happened when the cracklings, the portion left after the fat of the hog had been rendered, were added. Johnny cake days were certainly rare, rare days to us then. They usually happened during the winter holidays, and usually represented grand occasions, and were always out of the ordinary for us. I believe in my boyhood days I never enjoyed any bread and cake any better than these.

It was quite a little trick to cook these cakes as they were cooked differently than the dodgers. Our cooking implements were of the very simplest. The dodger being cooking in the Dutch Oven, but the Johnny cake, by another process, being cooked before the open fire. We had no dripping pans in which to cook it so our crude but very satisfactory way of cooking it was as follows: The first thing was a good, heavy, thick piece of oak board perhaps one and one-half inches thick and about 15 inches wide and 18 inches long. Smaller boards were fastened around the ends and sides forming a sort of a container for the cake. It was then placed close enough to the fire to cook properly. The cake having been spread evenly over the surface of the board and at a slight angle by the fire, so the heat, as nearly as possible, could be evenly distributed over the surface of the cake. When the top surface cooked, the cake was turned over and cooked on the other side.

Except for the fact that we were fulfilling an ambition of my father's life in moving Westward, it was with real regrets that we moved from Dr. Todd's place. We were planning our course as nearly straight west as possible but the course we finally pursued was slightly north of west.


We went from Dr. Todd's place to Daniel Smith's place somewhere in the vicinity of Kanesville, Iowa. Our progress was purposely slow, because along the route we traveled, we took all the work we could possibly secure in order to get as much money and property as we could, sometimes helping some settler harvest his crops or in fact doing anything we could get to do. I do not remember many of the incidents that happened along our trip to Kanesville, but we arrived there a mighty little in advance of winter. We were quite fortunate here in fact we could move into a vacant house somewhere quite close to Daniel Smith's. Daniel had moved westward from Nauvoo about one year ahead of us and had gone to the place near Kanesville some fifteen miles North of the town as fast as he could. He being a very good worker and with the help of some mighty good sons, when we joined them there, they were quite comfortable. I am not sure whether or not he owned the house we moved into. I am more inclined to believe it was a house left by some pioneer in his westward move. We enjoyed ourselves very much here that winter and were quite comfortable.

When Daniel first came to Kanesville he located on the first stream north of the town, then known as Little Pigeon. And some eight or ten miles farther north was Big Pigeon. He located in this community particularly on account of the supply of wild game, making it possible to easily secure meat. There too was many wild bees. I remember the supply of wild honey he had on hand when we arrived totaling perhaps many gallons.

I would like at this point to make a few observations with reference to the industrial situation of the country. Quoting from "The Founding of Utah," by Levi Edgar Young, we find, "This was the age of new American inventions, when the McCormick reaper, the plow, threshing-machine and the sewing machine were changing the entire industrial history of America. Illinois was the "centre" of or the life of this new type of farmer.---Always on the frontier, the Mormons had learned inventiveness and resourcefulness;---They had felled trees and reclaimed thousands of acres of land.---They had entered on that period of industrial and social life---and the church and school were the "centers" of social and religious activities." The "thot" that we were living in this wonderful time and doing our bit in the great program of affairs, and eventually to found the greatest commonwealth of all time, has been a source of no small degree of satisfaction to me and was so to my father- whose vision of the West was in keeping with the wonderful things that have happened.

We made a move from where we were located for the winter sometime in the early spring to the headwaters of Little Pigeon where there was a large beautiful spring. Here conditions were such that we could locate easily, and Father, with the help of Levi Hammon, Daniel Smith, and the boys, built a house. We arrived here early enough in the spring to plow and plant some four or five acres of ground to corn and garden. This was in the year 1846.

Levi Hammon, who had been continually with us since we left Nauvoo, did not move to the headwaters of the Little Pigeon with us but remained in the house near Daniel Smith where he had spent the winter.

After completion of our spring work, Levi Hammon with his family, and Father, and my brother David went down to Missouri with their wagons and teams to find work.

Our private home life during the time Father spent in Missouri was quite uneventful. We cared as best we could for the garden and corn. Byram and I were permitted to about as we pleased most of the time.

The parties who had gone down to MIssouri remained there during the winter 1846-1847.


We moved from our home on the Little Pigeon down the creek to a house about one half-mile down the creek from Daniel Smith's home, which proved to be our farewell to the place. The move from our home up there was made after we had harvested all our crops and were quite well prepared for the winter. The move was made due to the fact that while Robert Lane, my cousin, and I were down in the corn patch we discovered the trail of an Indian who evidently was prowling around the place. Mother was somewhat prepared for the news of our discovery for she had heard him during the night and had said nothing about it.

The Indians in that country were known as the Omahas, and while they were not particularly unfriendly, they would steal anything that was loose. Perhaps if he had appeared in the daytime we would not have been unduly excited, but things the way they were, we decided we had better move to a place nearer our neighbors, of whom Daniel smith was the closest, approximately five miles away. About a quarter of a mile about our new home, located on the banks of the creek, was a log house used for the purpose of meetings, dances, and socials. The music for these entertainments was usually furnished by Daniel Smith who was a first class fiddler if not a violinist.

For five days of each week school was held in this same log house. I never did attend this school although I was in my eighth year. The main reason I didn't attend was because I did not have a pair of shoes. Whenever I went outside, I had to wrap my feet in some rags or borrow someone else's, and other clothing was not very plentiful.

Perhaps the most cherished piece of property that we owned at this time was a cow which we had purchased or which was given to us by someone. I cannot recall just how we came to have the cow, but after we moved down near Daniel's, we would have had a serious problem in feeding her if it had not been for the kindness of Daniel, who allowed us to gather fodder from his patch. The fodder we used was located on the opposite side of the creek and about a half mile down it.

The creek at this place was four or five feet and comparatively narrow. At a point a little below the house, a bridge had been constructed that we used to cross when after fodder. Perhaps the main reason I remember that bridge so well is associated with Mother and her old stone jar mentioned once before. The depth of the creek under the bridge had much to do with my remembrance of it so clearly, but at one time during the spring, a freshet of more than unusual size followed a rain storm and rushed down upon Mother's milk house, which had been dug in the east bank of the creek under the bridge. The milk house was entirely destroyed. Mother was certainly disappointed for she lost everything in the cellar and felt especially bad because her pet stone jar was gone. However three or four days later the jar was recovered by Robert Lane, and his importance in our family was increased very much, especially with Mother. The jar was not hurt in the least.


It was during the winter spent here on Little Pigeon that something happened I want to relate here. No pioneer home of that date was complete without a few chickens, and they presented a serious problem on account of the great number of animals that were around always looking for a nice fat hen. We had our troubles with a certain red fox who insisted on getting Mother's chickens. His visits were frequent enough to demand some immediate action, so Mother told Robert Lane if he would catch or get rid of that fox someway, she would give him a chicken dinner, as she would rather give him one than give the fox so many. Robert set out to get the fox in a businesslike way asking Mother to furnish only a small piece of boiled meat. His plan was well laid, and before we retired the first night we had promises of success.

Three logs were placed close together, the middle one raised, and a figure four placed beneath the outer end, with the long or bait end back between the outer logs, and the bait of boiled meat placed on it with the hope that the fox would take the chance, which he did. I think there was about one foot of snow on the ground at the time. Sometime in the forepart of the evening we heard the log fall, and there to our joy we found Mr. Fox dead beneath the log. The pelt was removed from the carcass and cured as best we could do it.

Sometime before the pelt was sold, I was promised a book which was to be purchased from the money it brought. When the pelt was finally sold it was taken by to Kanesville by Daniel Smith, and upon his return home he brought me a book named "Parker's Second Reader," and I was as proud of that book as anyone could have possibly been. So that was the first book that I ever owned. I hadn't had that book very many months until I had memorized every thing in it. Some of them I can recall now and some of them express beautiful thoughts such as the following:

A little bird one day in June,
'Neath my window sang a tune,
Sweet and simple was the song,
It repeated all day long,

Then a while it went away,
But he came another day.
And with him a little mate he brought,
And to her his song he taught, chip, chip.

Now they two did build a nest,
And they seemed both double blest.
And whilst other birds had they,
And they, pretty things would say, chip, chip.

But a naughty puss one night,
Killed the young birds outright,
And their parents mourned the day,
Sat and sighed and went away.

Here's another,

A little mouse once had a house,
'Twas made of sticks and grass,
Quite happy here from year to year,
Her time did daily pass.

One summer day for work or play,
The mouse did leave her nest.

The young ones three, snug as a flee
Were gently put to rest.

But now a boy with thoughtless joy,
Did find the little mice
And in his hat, to an old cat
He bore them in a trice.

The poor old mouse came to her house,
When all her work was done,
And much distressed she found her nest
But all her young ones gone.

Here's one,

Caw! Caw! cried the crow,
I should very much like to know,
What thief stole away,
A bird's nest to-day.

The Robin,
To-whit, To-whit, To-whee,
Will you listen to me,
Who stole four eggs I laid,
And the nice nest I made?
The Cow,
Not I said the cow,
Moo! Moo! I gave a wisp of hay
But the nest I did not take away.
The Dog,
Not I said the dog, Bow! Wow!
I would not be so mean I vow,
I gave the hair the nest to make,
But the nest I did not take.
The sheep
Not I said the sheep, Oh! no!
I would not treat a poor bird so,
I gave the wool the nest to line,
But the nest was none of mine.
The Boy,
A little boy hung down his head,
And went and hid behind the bed,
For he felt so full of shame,
He did not like to tell his name,
For he stole the little nest,
From the pretty yellow breast.

Another.
Oh! Have you seen my nestlings dear,
A mother robin cried.
I cannot, cannot find them
Though I sought them far and wide,
I left them well this morning
When I left to seek them food.
But I found upon returning
I'd a nest without a brood.

(There was more to this one but I cannot now remember them. I can remember a few lines of many other of the little pieces but none entirely.)

During this summer, 1846, trouble arose between the United States and Mexico which resulted in war being declared. There had been a few skirmishes fought in Texas. There was a large tract of land in the West that belonged to Mexico that the U.S. wanted. It embraced several of the present states of the Rocky Mountain region.

About this time the Saints were seeking aid from President Polk in their journey toward the West. Even though the Saints were never afforded the protection they were entitled to, they were not in the least bitter toward the government. The plan of the Saints at Washington was to aid the government in holding the western country for the U.S., to repay for any help that was given them.

In the month of June, 1846, an officer of the U.S. Army came to Iowa. He had been sent there by the government to recruit 500 men from among the Mormons to help out in the trouble with Mexico. This was entirely a new and unexpected condition. Instead of receiving aid, the Saints were to lend aid.

Among some of the Saints this news was received with some misgivings, thinking that it was a conspiracy to destroy them entirely. They never had received any protection from the government, and they had learned to expect anything. However there was no question in the mind of President Young, and he offered the men and promised to have them as soon as they could be recruited. He figured that it was a test of the loyalty of the Saints to the country. The Battalion was organized at Council Bluffs, the Church Authorities lending all the aid possible in the recruiting. The entire Battalion was completely arranged and organized in three days. The following from the "Founding of Utah" by Levi Edgar Young presents a vivid picture of some of the sacrifices that were made.


"Imagine the feeling of the pioneers when they received word that the fathers and sons must enlist to go to war! The mothers of the young wept to think of the sacrifice; the young wives were brokenhearted. Yet they did not say a word nor do a thing to discourage the men. In fact, the women were willing that the men should give all for their country, and they determined to place their faith in God and suffer and be strong. It was a time of bitter trial as it was to the Saints, and when the time for parting came, the sorrow at leaving their families was almost more than the men could stand. The soldiers were poorly clad; and could they have foreseen the long journey over desert wastes and mountain passes, we sometimes wonder if they could have met their trials. But their courage was equal to the task before them, and the men set out unafraid."

Sometime during the month of June the word reached us concerning the Battalion. My brother John, who was then in his 18th year, (1847), made preparations to join the ranks, even against the wishes of Mother and the fact that Father was away from us. His departure was certainly a sad affair for us especially for Mother, and I'll never forget it as long as I live.

One Sunday while we were still living on the Little Pigeon something happened that I recall for two reasons. The first reason I remember it so well is on account of the consequences, and the other one is on account of the humor of the thing. Mother had the family to church, as was her custom, which was held in the little old log house. Byram and I were sitting together. He was amusing himself by running his fingers 'thru' my hair. It was fine with me for a while until he became too enthusiastic, at the same time I had gone far enough. Just then he caught sight of something in my hair, by this time he was very interested, and when I moved still farther out of his reach he called aloud in church, "Hold still Rob, it is a louse," which I suppose added some interest to the occasion.

Late in the spring of 1847 we moved again to a house located nearer to Daniel Smith's home. We were more or less dependent on him during Father's absence, and he sure was good to us. It was some time during the fall of this year, possibly in October, that Father returned from Missouri.

Father brought back with him a good supply of things, clothing and provisions, for our winters use. He also had an additional team of oxen. About September of this year my brother John returned to us from San Diego, California, where the Mormon Battalion had been disbanded. Unfortunately during this winter Father's health was very poor. This being the winter of 1847-1848.

After the assassination of the Prophet Joseph Smith, and Brigham Young had been chosen the leader of the Church, 1844, active preparations were carried on in anticipation of the great westward migration of the Church. We were somewhat out of communication with the main body of Saints, but we heard often of them and kept in touch with them as best we could. All the experiences of the Saints led them to believe that in the near future they would have to seek a new place to establish their homes and other institutions that mean so much to the Saints.

Nauvoo was practically deserted in the year 1846. Nearly every home was occupied in making something to be used on the journey west, ranging from wagons on the outside to stockings on the inside.


The fortunes of the Saints varied 'considerable' during the winter of 1846-47 as they wended their way across the present state of Iowa, which at this time was a haunt of many Indian tribes. The whole territory was full of trails, but there were no roads, and the one that the Saints were to blaze was destined to be used for many years to come. The extreme cold of the winter caused much suffering. The Saints finally concentrated their efforts and formed Winter Quarters on the west bank of the Missouri River. This proved to be the point where all the companies to travel westward had their origination.

Father's life long ambition to go west with the Saints failed to materialize in the year of 1847 mainly for the reason of his ill health, but even after their departure, his desire to move west was always foremost in his thoughts.

The fortunes of the family, while they were improving from year to year, was the main reason why we did not make the trip. Father could not see how it was possible for him to undertake the journey with the equipment he had.

Our lives were quite uneventful during the winter of 1847-48.

(Page 18 had only the above line)





Heber C. Kimball at this time was one of the leading members of the Church and was a very good friend of Daniel Smith. He called Daniel his Nimrod. Heber C. Kimball at this time was making preparations for the move westward with the Church. Except for the fact he wanted two more yoke of oxen and a driver, he was ready to go. One day when Daniel was in Kanesville, Daniel chanced to meet Mr. Kimball, who during their talk mentioned his needs and asked Daniel if he could possibly help him out, but was told he couldn't but recommended Father, as he had the two yoke of oxen wanted. Father was home sick in bed at this time and Daniel so advised Mr. Kimball. He asked Daniel to return home and tell Father he wanted him to come to Kanesville and see him, this in view of the fact of Father's illness. Father very reluctantly made the trip on Daniel's favorite horse named Jim. He was prevailed upon by Mr. Kimball to agree to make the trip westward as far as the upper crossing of the Sweetwater River, somewhere in the present state of Wyoming, where the Old Mormon Trail leaves the Sweetwater to cross the Rocky Mountains. Father returned a few days later and immediately started making preparations for the trip. I believe he left us sometime in the month of May to join Mr. Kimball in Kanesville. Mr. Kimball was to meet a portion of his family in Winter Quarters, just across the Missouri River from Kanesville, which he did. They crossed over the river on a ferry boat about July 1, 1848. About the middle of September he returned to us from the Sweetwater trip, and I recall the stories of the many wonderful things he told of having seen on his trip, especially the ones relating to the countless number of buffalo that were roaming the country along the Old Mormon Trail. About this time they were just returning north from their winter range in the South, the buffalo being a migratory animal. They ranged as far north as the Dakotas of today. Another thing to greatly impress Father was seeing the tips of great high peaks of the Rocky Mountains above the level of the clouds.


I recall a little incident now which I think worthy of mentioning. It concerned a son of Mr. Palmer, known around the country as Pokey. He was about nine years old. Most of the crops had been planted, and the crows were causing much trouble, especially with the corn. They seemed to know corn time and could locate the hills of corn as readily as if they had planted them themselves. It was to prevent as much damage as possible that Mr. Palmer decided to give Pokey his chance to be of use and promised him, if his work were satisfactory, a new hat. Pokey's efforts were satisfactory alright for one day he was taken to St. Joseph to pick out his hat. Pokey's last few weeks had been nothing but crows, and it seems he was still thinking crows while in the store. Mr. Palmer was busy talking with someone, and Bill Boon, the clerk, approached Pokey, whose mouth was open as were his eyes. Boone joshed him a few minutes about the number of different things in the store. Pokey agreed he could see many things. Boone, a little proud of the stock, told Pokey if he could think of a single thing they didn't have he would give him a new hat. Pokey looked quickly around the store and asked if they had any crows, and as a result, later walked out with a new hat, and one his father didn't buy.

We spent the winter of 1849-50 on Mr. Palmer's place, and due to some trouble, the nature of which I cannot recall, we moved from the Palmer property to a place three miles farther on up the Missouri River belonging to a Mr. Henry Catlet. Levi Hammon also moved with us to the Catlet place. Here our work was about the same as it was on the Palmer place, except that we worked almost entirely with charcoal. We made this move sometime during April and thus were able to plant some corn and a garden. Another thing that Levi Hammon could do very well was construct wagons. He was a first-class wheelwright, and much he busied himself making wagons during much of the summer and fall spent on the Catlet place. Things had so arranged themselves that we were quite sure of getting away the following year for the West. Practically the very first necessity in an outfit for the trip was a very good wagon, because the dry, excessive heat of the desert, and the rough roads, and usage were extremely hard on wagons. Experiences of those who went ahead of us proved the necessity of a good wagon. At first Levi did not spend as much of his time working on them as he was forced to do later. He made two wagons, one for Father, and one for himself. By fall, he had them both made and during the Winter they were taken to St. Joseph to be ironed, which work was done by Mr. Litz. He took charcoal as payment for his work. All parts of these two wagons, except the iron parts, were made by Levi. The times when Levi was not working on the wagons, he was doing carpenter work with Mr. Litz in St. Joseph.


Here on the Catlet place, another of those "first time" affairs overtook me. Boys in those days were just as much boys as they are today, and as is usually the case, there are some things we have to find out for ourselves, and more so is this a fact if someone else's boy can successfully do something we have never tried to do. It is usually the last times that are sad times, but I've had fewer sadder times than this first time, which had to do with a "chaw of tobacker." Some near neighbor of ours, whose name I have entirely forgotten, had a boy named Jack who was my side-kick and pal of those days. I don't know how long Jack had been using "tobacker," but this day he seemed to me to be as proficient as anyone I had ever seen in the business. Jack spent as much of his time as he could with Byram and me, and the three of us were nearly always in the woods after wild berries, especially mulberries, raspberries, strawberries, and blackberries, which were very plentiful around our home. It was on one of these excursions that I noticed Jack occasionally stick his chin out and drop a little something from his mouth to the ground. I noticed the little spots on the ground and decided it was "tobacker". When I questioned him, he said it was and asked me if I didn't want to learn to chew. He agreed if I would learn to chew, he would furnish the "tobacker". All's well that ends well; however, in this case I never calculated on the end at all, and Jack never said a word about what was usually the result of the first chew, nor did he warn me about swallowing the juice. Well, Jack produced the plug, and I took a good hearty chew, afraid perhaps I wouldn't get another chance. I immediately went to work on the tobacco, and between the times I spit the juice out in the approved manner, I swallowed much of the juice. In fact, I supposed if I didn't want to spit out the juice, I was expected to swallow it. Everything didn't go lovely very long, for the trees started cutting up capers, and I couldn't navigate straight ahead, and I became so dizzy I couldn't walk. I called to the others that something was wrong, and when they came back, I decided I wanted a drink, and between the three of us I got a drink. But that was way short of curing all my ills, so we decided to hit out for home. Byram on one side and Jack on the other formed my main means of transportation, as I was growing more unconcerned every minute. Finally, we came upon David burning a pit of charcoal about 100 yards distance from the house, and here I fell to the ground, hoping for the best and that soon. As soon as David saw me, he called to Mother that I was poisoned, and she came to me as fast as she could. Meanwhile, Jack showed that he was a pretty bright boy for he slipped out for home; by this time Mother had found out the cause of my ailments, and but for Jack's foresight, she would have derided him first. That was one "first time" that has never been repeated in a single instance. As a result of this episode I had to stay in bed, and believe me I was sick for two weeks, I was literally poisoned.

Before Father left Heber C. Kimball at the upper crossing of the Sweetwater, they had an understanding about the time, as nearly as could be figured out, for the trip West. Mr. Kimball's advice to Father was to return to Kanesville and with the family move to Missouri, where he thought Father could easily outfit himself in about two years. As mentioned before, Father did move to Missouri. But before we had left Daniel Smith's place to go to Missouri, we had been joined by Father's Uncle, Lee Bybee, and his three sons, who were all married and had families of their own. Here also lived Alexander Beckstead, the father of Henry Beckstead, who had married Lucene. Uncle Lee's sons were named Alfred, Absolom, and Lee. This gathering of our people was made in anticipation of going West, our intention being to travel together. In some manner, when we left, these people gained the impression that we were going to return to them in 1850 to start out. We had not intended to agree to any particular time for the start, intending to go as soon as we were able. As we have noted before, we were planning on making our start in the spring of 1851, and it was with this intention of finding out if they would be ready, that Father and I started to go back to Kanesville to ascertain how near ready the folks there were. Father also had a little scheme to make some money on the trip. It was arranged at the proposal of Mr. Burns, a neighbor who lived near us, that we should take with us a supply of bacon he had on hand, agreeing to pay Father for his services. There was quite a bit of bacon, but it lacked `considerable' of being a load. It was figured that along the way to Kanesville we could easily sell the bacon, as there were great numbers of people then on the move west, not only Saints, but gold-seekers in their mad rush to California as well. We sold most of the bacon on the way up but reached Kanesville with a small supply.


One day when we were nearly to Kanesville, while traveling a piece of road that nearly paralleled the river altho some distance from it, Father noticed on the bank of the river quite a number of wagons. He thought this would be a good place to dispose of the balance of the bacon, so we turned off the road to their camp. Here we received a great surprise for this camp belonged to our people from Little Pigeon. They were ready to go west and were there waiting for us to come from Missouri. Our meeting was entirely accidental. It was, of course, out of the question for them now to wait for us, but the final decision was that they should go on without us, which they did. This was in accordance with their understanding that we were to start in 1850. John, sometime previous to this, had gone back to Kanesville to Daniel Smith. We found him at Kanesville intending to go west with them.

Father and I stayed long enough at Kanesville to see the folks all safely across the river and then started home. This trip was made during the month of June, our return to the folks on the Catlet place being about July first. At one of our camps on the way home, Father was approached by a stranger who evidently lived somewhere near, and asked if he would sell him a yoke of cattle. Father thought a few minutes and decided he would sell him the cattle for $35.00, which was agreed to. The reason I recall this so plainly was due to the fact that Father was paid the entire $35.00 in half-dollar pieces. Everything was okay when we got home, but much disappointment was felt because we were not to travel with the rest of the folks. Mother felt quite bad, for Elizabeth and Lucene and John had gone on, and conditions were so uncertain that she would liked to have had all the folks make the trip together.

About the time of our return, one of Mr. Catlet's slaves, a negro boy about sixteen years old named Dick, put on a little show that caused us much fun, even though it caused some pain for Dick. He was working in the corn one day with an old horse who knew just as well as Dick the meaning of the dinner bell, and it was necessary to show some speed if you even wanted to go to the barn with the horse. Dick unhooked the horse, climbed on and was off for the barn. Before entering the barn it was necessary to go through a corral. The entrance to the corral was through a set of bars. To Dick's hard luck, the top bar had been left in place. I guess he failed to notice the bar for he made no effort to get off the horse, who was now on a good big trot. He took the bar about midsection and entirely lost the horse. Catlet saw the whole affair and asked Dick why he hadn't got off or at least fell off, and Dick replied, "How the Debil could Ah fall off, when it was all Ah could do to hang on."

It was in September we burned our last coal pit. Levi was spending his entire time now on the wagons; Dave was working most of the time for Mr. Burns and the rest of us were doing only the minor things and caring for the stock. All our efforts were now toward getting everything ready for the start in the spring. We were getting hold of everything we could, and every penny in money was saved. Talk about saving and pinching, we were surely good at it, and it was a very good thing we did. I remember when we first moved on Mr. Catlet's place, we moved right among a small grove of sugar maple trees. We never could understand why, but these trees had never been tapped by Mr. Catlet or anyone else. Father asked about them and was given permission to tap the trees but to do them as little harm as possible. So during the month of March, 1851, we got all of the maple sugar and syrup we possibly could. March is by far the best month to tap the trees, so that when we left we had considerable sugar and several gallons of syrup. I recall the race we used to put up with Mr. Catlet's pigs in order to beat them to the sap that had dripped out during the night. Mother had practically given up her butter business as there were no teams traveling to town, and it was not worth while to go for the butter alone.


Every year at the approach of autumn, as had always been our custom, we made an effort to get as large a supply of nuts as possible for our own use. Many falls previous to this year, 1850, I recall the enjoyment and fun we had gathering nuts, and I can truly say that some of the most pleasant evenings of my boyhood were spent cracking them. The kinds we usually gathered were black walnuts, butternuts, hickory nuts, and hazelnuts. No winter was complete without nuts. Associated with these evenings of cracking nuts on the Catlet place, I recall a very large negro slave, belonging to one of our neighbors. His master was very kind and good to him, but he liked Father very much, and he spent as much of his time as he possibly could with us. Nearly every evening he was there to help with the nuts. Every time he saw Father he always wanted him to promise he would take him west with him. But Father told him he couldn't because he belonged to another man, and it would be stealing to take him. He then wanted Father to let him join us in Kanesville after he had run away, but Father wouldn't consent to that even, because the owner of the slave and Father were very good friends. After we left there we never saw him again.

While we were located here on Mr. Catlet's property and soon after we had moved there, one of Polly's little girls, about ten years old, became ill, and after a very short illness died and was buried there. I cannot recall her name or the cause of her death, altho it was some kind of fever.

Everything moved along smoothly for us, and the excitement among us increased as the day approached for the start. Some three or four days previous to the grand starting, all of us were assembled and taken to St. Joseph for our final view of the place, and to purchase our supplies for the trip. In looking back to the time of those preparations, I can see Father in one of his little stunts. The money we had saved was all put together in a meal bag whose capacity was about two bushels. In those days Mother made all our bags out of almost anything she could get that was stout enough. Of course the bag lacked quite a considerable of being full, but our fortune was all there. We had no paper money then, and with the exception of a few pieces of gold, everything in the bag was silver, the total amount being about $200.00. We had been advised by the authorities of the Church to bring a supply of flour with us large enough to last at least six months after our arrival in Salt Lake. For this reason we kept only enough of the money to meet the necessary expenses of ferrying and other incidentals. I remember Father as he sauntered in the Bedeford & Riddle Store on this morning carrying the sack containing the money over his right shoulder. He tossed the sack and its contents to the floor at the same time telling everyone present this was his last trip to St. Joseph for provisions, and it was. I remember very little about the prices of the goods there, except sugar, which was sold eighteen pounds for a dollar, and it was just ordinary brown sugar, as this was long before the day of granulated sugar. When our trading was finally completed, we returned to the Catlet place. The arranging of our load and completing all the details preparatory to our start occupied our last three or four days on the Catlet place. Finally the day for our departure arrived, and bright and early on a beautiful morning early in June, 1851, we took to the trail. Levi Hammon was about a week or ten days later leaving there than we were, owing to some uncompleted affairs between him and Mr. Litz. He was to join us at the ferry on the east side of the river at Winter Quarters. We proceeded very slowly, traveling short hours and taking things easily, and when we did arrive at the ferry, we had a very short time to wait for Levi. Immediately upon his arrival we made arrangements to cross the river on the ferry. We made the trip first; Levi followed immediately after us, and we went into camp in Winter Quarters for about a week while the arrangements were completed for the train with which we were to travel.


I wish here to say a little about the organization of this train, which consisted of one hundred wagons, and some of the conditions existing during our trip. First, there were two companies formed out of the one hundred wagons; that would be fifty wagons per company. These two companies were under the control of a captain, and their departure was so arranged and timed so as to be about two weeks apart. The reason for this two weeks span of time between the two companies was to prevent the occurrence of insufficient grass for the stock, the supply of which was somewhat regulated by the buffalo who often passed over the trail and left very little grass behind. There was a captain chosen over each fifty wagons, who was responsible for them to the man in charge of the train. Each company of fifty wagons was then subdivided into five companies of ten wagons each, and a captain was chosen for each of these companies. In each of these small companies of ten wagons, in order to prevent any dissatisfaction that might arise from choice of positions, the leading wagon each day dropped to the rear of the ten, and the same was true of the five companies; the leading company each day dropped to the rear of the entire company.

The man selected to be captain of the company which we were in and which was first to leave, was named Alfred Cordon. I cannot recall the name of the captain of our "ten." In every company of ten there was also one man appointed as hunter, whose duty it was to supply his company with meat. David was the hunter for our Company. It was also the duty of every able-bodied man in camp to take his turn doing guard duty at nights. When it was decided to make camp at night the leading wagon made a slight detour to the right in the form of a half circle. The twenty-sixth wagon in the line made a detour likewise, only to the left, thus forming a circle. Each wagon following its leader stopped with the left front wheel of his wagon close to the rear right wheel of the preceding wagon, thus forming a corral, into which our stock was placed at night, when it was thought necessary.

We broke camp at Winter Quarters and left there about July 1, 1851. Our trip was a very quiet one in comparison with some of those who had preceded us. Outside of the daily duties connected with traveling we had very little to cause us excitement. We had men always out on guard at night around the camp, as well as two or three men with the horses and cattle, so that when we spent our evenings around our camps, we felt quite secure and really enjoyed ourselves very much, singing, dancing, and rejoicing at the prospects of a brighter future.

Every company had its "fiddler" and evenings when all the work was done, we would find some nice, clear piece of ground as smooth as possible and have a dance. I never did any "fiddling" at these dances although later I became a "fiddler."

It always seemed to me that the real place to be in the train would be the leading wagon, and I awaited our turn with much anticipation. However, I was sadly disappointed, for the day we took our place to lead the train was by far the loneliest one on the entire trip from St. Joseph, West. There was no one ahead to see, no one on either side to talk to or play with, and I was surely glad when the day was over. Our company never tried to make a very large number of miles per day, it ranging from ten to fifteen miles per day. We never traveled on Sunday except in places where we had no feed for the cattle.


Before we left St. Joseph, Father sold all the young stock to Mr. Burns, our neighbor, as we were advised not to try to make the trip with them because they couldn't make the trip and would either be lost or form a burden to be cared for in the wagon, and every precaution was necessary to guard our teams, for on them depended our chance of getting to Salt Lake successfully. But Mother insisted on the cows so we had the six cows with us. I remember one day while we were stopped, eating our noon lunch, that Byram and I had a little "set to" about as follows: Mother was still protecting that old stone jar and was still making about as much butter as she could, at least we always had plenty. Her churning was done by placing the cream, when it was ready, in the jar and letting the motion of the wagon over the rough roads do the work. This was completed just about the time we were to eat, and it was during the meal when Byram and I had our misunderstanding. I cannot recall the issue between us, but I can very easily remember what Byram did. Picking out a moment when I was least prepared, he gave me his portion of the buttermilk, and it covered most of my outer clothes and wet me to the skin. I looked like a drowned rat, and the buttermilk made things that much worse. That created much fun in our company, and Byram and I have had many a good laugh over it since we became men.

I want to say something here about our "post offices" as we called them. They were a one-way affair in that the only information they furnished was to the company behind. Very frequently we found information of the company ahead of us. Nearly any place on the roadside we could find the old bleached bones of buffalo, and upon these were written our messages. The messages consisted of the date and enough information to let them know of our condition at that point. The bones, after the message was written on them, were placed in some conspicuous place by the road-side.

Occasionally as we traveled along we were forced to make unexpected stops on account of the buffalo. Buffalo, in their travels in search of food, always had a leader, and it was their custom to follow their leader if it was possible at all. Some of the earlier companies had made the serious mistake of trying to force their way through a herd of them and had found out that the buffalo would not give up their right of way but insisted on following their leader. Where it had been tried, the result was usually a stampede among the company's stock, as well as among the teams of oxen. So when we encountered them on our way, we stopped for them to go by. Now and then along the Platte River we were forced to wait for them to clear out of the river where they were drinking. Some of these waits sometimes lasted three or four hours.

If I can remember correctly, it was two or three days travel east of Fort Laramie that we passed a large column of rock extending into the air about 25 or 30 feet, then called "chimney Rock." It was on the south side of the river, perhaps two or three miles from the road, which was on the north bank. We were all quite curious about it when we passed, as we had been able to see it for several days before we passed it. It was possible to see it even after we had passed it for a considerable distance. It was the only rock formation near there and was quite a freak of nature to us.

Outside of our own train of people we saw only one white man from the time we left Winter Quarters until we reached Fort Laramie, and that was the man who ferried us over Loop's Fork. Here our cattle were forced to swim across the stream. We did not meet a single outfit nor did we pass any on that part of our trip.

On our approach to Ft. Laramie, we saw many Indians who had their tepees pitched near the fort. The majority of them were Sioux, and they were a mighty fine race of people, large in stature and as brave as any man ever was. There was no way to scare a Sioux.


In the route we were traveling, Ft. Laramie was just about one-half the distance to Salt Lake. We spent as little time as possible and were soon leaving the Fort for the rest of our journey. So well had our trip been planned before we started out that it was unnecessary for us to purchase any supplies at the Fort. It was, I think, about the middle of August when we left Ft. Laramie. We traveled out of Ft. Laramie up the North Platte River for about a week. We crossed the North Platte River again to the north bank about this time. As I remember it, the next water of any importance that we came to was the Sweetwater. Sometime during the time we were traveling between these two streams, we came to the place where the Old Oregon Trail left the Old Mormon Trail. Its general direction was northwest. The people of the company we were traveling with were not all Mormons. They had joined us to travel with us for protection and security until we came to the Old Oregon Trail, but here our ways separated, and some eight or ten of the wagons left us for the northwestern part of Oregon Territory. We traveled without incident until we reached the Sweetwater, where we arrived all okay in due time. It was by now well toward the latter part of August. We traveled up the Sweetwater River to the place where we were to gross over the Rocky Mountains called the South Pass. I remember one of the first natural wonders we came to. It was called the Devil's Gate and was on the Sweetwater River. In all the travels of the pioneers, the Devil's Gate was one conspicuous land mark. Many events were recalled and their scenes were brought back to memory by reference to the Devil's Gate. The water of the river ran through the Gate, which was approximately 100 feet in height. We were approaching the Rocky Mountains and were traveling nearly straight west, possibly bending a little to the north. The mountain which the Gate was found in was somewhat smaller than the main range and was a spur running out into the plains in an almost easterly direction. The walls of the Gate were almost perpendicular and were of solid rock. The next natural condition we observed was Alkali Lake. This was not only a matter of curiosity to us, but one of concern as well. The supply of water to this lake seemed to be independent of any stream, for as I remember it there were no streams running into it. Possibly the high water of the Sweetwater and local rains were the source of its supply. Occasionally during the warmer months of the year the water was entirely evaporated. The lake covered perhaps 25 or 30 acres of ground. Several days in advance of reaching the lake, we noticed indications of alkali all along the road. Practically all of the water of the country around the lake was more or less saturated with alkali, and this was particularly true of the lake itself. The excessive amount of alkali found through this country made it necessary to use precaution with the stock. Many cattle that had fared quite well thus far died of the effects of the water and the feed of this section. During the season of the year when the water was entirely evaporated from the lake, it was the custom of the early settlers to return to it to obtain the substance that formed on the surface of the lake, known to them as salaratus. This substance was used then among those early pioneers for the same purpose we now use soda. This salaratus could be picked up by cupping the two hands and scooping it up. Precaution was taken to keep it dry after it had been scooped up. Good wagon boxes were usually used, although smaller boxes could be used, according to the condition of the wagon box.


A large mass of rock known as Independent Rock was the next thing up the Sweetwater River to claim our attention. It was possibly 300 feet high and covered perhaps three or four acres of ground. The curious thing about this rock is the fact that it sits clear out in the open valley, quite a considerable distance from the closest mountains, there seeming to be no connections with the rest of the mountains. It so happened that we camped in the near vicinity of this rock. After we had entered into this alkali region noted above, we noticed ever increasing signs of misfortunes that had overtaken some of the pioneers who had preceded us over the trail. Occasionally at first we found piles of wagon irons lying along the trail and nearly always somewhere in the near vicinity were the bones of the stock, who were the victims of the poor water and feed. As we proceeded along the trail, we noticed many more of the indications of misfortune, there being quite a number of them near Independent Rock. Here a bunch of eight or ten of us boys, for a little excitement, decided to take some of these old iron wagon tires up the Rock to let them roll down the slope. Out of the number we let loose at the top there were only two that reached the bottom of the Rock, and they were very badly dented and bent and probably wouldn't have rolled much farther.

We proceeded on our trip from here and were soon to the place on the Sweetwater River where we made our last crossing on that stream before we left it to cross the Rocky Mountains. This was somewhere about the first of September. This last crossing of the Sweetwater was known as the "upper crossing," and it was estimated we were over about two-thirds of our journey. Our progress across the mountain was slow on account of rough roads, and the strain had begun to tell on our wagon a little. No accidents occurred to us crossing the mountains. After we were over the mountains, the first water I can remember distinctly was called Big Sandy, although we probably traveled down some other streams for a few days before coming to it. Good water and feed were quite plentiful all along the way now. After a few days travel we left the Big Sandy, and the next stream we came to was Little Sandy. I am not sure about the length of time nor the distance we went on the Little Sandy, but it must not have been long. After we left Little Sandy, the next stream was Green River, which we forded. We proceeded in a southwesterly direction, and the next place of importance was Fort Bridger, where we camped for one night. Next morning we were out early and on our way. Each day now meant much to us as we neared the goal we had sought for so long and were so anxious to reach. Soon after leaving Fort Bridger we met Henry Beckstead, who acting on our understanding of the previous year to leave in 1851, was on his way east to meet us. Our meeting occurred one morning early just as we were preparing to pull out. He was driving a span of good horses. His purpose in meeting us was to shorten the trip as much as possible for Mother. When he left us he took Mother and Byram with him, and we didn't see them again until we arrived at Beckstead's home on the Weber River near Ogden.

The discipline in our company up to the time we reached Independent Rock had been very good. But dissension and dissatisfaction had been showing itself constantly since we passed the Rock. This was due more particularly to the fact that the few non-Mormons who were among us wanted to travel on Sundays, and Captain Cordon would not consent to it. His instructions were to travel on Sunday only in case of absolute necessity. By the time we reached Echo Canyon, the next land mark of our trail, our company was pretty well scattered, some ahead of us and some in the rear. Our folks were still all together, and we were still with Captain Cordon.


We entered Echo Canyon sometime in the forepart of the day and were forced to make one camp in the canyon. I remember that night in particular on account of our little dog "Clip." He was more or less just a common dog, but a very smart little fellow. He was entirely black, and while he might not have been able to lick his weight in wild cats, he was not afraid to try and would tackle anything once. The camp in Echo Canyon provided new thrills for him in the echo of his bark, which either annoyed or amused him, for he spent the entire night barking at his own echo. We broke camp early next morning and went on down "thru" Echo Canyon until we came to the Weber River. Echo Canyon afforded us much amusement. It was a strange and new thing to us. A strange feature of the canyon is the fact that rock cliffs of the canyon are all on the north side of it. Some of the cliffs tower up three and four hundred feet in the air, almost perpendicularly. The canyon runs almost straight east and west here. To the south the hills are smaller and run out to open country. We went down the Weber River, and here the mountains were much larger. Our first camp after we left Echo Canyon was made on the Weber River on the north bank nearly opposite the mouth of East Canyon Creek. I am not positive, but it seems to me that East Canyon Creek was the name it was known by at that time.


Next morning the first thing we had to do was to ford the Weber River. The stream here wasn't very large, so we had no trouble crossing. Our way led from the Weber River up East Canyon Creek. The road in places was quite steep and rocky, in others it was sliding, and our progress was quite slow. The mountain we were climbing was known to all of the pioneers as the "Big Mountain," and is known by that name today. The last of our wagons arrived at the Summit of Big Mountain about one or two o'clock in the afternoon, and we proceeded on our way down the other side of the mountain before we had dinner. By this time the daylight was pretty well gone, so we camped there for the night. We were on a little stream of water, the name of which I cannot recall. From this camp there was only one mountain between us and the valley. It was then, as it is today, known as Little Mountain. The stream we were camped by was between the two mountains. Early next morning we were on our way over Little Mountain, which afforded us very little trouble. At the foot of Little Mountain we emerged out into Immigration Canyon, which we followed down a short distance; the road upon leaving the canyon trended in a northwesterly direction and finally led us down into Salt Lake City. As we emerged from Immigration Canyon, I had my first glimpse of Salt Lake City, which was then in its fourth year. Previous to this I had seen part of the southern end of the valley from a point on Big Mountain but had not been able to see Salt Lake City. We drove on down into the city and stopped in the road in front of several residence buildings. One purpose of the stop here was due to Father's desire to see Heber C. Kimball, whom Father had helped to the Upper Crossing of the Sweetwater River on his move westward. He inquired of someone nearby and found we were a short distance from his home. Father called at his home and found him there. They exchanged greetings and talked awhile about conditions. Father wanted to see him in particular to ask for information and also his advice as to the proper place to locate. He advised Father to get a surveyor named Fox and go north to the Weber River to a settlement known as East Weber, about seven miles south of the present city of Ogden. He also advised him that there were certain parties down there who were trying to get all the land but to go ahead and locate on a piece of land, the best he could get. He also asked during their talk if he could remember the advice he had given him about returning to Missouri and having advised him even against ill health to make that Sweetwater trip with him, and also about coming west as soon as he could. Father replied that he could and was told by Mr. Kimball that as a result of his faithfulness his life had been lengthened approximately fifteen years. Father could not get the surveyor so we went on up to East Weber, mainly because we intended to spend the winter of 1851-52 there with some of our folks who had preceded us the summer before. Here we found Henry Beckstead, who had married my sister Lucene, and also John who was now married, having married one of Daniel Smith's daughters, a daughter of his first wife. Here we also found Lewis and Joseph Hardy, Abiah Wadsworth, Gordon Beckstead and Daniel Smith, and others of our friends from back East. This Daniel Smith was my brother-in-law, having married Elizabeth. We spent the winter with Henry Beckstead. Here we spent a very enjoyable winter. Next spring Father rented a small farm from Gordon Beckstead, located in East Weber. When we moved onto the place, Beckstead had the place already planted to wheat. He rented us the place so that he could go down to South Jordan and spend the summer with his father. The crop on the place as very light, owing to scarcity of water, there being about twelve or fifteen families to use the limited supply of water. We harvested what crop we had that fall. Father's portion of the wheat was half. We spent the winter 1852-1853 here on Mr. Gordon Beckstead's property. Here, outside of our religious and social activities, our winter was quite uneventful.

In the following spring, 1853, we moved over to South Weber. About two miles down the river on the opposite side of the stream from the East Weber settlement, we located on eighty acres of land. It was during this spring that Mr. Fox, the territorial surveyor, came down and surveyed the community surrounding South Weber. The tracts were 'layed' off in eighty acre plots. During the spring and summer we plowed and put in about twenty acres of crop, principally wheat, and we also planted some corn and potatoes. In our spare moments during these months, we built us a one-room log house from the timber located on the banks of the river where it ran `thru' our place.

During this spring (1853), Abiah Wadsworth, Henry Beckstead, and Nelson Arave, had erected as best they could a saw mill in East Weber. The water of the river was used for power for the "muley saw" which was a saw with an upright blade, the blade of the saw being in a frame moving up and down. Its efficiency can be guessed from the remark of an old pioneer who wished he had a lease on life until it could saw enough wood for his coffin. However, it was quite successful and sawed `considerable' wood that summer. We got boards and some slabs to complete our house with.

During the winter of 1853-54 we spent on Father's homestead. Here our existence was simply the usual quiet life, and we spent a happy comfortable winter. During the spring of 1854 while we were still on Father's home, we planted our crops and fenced a little of the ground. We had perhaps thirty-five or forty acres planted into wheat, oats, and corn, in addition to our garden this year. It was during this spring also that the people of this community, some fifteen or twenty families, decided, in order to insure a good supply of water for our crops, to dig a canal to our farms from the Weber River to make it possible to utilize the water of that stream for irrigating. From our home we went up the river about one mile to take the water out of the river bed. When completed the canal was perhaps five or six miles long. It was not a very large canal but there was a good "fall" in the course we followed. The canal had a capacity for a stream ranging from 1500 to 2000 inches of water. The canal was not completed its entire length this spring. I think a little over three miles was completed in 1854. During this year there were several families locating below us on the Weber River who contemplated using the canal also. They were not ready for water but were working on the canal during their spare time. Our portion of the canal was ready to deliver water to us in plenty of time for the first irrigation without the crops suffering.

The Weber River, as is characteristic of the streams emptying into Salt Lake, was a comparatively short river, and the high water season lasted about a month, and as a rule the river was quite a wicked stream during the high water season. The place where our cattle were ranged was known as "Hooper's Springs."


It was during this summer, 1854, that the grasshoppers were very bad. These hoppers were not natives of Utah, but came from the northeast, from the Dakotas. They came flying in countless numbers. It seems to me that at times they actually dimmed the sun. They came flying across the country, and it seems as if by command or understanding they would light all at the same time and proceed with their destruction. Almost invariably after they lit, they would stay until the following morning, and then fly away in a southwesterly direction. They seemed never to return, the following ones always came from the northeast. I've seen the northern shore of Great Salt Lake literally covered six or seven inches deep with hoppers that have lit in the lake and were drowned or other wise killed. They made short work of patches of grain in their course, and those who escaped were surely fortunate. In spite of their destruction, there was a supply of wheat large enough for food for all and for planting the next year. We were lucky this year for when we harvested our crop this fall, we had suffered a very slight loss on account of the grasshoppers.

In the community of South Weber there was no school during the winter of 1854-55. Neither Byram or I was able to go to the one school maintained across the river in East Weber, but David attended the one there, staying with Henry Beckstead during the school term. We had no text books obtainable, except one or two histories of the United States; other than these the books used were the Bible, Book of Mormon, and Doctrine and Covenants. These formed the course of study here for the next two or three winters, maybe longer. I cannot recall the name of the first series of books used after they were obtained.

I was now in my sixteenth year. I was quite able to read, owing to the help I had received from Father and Mother; up to this time, they had been my school teachers. I wish here to say a little about how we happened to have the books and other literature which I read and studied during this winter. I cannot remember whether or not I still had my first book "Parker's Second Reader." As soon as it had been possible for them to do so, the Saints had secured a provincial form of government from the United States, and all the country throughout the valley had been organized into counties, precincts, etc. We were now in Davis County. Here Father had been appointed by the County Commissioners as a Justice of the Peace and had been sent a copy of the Constitution of the U.S., as well as all the laws enacted by the Territorial Legislature. Father had previously to this time been a subscriber to the Deseret News. These were the source of study and reading I enjoyed at this time.


During this fall we received word from the authorities of the Church in Salt Lake that the activities of the Indians throughout this section of the territory were becoming more and more unfriendly, and it was advised that the people should organize and form in communities where it would be possible to build forts for their protection. It was suggested that the people of South Weber go over to East Weber to form the fort. This they did not want to do, and did not do, as it eventually worked out. The people of East Weber did not want to leave their homes, so each community, as best they could, built a fort. East Weber built a series of houses built in a square surrounded by a large mud wall. The same thing was done in South Weber, except for the mud wall. From the time Father had located on his homestead, he had been pestered by Daniel Smith for a trade of properties, and Father did not want to trade, for his place was of considerable more value than Smith's. Father had always been a great man to follow advice from the authorities of the Church, and he wanted, if possible, to form the fort in East Weber. This must have been uppermost in his mind when Daniel approached him one day for a trade, and Father agreed, even to his disadvantage. The trade was made during this winter, 1854-55. We spent the remainder of the winter on the place, and in the spring of 1855 the trade was consummated. We moved over the river to East Weber. Previous to our move, our house had been moved to the fort from the Smith farm. Our home in the fort was about one mile from the farm, where we put in about 25 acres of crop, mainly wheat and corn. We never did live on the property for which we traded, always living in our house in the fort, until the proper time came when we could move out to places where we wished. The land adjacent to the fort had been laid off into city lots; when we finally moved from the fort, it was onto one of these.

Ever since we had moved on the Weber River, we were confronted by the problem of feeding our livestock during the winter. We never grew enough corn fodder, and alfalfa was unknown to us then. However between where we were located and Great Salt Lake, where the Weber River emptied into the lake, there was a large area of ground that was then unsettled and was covered with a very heavy growth of grass. Here our stock could winter very nicely.

During this time there were many of the Saints who `payed' their tithing to the Church with cattle, and it was customary for the Church Officials to range this stock at Hooper Springs, too. The closest market we had then was Sacramento, California, and with the church herd it was customary to take other stock of the settlers also. Captain W. H. Hooper was usually chosen to take the stock to California. He had a considerable herd of his own and was an honest, trustworthy man. Usually this trip was started about June first. The cattle range was on the south side of the river so it was necessary to cross the river to start out. The high water of the River was unusually bad this year, so when they came to crossing the river, they were confronted by quite a problem. Then, too, there were quite a few apostates from the Church and some who had never joined, who were looking for a way to California, and they had formed in a company to travel with Captain Hooper, and there were some fifteen or twenty wagons going. It was found almost impossible to ford the river below East Weber, and following advice, Captain Hooper with the cattle and the wagons had eventually reached East Weber.

Captain Hooper stopped and consulted Father about crossing the stream. Father told him it was a very dangerous undertaking, more particularly as the bed of the stream was filled with large rocks. It was finally decided to try to ford the river. Some two or three of the larger wagons drawn by the heavier oxen teams had crossed without mishap, when next in line came an outfit with both a light team and light wagon. Captain Hooper objected strenuously, but the driver forged ahead without heeding his warning. In the wagon was the man's wife and three children. As soon as the oxen hit the heavier current of the stream, they were forced down the stream, and it was impossible then to free the wagon from them. As soon as they hit the deeper water, the box left the wagon and floated down stream. The oxen got out alright and brought the wagon with them. I knew that they were trying to cross the stream and was standing on a point of the river watching them. I remember the cries of distress of that woman as she passed by me as well as if it had happened yesterday. She was now alone in the box with the three children, and as they came down the stream, the current caught the box and turned it completely over. In some manner the woman righted the box and still had her baby with her. Her screams were the most mournful and terror-stricken I have ever heard. She still retained her head, for a little later when the box was dashed against a pile of driftwood, she managed to save herself and baby, the other children having been lost when the box overturned.


Another part of that tragedy was the death by drowning of a deputy sheriff who was traveling with the outfit. His name was Rodney Badger. I can see in my memory his boots on the bank of the river where he jumped into the stream to help, if possible, the woman and the children. I recall this in particular because he jumped into the stream a short distance above me and came swimming down the river about fifteen or twenty yards from me. I saw him disappear twice in the water, and I believe that was the last time he ever was seen. He was known as a very good swimmer, but he could do nothing against the river's mad current.

During the summer of 1855 the grasshoppers were quite bad again. However, we suffered very little from them. The days our attention was not needed on the farm, we spent our time working on a road we were building up through Weber Canyon, a distance of about six miles. This road would join Salt Lake Valley with Upper Weber Valley. Here, too, we spent as much time as we could gathering wild raspberries, which grew quite plentifully everywhere. We made very slight progress on the road on account of the rocky formations in the canyon.

We harvested our crops that fall, another procedure that was necessarily slow on account of our crude implements. Our grain was cut with a cradle, an implement with a handle and blade somewhat like a present-day scythe; another fixture was added in an upright position and served to catch the grain as it fell from the blade. It had five fingers with small sticks placed between, to keep the grain from falling `thru'. In this manner the grain could be laid in a good swath, and later it was bound by other men who followed. The grain was bound by using a small bunch of grain, the heads of which were placed even, and divided in half, and twisted so as not to slip; the stems were placed around the amount of grain desired for a bundle, and were again twisted on the opposite side from the heads, and were tucked under the grain forming the band so as to retain the grain in shape of the bundle.

Our threshing was done by a "chaff piler" which was a cylinder made to beat the kernels out of the heads of grain. The piler was operated by horse power, an outfit made in Session's settlement near Salt Lake City. The grain, after going through the cylinder and concave, was carried out on as good a piece of ground as it was possible to find. As the grain went through, it came out to the ground, wheat, chaff, and straw altogether. Here it was all moved back by the first man in the line with a hand rake; the next man to handle it separated, as well as possible, the straw from the wheat and chaff. He also used a hand rake. In addition to these, there were enough more men used to get the straw clear of the wheat, which remained where it came out of the piler. If the pile of wheat and chaff were large enough to interfere with the new wheat as it came out of the piler, someone would call out "cave up" which meant move all the grain and chaff to one side so they could run again. After the piler had done its work, the grain was left in the field until a later time when it could be put through a "fanning mill." Our threshing was done on the farm and the grain was taken to a granary Father had built on our city lot in East Weber. A little incident happened during this harvest season that I wish to relate, as it might have had something to do with the fact that I did not grow anymore than I have. My brother John and I were down in the field hauling and stacking our grain. It was sometime in the after part of the day, and I was loading the wagon. We had our load nearly completed when John yelled to look out. He had pitched up a rattlesnake. As he yelled I looked and before the bundle lit on the wagon I had spied the snake, and I am sure I went off faster than he came on. We had to unload nearly all our grain before we found the snake, which we promptly killed.

I was looking forward to this winter, 1855-56, with great anticipation, for it held before me my first and only chance I ever had to go to school since the short time I had gone in Nauvoo. The teacher's name was David Osborn. There had been only one change in the textbook, and that was the addition of the old "Blue Backed Speller" by Webster.

During the harvest of 1855 it was found that the supply of wheat produced in some sections was insufficient to supply the demand, and as a result the authorities of the Church were making an investigation of the wheat situation. It was found that there was sufficient if proper care were taken of it. It was proposed that all wheat in excess of the owner's necessity for family use and planting the next year should be divided among the less fortunate. After Father had taken what he deemed necessary for our own use, it was found he had about 200 bushels more than we needed. He was approached and asked if he would willingly give that excess supply to the other Saints of the community. He agreed
to do so and did. He never expected a favor or a cent for it, and I know he never did receive any money for the wheat. It was simply the custom among those early pioneers for those who had to give. The supply of wheat we saved was sufficient for our own use. Father moved our grain to the grist mill at the mouth of Ogden Canyon, where it was stored. The mill was owned by Loran Farr. As the grain was drawn out of the mill to fill our flour box at home, it seemed to Mother that we should be more careful. In the two or three months preceding harvest many of the neighbors near us began to feel the necessity of more flour. Many times they came to Mother or Father to borrow a little more flour if we could spare it. Lots of times it seemed to Mother that we could spare no more, and she advised against it, but Father always insisted on sharing what we had. Finally the day came when Father dumped the last of our supply into the box, but never was a neighbor turned away without flour; many times it seemed that surely we would run out, but when wheat was again ready for flour, Mother had never as yet scraped the bottom of that flour box.

In the spring of 1856 after school was dismissed, I helped put in the crops on the farm. We planted a few acres more this year, totaling about thirty acres. I also spent a day occasionally working on the road up "thru" Weber Canyon. Our crops were better this year as the grasshoppers weren't very bad, and we had constructed another ditch on the north side of the river, and we now had a sufficient supply of water for irrigation. Very few improvements were effected this summer, but we kept everything in pretty good shape. The crop we harvested that fall was the best we had ever harvested since we came west. I had made preparations to return to school this winter, but things turned out otherwise.

About this time a firm named Gilbert & Garrish, who were Salt Lake's leading merchants at the time, had contracted with certain parties to freight some of their goods from the Missouri River, somewhere near the present location of Omaha, to Salt Lake City. The freighters were a little late starting westward, and as a result they were caught in the snow east of Salt Lake City on Bear River, a short distance west of old Ft. Bridger. They lacked the proper courage to carry on and deserted their outfits except for their cattle and came on to Salt Lake. There were no preparations made to safeguard the goods. The yokes of the cattle were thrown in piles in the most convenient places. The snow where they deserted their wagons was about six or seven inches deep when the rescue party reached the wagons.


A few days after the arrival of the freighters in Salt Lake, and after Gilbert & Garrish had found out the conditions concerning their goods, it happened that Judson L. Stoddard, a quite prominent man of the surrounding territory, was in Salt Lake. He was quite a cattle man and was quite familiar with the country east of Salt Lake. His business also included a little contract work of various kinds. Gilbert & Garrish approached Stoddard to find out if he would go for the goods, and how much he would charge. He contracted to get the goods and said he would be reasonable in his charges. After familiarizing himself with the amount of goods to be brought over the mountains, and the snow conditions, he decided he would need about 60 or 70 oxen and 8 teamsters with wagon boxes. I had been recommended to Stoddard as a pretty fair "bull-whacker" and was offered the opportunity to go with him, which I accepted.
We started from Salt Lake about December 1st, 1856, and were about four days going over the mountains and reaching the wagons. We camped near these wagons the night we reached them and started the return early next morning. We hitched four yoke of oxen to each wagon. We experienced a little difficulty with some of the oxen, but our trip to the crossing of the Weber River preparatory to going over the Big Mountain was without accident. Here our difficulties began. The snow conditions over the mountain made it necessary for us to double up. Each wagon now had eight yoke of oxen hitched to it. Thus we were forced to leave four wagons behind. Our trip up East Canyon Creek was somewhat dangerous owing to the poorly constructed roads. At one place in the canyon the road went around a point that extended out quite prominently, around which the road was very close to the creek. Here also the road was sloping toward the creek, and the icy conditions of the snow made it perilous to go around it. Larry Robinson was teamster on the first wagon, and as we approached the point, it was evident we were to have trouble. I advised digging a small trench perhaps two rods long in which to drive the wheels nearest the upper bank. But the wagon boss told Robinson to go on around the point without digging the trench, which he did reluctantly. He was just fairly started around the point when the wagon slid completely off the road and turned upside down in the creek bottom, which fortunately was frozen solidly. I was next in line and was ordered to go as Robinson had done, and I refused to do it until a trench was dug. The boss became very impatient and threatened to report my conduct to Mr. Stoddard. However, we dug the trench and all the remaining wagons passed safely around the point. In addition to the trench we tied a rope to the rear of the wagons, and the boys pulled so as to keep the wagon wheels in the trench.

We made the rest of the trip to Salt Lake very successfully after we had recovered the goods from Robinson's wagon and had distributed them to the other three wagons. There was a slight loss of goods due to broken boxes, etc., incurred in the accident. After the delivery of the first wagons in Salt Lake, and a night's rest at the home of Father Chase, Mr. Stoddard's father-in-law, we returned immediately for the other wagons on the Weber River. We had brought the wagons successfully to the summit of Big Mountain.
Here I saw one of the most impressive scenes of all my boyhood. As we came up East Canyon Creek, we were preceded by some of the last handcarters, and were followed by others. At this time they had no handcarts, having abandoned them when the relief had reached them that was sent from Salt Lake. As we were preparing for our descent down Big Mountain, the last of these people gained the summit. A sadder and more forlorn spectacle I had never seen, before or since. The suffering they had been forced to endure was evident in the first glance. Their features were drawn and plainly showed the effect of their hunger, and their bodies were very poorly clad; many were barely clothed sufficiently to cover their nakedness, to say nothing of furnishing any warmth.

We went on down the mountain and reached Salt Lake without accident, and after we received our pay we went to our homes. I walked from Salt Lake City to Mr. Stoddard's home in Centerville, about 12 miles, and stayed that night with them, and the next day I walked 18 miles on to East Weber and home.

Among us at home we were forced always to practice the strictest economy. Up to now and for a few years to come Mother and my sisters had made all the clothes I had every worn, except under garments which were made by them after the material for the purpose had been purchased at some store; otherwise all our clothes were homespun and homemade. We had a few sheep of our own, and we always cared for the wool, washing, carding, and spinning it ourselves, Mother and the girls making the clothes for each of us. If we preferred any color other than the natural color of the wool, except for a brown color we could obtain from the bark of a tree called "tag-alder", we were at an expense to buy coloring. If a family happened to have a black sheep in their flock, it was possible to spin a grayish yarn. We were always cautioned by Mother to remember that if we wanted clothing, we had to help out in the purchasing the necessary materials.

During our travels about from place to place, I had made it a point to learn all I could on the violin. I was never a violinist but a pretty fair fiddler, and during the winters I always played for the community dances. I was not particularly interested in the social end of these affairs, but I found I could pick up a little change, and we always welcomed the chance to get money. I recall once I was asked to play for a wedding dance when a daughter of one of our particular friendly families was married. They were quite prominent in the community, and the affair was quite a social event so I felt quite honored. I had to walk about five miles, and when I arrived their festivities were nearly over. But they insisted on my eating, so I did. Afterward we soon started the dance, and a very enjoyable evening was spent. When the dance was over I was asked how much I wanted, and I asked for $l.50. The man who paid me said that wasn't half enough so I was given $3.00, and I was so pleased I immediately set out on my return home, and I was surely proud when I handed the $3.00 to Mother.

It was always the custom in our family to give the money to her as she was the recognized financier of the family. The same thing happened to other money that I made, and so upon my return home from Judson Stoddard's work, I cashed in the money I had made on the job. My return was made on the day before Christmas.


I returned to school as soon as it opened after the holidays. Mr. Osborn was still the teacher. Throughout the remainder of the winter, aside from my studies at school, I played for every dance I could. Our home life was much the same as usual, nothing of particular interest happening until about the middle of March. The school term was now over, and I was helping David clear a piece of ground that Father had given him, and one evening when I returned home from work I found the whole family in a most curious state of mind, the object of their wondering was a letter addressed to me from President Brigham Young, and at first, I guess, I felt about the same as they did. I opened and read the letter and was certainly surprised at the contents of the letter. I handed the letter to the other folks, and they read it. It was a notification from President Young that I had been selected by Judson L. Stoddard as a member of a party to go East with the mail. Some two or three years previous to this time, President Young had secured from the U.S. Government a contract to carry the mail from Salt Lake City to Independence, Missouri, and also the return mail to Salt Lake. President Young had selected Mr. Stoddard to take charge of the party, and he in turn had selected eleven other men to assist him, among whom I was chosen on account, I suppose, of satisfactory work on previous occasions. The agreement with the government called for the mail to leave each end of the route the first of every month. The party I was to accompany was to start from Salt Lake City on April 1, 1857. I was also advised in the letter I would have to come to Salt Lake to receive my endowments before I could go East.

Sometime about six or eight months before I received President Young's letter, a young lady by the name of Jane Miller had entered my life, and even previous to the letter we had considered marriage and were promised to each other. The suddenness with which this trip showed up and a contemplation of the things it held forth to me, together with these other affairs, served to present quite a serious situation to me. I had quite a time reaching the final decision. I wanted to make the trip, and to a certain degree I felt it my duty to do so, and I disliked very much the prospects of leaving Jane Miller behind. At this time I was also puzzled to know the proper thing to do about my endowments. I wasn't sure at this time that I wanted them for there seemed a possibility, in my mind, that maybe I wasn't just fit for such sacred ordinances, and I 'thot' perhaps there would be some covenants to enter into that I would not care to enter. I consulted Father and after due consideration and a night's sleep over it, I decided to go to Salt Lake for my endowments. Now that that was settled, I was confronted with the problem of what to do with my fiancee. Father solved that problem for me when he suggested I should marry her and leave her with them in East Weber until I should return from the East. It was following these decisions that Jane and I prepared to go to Salt Lake to be married and receive our endowments. Levi Hammon made the trip with us driving Father's team and wagon. We departed from East Weber on March 17, 1857. We went as far as Centerville the first day, and there we spent the night with an old friend named Mr. Goldsbrough. Next day we arrived in Salt Lake a little before noon at the home of Alexander Watson, who had married one of Jane's sisters, named Maggie. Here we stayed until next day, March 19th. I had made arrangements with Heber C. Kimball, whom Father asked me to get to perform the ceremony, and he promised he would. The ceremony was performed on March 20, 1857. We were married in the old endowment house by Mr. Kimball. After the marriage ceremony had been completed and we had received our endowments, we left immediately for home. We reached Centerville where we again stayed at Mr. Goldsbrough's. Next day we reached home about noon.


When I left Salt Lake, Mr. Stoddard and I had agreed that he would pick me up in East Weber. It was then almost impossible to cross over Big Mountain on account of snow. The road now was completed up 'thru' Weber Canyon, so we were to go that way. I spent the day remaining before our departure helping Father and David on their places. I can hardly describe my emotions as the day approached for our departure. All my life up to this time had been spent at home always with my folks; I had always been within seeing distance, so to speak, of the smoke from our home fire, and the prospects of leaving a home I had always loved didn't brighten the future any. No man ever lived who had a better mother than I had. I perhaps wasn't exactly what she wished for, and I lacked very much of being an angel. My father, too, and I always could agree and get along fine together, and I hold him in my memory with a sincere reverence--always honest and upright in his dealings, a gentleman always, and possessed of a strong love for his family and home ties. Mother always with an eye open for the benefit of the family, never cross or cranky, and always full of consideration and love for everyone, particularly the family. She possessed that canny characteristic of a mother always doing the right thing at the right time. I always will insist that I had as good a set of parents as ever lived. So I cannot say I was particularly glad to see April 1 come. And now, too, I was a married man, and I surely wasn't any too well pleased with leaving my wife behind.

The party left Salt Lake on April l, and arrived on the Weber River opposite East Weber and camped for the night. Mr. Stoddard came over to our place and asked me to join them next morning. Next morning when it came time to bid the folks goodby, I managed very well with Jane and Mother and the rest of them, until it came Father's turn, and then my supply of tears cut loose, and I had a really good cry all to myself. When it was over I went to the mule I had been supplied with and joined the rest of the party. It was the intention of the company to use pack horses for carrying the mail. We had about 60 or 65 horses and mules; this was really more than we needed, but we intended to establish several mail stations on the route in some of the better locations as we found them. Camp the first night out was made at the lower end of Upper Weber Canyon. In crossing the mountain between Upper Weber Valley and Upper Weber Canyon a little accident occurred. When the company had left Salt Lake, they were accompanied by four young men from there to help us with the mail and the four passengers who were accompanying us.

It was thought also we might have some trouble with the pack mules and horses. Two of the boys were sons of President Young, and the four mules and the wagon that were with us belonged to him. He had at first refused to let the mules go on the trip at all but had finally told the boys they could take them. They were quite reckless and careless, and as we were crossing over the mountain separating Upper Weber Valley and Upper Weber Canyon, when very suddenly the wagon slid off the sloping road and turned over. The strain was too much for the wagon tongue and as it split lengthwise, the wood, the sharp end remaining in the hound of the wagon, struck one of the mules back of the front leg and entered the body and the strain of the other mules together with its own weight forced the tongue out through the brisket of the mule. Considerable difficulty was experienced in removing the tongue, but they brought the mule on to camp. I remember as a kind of precaution to protect the wound, a small plug of tobacco was placed in it. I do not know what more happened to the old mule for I never saw him again, for as we broke camp next morning we departed without the wagon and the four mules. From here also the four boys returned to Salt Lake. The four passengers were now riding horses which they rode to Fort Bridger. Here at this first camp I encountered a new experience in the form of guard duty. It was our custom to have three men on guard, one at the camp and two with the horses. It so happened that I was chosen to guard the stock, and George Grant, a Salt Lake youth about my age, was to stand it with me. Here started a friendship that increased during the days and experiences that followed. This was a friendship very dear to me, and I recall it with real pleasure; our fun and our jokes were enjoyed by each alike. The duty of the camp guard was, of course, to watch everything and protect it from marauders and to make the camp and have things moving about daylight, 'altho' we were later than that starting on the road. The stock guard cared for them and kept them from wandering too far from camp and to have them within easy reach of the camp when they were wanted. Our progress was necessarily slow as the feed at this time of year was not very good, and we encountered much snow. We were about a week on the road when we reached Ft. Bridger.


After we reached Ft. Bridger, a few other things were shown to us that were new to me. I had my first experience with packing and unpacking outfits, tying them on our mules, etc. It is quite a task to properly arrange a pack outfit. We were shown the proper way to do these things by Mr. Stoddard and George Dalton, assisted by a Mexican who was also the camp cook. We spent two or three days at Ft. Bridger arranging things and securing some new equipment. The main things we added were harnesses for four mules and a three-inch Shutler wagon. All the mail and our supplies with our bedding was placed in the wagon. Seats were also provided in it for the four passengers.

I cannot recall the date we left Ft. Bridger, but when we finally departed, we went along with the same old camp routine. We usually ate three meals a day, such as they were. I guess they were sufficient, even though they were slim. Wild game was quite scarce, but we proceeded as best we could.

At Green River, as we were preparing to ford the river, a little accident occurred that might have been a more serious one under different circumstances. Every one of us on the trip, including the passengers, were armed as well as it was possible for us to be. Among the guns belonging to one of the passengers was an old shot gun. It was an old percussion lock gun. The gun had been packed in the rear of the wagon box with the muzzle pointing back. When the gun had been placed there, it was left loaded, and the hammer had been left in contact with the cap. As we were about to enter the river we had to go down quite a steep little incline into the river, and the jar to the wagon as it hit the river bed shifted the load. As the load returned to its place, it hit the hammer of the gun with sufficient weight to discharge the gun. We were following perhaps two or three rods back of the wagon and luckily the elevation of the gun sent the charge of shot above our heads. Mr. Stoddard took the precaution then to make sure no other such thing should happen.


Among other instructions, that had been given Mr. Stoddard by President Young, was to attend strictly to prayer, twice daily, morning and evening. And we always did. We pursued our way slowly until we reached Big Sandy, and here a new experience came to me. It was the practice of the leader to call on a different member every evening and morning to pray. I had some way or another missed the opportunity until the morning we were to break camp on Big Sandy. In our home with Father we had always had prayers, morning and evening, but Father was always the spokesman, never offering other members of the family a chance. So, I say when I was asked to pray vocally for the first time out there among those men, I faced a new experience. I couldn't refuse, and I was so upset and nervous I couldn't speak. My knees almost failed to do their duty in holding me up, and when I finally got to a place where I depended even farther upon them to hold me up, I am sure they would have proved useless if it hadn't been for the holes they so readily made in the sand. I shook, and I trembled, and each move sank me a little farther in the sand. Eventually the flat spots wore off my knees, and now I suffer no ill effects from them, but I believe the imprints of my knees are still over there on Big Sandy. I guess I didn't suffer any very serious handicap as a result of the prayer, for afterward I managed to eat a good healthy breakfast and carry on my end of the work. Soon we were on our way and within a few days had reached South Pass. As we gained the summit of the pass, which is also the Continental Divide, we were somewhat surprised to find we couldn't see the Sweetwater River. We were just a short distance down the eastern slope of the pass when we encountered a large drift of snow, which was estimated at about fifty feet deep, entirely covering the river. The surface of the snow drift was frozen very hard, and we were able to cross it without much trouble. We had traveled a considerable distance when we first saw the water of the river. Most of the time we were on the snow, the water of the river was under us. When we reached the end of the drift, the best landing was on the east bank of the river, so we had crossed the river at the same time we had crossed the snow drift. We were now on the Old Immigration Trail, and we went on down the river until we reached Devil's Gate. Here we were forced to spend a couple of days giving our stock a chance to recuperate. The last week or ten days we had encountered very poor feed for our stock, and they were suffering somewhat as a result. Here at Devil's Gate had been established a mail station. This was done by a mail party who had preceded us. There had been a man left in charge of the supplies who was a good blacksmith. So in connection with the enforced delay on account of feed, we took advantage of his trade and had about thirty head of mules shod. I remember the blacksmith put shoes on sixteen of them in one day which was mighty fast work.

The trip progressed quite slowly, and now we were beginning to feel the need of more supplies. While we were not actually suffering, it had become evident we would have to practice the strictest economy, because our nearest supply of provisions was at Ft. Laramie, some five or six days travel from Devil's Gate.


In due course of time we reached Ft. Laramie where we purchased a new supply of provisions, and after a couple of days rest we went our way. We purchased only enough provisions to do until we reached Ft. Kearney. All the information at hand at Ft. Laramie indicated that the pioneers and other travelers were being molested by Indians along the route. Before leaving Ft. Laramie, Mr. Stoddard applied to the fort commander for a detachment of soldiers to accompany us to Ft. Kearney and was given sixteen well-armed and well-equipped soldiers with an officer to go with us. When we left Ft. Laramie, we were on the north side of the Platte River. We had covered about half the distance to Ft. Kearney when a little excitement overtook us. We were just breaking camp one morning when some member of the party spied in the distance an object moving toward us. Of course our first thought was Indians. Near our camp was quite a deep washout which would offer us a good protection, and in a very few minutes everyone of us was in a position of vantage prepared to do our best to protect ourselves. As the object approached us, we discovered that it was a group of horsemen and a little later found them to be Indians. As they came closer, we found they were friendly because they had their squaws and children with them. They had been out hunting and were just returning with their meat. Before they departed, we purchased some fresh buffalo meat from them, the first fresh meat we had had since we left Salt Lake. After a few more day travel without any unusual incidents, we reached the upper end of Grand Island. We had to cross over the Platte River here at Grand Island, but we arrived there too late in the evening to attempt to cross the river that night, so we made our camp to wait until next morning to cross the river. During the night a storm came up from the northwest. It was a very cold wind with sleet and rain. The supply of equipment we had with us did not include a single tent. When my bed partner George Grant and I went to bed that night, we slept under the wagon. Next morning when we got up, we were as wet as rats; the rain all night had run under our bed, and every one of the crowd had suffered considerably. The men who were on night guard with the stock had driven them to camp as the storm increased. Next morning we found six of the mules dead within a stone's throw of camp. Wood of any description could not be found on this bank of the river, and we were forced to get our outfit together and cross over to Grand Island before we could start drying our clothes, there being a good supply of cottonwood and other woods growing on the island. Things didn't favor us very much as we crossed to the island for we were forced to delay for some little time getting to a fire to dry and warm ourselves, on account of some more ill luck to the mules. The North Platte River is notorious wherever it is known for the amount of quick-sand in its course, and on this account it is a very treacherous river to cross. The wagon had crossed over to the island all right somewhat in advance of us. We were just fairly started across this channel of the river, and the water was about knee-deep to the stock. Six of the mules we were driving were caught in some quick-sand and after a struggle or two gave up and simply `lie' there sinking without an effort. These were right in the trail that the other stock had crossed on. In spite of all we could do, these six mules sank into the river and were drowned. There wasn't much we could do on account of the cold, and the treachery of quicksand made it necessary for us to get ourselves on good, solid ground as quickly as possible with what stock we could. As quickly as we possibly could, we had a fire going. We camped here on Grand Island for two days, there being a good supply of wood and good feed for the horses and mules. It happened that the first night on Grand Island, it came my turn to stand stock watch with George Grant. The storm had ceased. We were perhaps within three or four hundred yards from camp, when suddenly just before midnight, we heard a noise in the water in the channel we had crossed that day. Getting to a place closer to the stream where we could very dimly see the object causing the disturbance, we were unable to distinguish very plainly at first what it was, but we were convinced it was a horse or a mule in the stream with perhaps an Indian on its back. It was coming nearly directly toward us, so we waited with our pistols ready to shoot to make sure of what it was. It came on the bank some 15 or 20 yards from us, and after standing there a few minutes, it brayed. So we knew it was one or our mules that had strayed away and was returning to the rest of the stock.

We crossed on to the south bank of the Platte off Grand Island without any difficulty and proceeded on our way to Ft. Kearney. After spending two days at the Fort, we departed on the last trip of our journey. Our guard of soldiers left us here. I remember while here of visiting the fort and watching the soldiers and cavalry, especially do I remember the cavalry. They were quite inefficient in handling their horses properly. One phase of their practice consisted of running a horse by an object while the rider tried to hit the object with his pistol. After a little shooting the horses were so excited, and the soldiers being unable to handle them (that they) were having a lot of trouble. About every horse they got past the target lost his rider soon after the shot was fired. They seemed unable to ride the horses at all. Mr. Stoddard was always a great hand to make friends, and once while he was talking to the captain of the cavalry, he was asked what he thought of the practice. Stoddard said he thought it was a very good idea, but ventured an opinion that the company was short-handed. When asked why he 'thot' so, he told the officer he should have at least one more man per horse to hold the rider on while he was doing the shooting.


When we departed from Ft. Kearney, we were accompanied only one day by Mr. Stoddard. When we broke camp the second morning, Mr. Stoddard with the four passengers and the cook and a driver and all the mail went on ahead of us. Food for the stock was now quite plentiful, and we followed slowly so as to give the stock a chance to recuperate. They arrived in Independence, Missouri, sometime between May 10 and 15, and we reached there in the latter part of May. When we reached Independence, we found that Mr. Stoddard had already located a camp place about three miles southeast of Independence, belonging to a man named Saunders. Here there was a plentiful supply of grass for our stock, excellent water, and everything was most ideal for a camp. The part of Missouri adjacent to Independence is surely one of the beautiful garden spots of the world, and at the time of the year when we arrived there, everything was at its best. Spring had just returned and was in full command, all the early flowers were in bloom as were all the wild fruit shrubberies of the country. In addition, there were many orchards that some earlier pioneers had been forced to leave after he had planted it, and wild crabapples and plums were in full bloom nearly everywhere. There are many short streams in this country varying from two to five miles apart and each bank of these streams for quite a distance were covered with trees and shrubs and the grass was intermingled with the blossoms of wild flowers. Of all the different places I have ever seen in my life, I recall this place as the most beautiful. When we arrived at Independence, the spirit of bitterness that had once ruled the country and had forced the earlier Saints to leave their homes didn't seem to exist any longer. We found everybody agreeable and everything friendly, and I am sure that how much we appreciated conditions such as these can be imagined when the hardships and trials of the past two months were recalled. It seems to me now, as I recall those two months, that it is a wonder we were able to withstand those hardships. In the first place our pack outfits and the supplies we started with were insufficient to insure comfort. When, too, we were traveling at the worst time of the year. There was much snow to hinder us, feed was scarce for our stock, and upon these depended our lives. The Indians were a source of anxiety and worry; every river we crossed was full of danger, and there, lurking in their depths, were perils and hazards always ready to take the lives of man or beast at any opportunity. Many times we were suffering the pangs of cold and hunger at the same moment with no immediate chance for relief. I remember just before we reached the Fort Laramie, the last five or six meals we partook of consisted of just simply boiled corn, and we were thankful for that. However, we were not allowed to remain with present conditions, which were so much to our liking-as we found them, very long.

It was about this time that a certain Supreme Court Judge of the Territory of Utah had found it convenient to leave the territory. He went to California and down the coast to the Isthmus of Panama and up the east coast to the capital at Washington. His attitude while at Salt Lake was entirely unfriendly toward the Saints. His visit at Washington was made purposely to make certain reports to the President, which were a pack of lies and calculated to cause the Saints trouble. Among other things, these reports said that the Saints were in rebellion against the United States, and that all public records of the territory had been burned. The President, without making any kind of investigation, immediately ordered an army of 2500 soldiers to proceed to Utah and take the necessary steps to restore peace and order. The army was to gather at and be sent from Ft. Leavenworth, Kansas. We were now located within about twenty-five miles of this fort.

Another thing that made sentiment rise up against us was the presence of Eph Hanks, whom rumor and a publication in a local newspaper had associated with the murder of Captain Gunnison and his men south of Salt Lake about 150 miles on the Sevier River. I think this happened in the year 1856.


The advance rumors, the reports this Supreme Court Judge had made, and Eph Hanks presence served to excite and create quite a sentiment against us, as well as other Saint sympathizers. Particularly was this true of Hanks. He was a very indiscreet man, at times doing things that seemed against good judgment. At the time of our arrival, he was staying with a man near Independence whose reputation was not good, and Hanks drew much criticism for this. When he heard of our presence, he wanted to come to our camp to stay, and Mr. Stoddard permitted him to do so. I remember some of the things he used to do around camp. Sometimes he would take off all his clothing except his underwear and then grab a gun or a stick and proceed in the wildest Indian fashion to do some kind of dance. Even after sentiment had reach a point where it was nearly unsafe for him to show his face at all, he would not heed warnings for his safety, even when his conduct made things embarrassing for the rest of us. The time finally arrived where they intended to hang Hanks, and would have had they been able to catch him. So Stoddard, appreciating the seriousness of the situation, forced him to leave our camp. Meanwhile the army had been assembling at Ft. Leavenworth, and the spirit among our enemies had increased to such a point that our lives were almost at a premium.

I remember, and wish here to relate, a couple of little incidents that occurred soon after we first arrived at Independence. George Grant and I, not having anything very important to do, decided to take a little walk for our amusement. There were many things throughout the woods near us to interest us, so we spent the larger part of the afternoon roaming around at our leisure. Finally, we decided we had better be getting toward home and started out in what we thought to be the right direction. We walked and walked and couldn't find camp or locate a thing we remembered. We had spent considerable time roaming about without much luck when we came to an old road. We decided to follow the road, and after we had walked two or three miles, we suddenly came to an opening in the woods in which there was a cabin, and nearby a man was working. We asked him for directions to Mr. Saunder's place, and he told us that we were now on his place. We had approached the place and hadn't recognized a single landmark that looked familiar, and as a matter of fact, we were within three or four hundred yards of our own camp.

The other thing I wished to mention was a visit George Grant and I made in Independence to the Temple Lot. I had heard so much about this place selected by the prophet to build the temple in which to receive the Master, when he deems it proper to return and assume the reigns of government, that I didn't want to pass up the opportunity of visiting it. It is located about two miles from the river in the western part of the town. It was west of the court house about one-half mile.

We had been in Independence about two weeks when Mr. Stoddard decided our surroundings were serious enough to justify a move to some other quarters. The last two or three nights before we did move we were positive we heard men prowling around in the woods near camp. They never seemed to bother anyone or things, but we felt they were looking for a chance to justify some violence, and I believe especially they were watching for a chance at Eph Hanks. Mr. Stoddard had located an old friend of his in the northern part of Independence and had been in petty close touch with him ever since we made camp on Saunder's place. There was a very sincere friendship existed between them, for Stoddard always was in touch with and many times followed the warnings or suggestions his friend offered. Mr. Stoddard's friend was an apostate from the Church, but seemed to hold no enmity for Mr. Stoddard. Many times he informed us of the efforts of our enemies to get Hanks, and it was following his suggestion that Mr. Stoddard finally forced Hanks to leave our camp. He informed Hanks to take the cook, who had been with us since we left Salt Lake, and go to the stock and pick out a horse for each of them and a mule for pack use, and to go west into Kansas across the Caw River and there wait our coming.


The morning we were leaving Independence we encountered a little excitement while we were stopped in front of the court house. A group of bystanders, to cause us much embarrassment and possibly some trouble, advanced and claimed several of our mules. Stoddard would not give in and finally convinced them there was no use trying to frighten him. It was not long, but after considerable argument, that we were allowed to pass on with all our stock and none the worse off for the experience.

When we left Independence, we went in a northwesterly direction toward Ft. Leavenworth. We had to cross the Caw River. When we crossed the Caw, we landed on an Indian Reservation belonging to the Delawares. We located a very fine place to camp on a little spring, and after securing permission of the Chief of the Delawares, we were permitted to remain on their reservation. This was somewhat different than their custom. In fact, we were informed that it was customary to allow travelers to stay on his reserve only over night, but when we told him we were waiting for mail to take west, and after promising to cut only enough of his wood for camp necessities, we were allowed to make camp. It was a special privilege granted us to remain on the reservation. We were now about nine miles below Ft. Leavenworth.

At this camp we had excellent water, and the feed for our stock was very good, and we enjoyed ourselves very much. I remember this in connection with the Indians. They were a great people for whiskey and almost daily they would pass our camp on their way to Ft. Leavenworth for a new supply.

Soon after we were located in our new camp, Mr. Stoddard became quite curious to know what was happening in respect to the army that was preparing to go west. During those days his dress was that of a typical mountaineer. He wore a small leather cap and his face was covered with a heavy, long beard. His jacket and trousers were made of buckskin with three or four inch taglock hanging on each sleeve and as far down as his knees on the trousers. He had good, heavy shoes, and in connection with them he wore leggings. Perhaps the most conspicuous part of his dress was the large Spanish spurs he wore. He was always a character to command attention and possessed the faculty of easily making friends. He had made but a very few trips to the fort until he had made friends with the officer in charge of activities there. When asked where he was from, he promptly told the officer he was from California. He was asked many questions about his experiences and travels and especially those he encountered while in Utah. Mr. Stoddard, always careful to keep his connections with Utah concealed, answered quite correctly everything else. The officer was very much surprised to find out the Saints in Utah hadn't robbed and plundered and otherwise molested them, and that so far as he knew or had heard everything was all right in Utah. So it wasn't very long until Stoddard was in a position to find out the whole plan of campaign of the army and what their intentions were. Stoddard made these trips to Ft. Leavenworth every day, and upon his return to camp at night, he would tell us boys the proceedings of the day.

I recall here a little incident Mr. Stoddard related to us one night. It concerned a man by the name of Williams who was buying mules for the government to be used on the expedition to Utah. Mr. Williams, I suppose, was more or less interested in the Church as several of his folks, both father and mother, were in Utah, as were many other of his friends. In his mule-buying business he early established a reputation for the kind of mules he got, which were by far the best brought to the fort; in fact, they were the best obtainable. One day the commanding officer, in the presence of Mr. Stoddard, asked how it was he was able to get such good mules. Williams told them, in as few words as possible, that he had many good friends in Utah, who were no doubt in need of more good stock, and inasmuch as they were going to get everything the army took out with it, he wanted them to have the very best.

However, the mules presented a problem to those who were to break them, and in their effort nearly every day some outfits came down past our camp. Our camp life was uneventful while here. We had by this time been rejoined by our Mexican cook. We still maintained our night guards of the stock, as well as day guards.

After we had been in our camp about ten days, we were joined by a party from St. Louis consisting of A. O. Smoot and Mrs. Pratt, the widow of P.P. Pratt. They came awaiting our departure to Utah, intending to make the trip with us. About this time also, we were joined by a party of converts from Texas who were also headed for Utah. A man by the name of Box was in charge of the Party. He was a very wealthy man.

Mr. Smoot had preceded us with the mail about two months, and instead of returning to Utah with his mail party, had gone to St. Louis to attend to some business and was now returning to Utah. It was while he was in St. Louis he found Mrs. Pratt, who was desirous of returning to Utah, and they had come to Independence to go west with the mail, and not finding us in Independence had joined us at our camp here.

The presence of the Box party was incidental, but after finding us so near ready to leave, they decided to travel with us. It was very fortunate for us that they did. We had been joined by these two parties but a day or so when a certain man, I cannot recall his name, approached Mr. Stoddard and demanded payment of a $3,500.00 note he held against President Young. The idea seemed to prevail that this army preparing to enter Utah would practically annihilate the Saints, and they seemed to think that they had better grab what they could. Stoddard knew nothing of the existence of such a note and would not listen to the man, until Mr. Smoot admitted that such a note did exist, and after consultation of Mr. Smoot and Mr. Stoddard, it was decided to pay, if possible, all due on the note. All our stock, provisions, and wagons were far insufficient in value to even come close to the amount necessary to cancel the note. I am not positive, but I really believe they intended and would have taken all we had, had not Mr. Box come to the rescue. Even after he had produced all the money at hand and had pooled it with the amount we had among us, we were still shy about $500.00. Among Mr. Box's possessions, he had with him a negro woman who was his slave. She was a very splendid specimen of the race, and as a last resort, she was offered as the final payment and was accepted. Thus `thru' Mr. Box we were allowed to retain our stock and provisions. However, it later developed that it would be almost impossible for the Box party to travel with us, so they departed somewhere near the first of July ahead of us.

About the time of the departure of the Box party, Mr. Stoddard was preparing to go to Independence for the mail. It was our intention to start for home on July 1st. When Stoddard appeared at the office in Independence for the mail, he was informed that the U.S. Government had cancelled its contract with President Young and refused to give him the mail. He returned to camp and made preparations to go home. I am unable to account for the presence now in our camp of five new Schuttler wagons. I am sure they were to be delivered to parties in Utah, but who purchased them and delivered them to us I cannot recall. We were assigned our mules and wagon and spent as such time as we had to spare the mules, breaking some of them and adjusting harnesses to fit them. During all this time up to the trip to Independence for the mail, Stoddard had kept in touch with conditions at Ft. Leavenworth, but while he was in Independence the army departed for Utah.

After a conference among the entire personnel of the camp, it was decided we would set out for Utah as quickly as possible. We were to make a circuitous route around the army, all the time keeping out of its sight and avoiding any information of our presence reaching them. It was `thot' perhaps they would not allow us to pass them if they knew of our presence and intentions of going to Utah. All our arrangements were finally completed, and I believe we started for home on July 2nd. When the May mail arrived at Independence, we received quite a number of letters from our folks and friends in Utah. We exchanged greetings with the boys who had brought the mail down and talked over the more important happenings of times. Both in our letters and our conversation, we were told of the intentions of the Saints in Utah to hold a 24th of July celebration in Big Cottonwood Canyon near Salt Lake.

I am positive we were carrying the advance information of the approach of the army toward Utah, and our hurrying so much was to make it possible to report to Pres. Young the facts concerning the army during that celebration in B. C. Canyon.

Stoddard had among his personal properties a branding iron of the Young Express Company-(YX), and in as much as the company had been formed for the transportation of mail and that contract having been cancelled, the company therefore was no longer in existence; it was decided by Mr. Stoddard he would no longer have any use for the iron. So on the morning of our departure for the West, Mr. Stoddard gave me the iron and asked me to hide it and make sure it was in a place where no one would ever find it. I `thot' for a few minutes and finally decided I would bury it in the bottom of the stream of the spring we had been camped on, about two or three rods from where it came out of the ground. Here I dug a hole about two feet deep in the very bottom of the stream and buried the iron.

Among the new Schuttler wagons we now had there were two or three that had iron axletrees. These fitted very closely in the hub of the wheel. We were not as careful perhaps as we should have been, for on our first day out we encountered some trouble with these wagons. We had not failed to grease the wheels, but the supply was insufficient, and before long they heated and expanded sufficiently to lock the wheels so they could not turn. We had very little trouble afterward for we always kept them greased good, and soon they wore enough to prevent heating.

When we started for home, I had assigned to my wagon Mrs. Pratt and Mrs. Smoot as passengers. They rode continuously with me until we reached Ft. Laramie.


We hadn't covered much distance when we were overtaken by nightfall, and so we made our camp on a little stream of water near the roadside. We thought our progress slow, but we were quite fast compared to the progress of the army. We proceeded cautiously, and some time in the fore part of the day we located the presence of the army a short distance ahead of us. We were very careful not to get close enough to them to encounter them or any of their outposts. By nightfall we had everything arranged to go around them, so under the cover of darkness we successfully made our detour and came back into the road somewhat in advance of the army. We traveled continuously during the night of July 4th and pretty well along toward the evening of July 5th, when we came very unexpectedly on to the camp of our friends the Box party, and we made camp with them to enjoy a very much needed rest and a supper prepared for us by them. Here, for the first time since we left Salt Lake, some member of our party hadn't stood guard over our stock. This was due to the thoughtfulness of Mr. Box who took care of our stock with his own. I remember a little thing occurred here. I had made an acquaintance with a young lady in the Box party, and we were quite good friends. As we were preparing to eat our supper that night, she came and insisted upon my eating with her and her folks, so I did. Up to the time we started on this trip I had never in my life tasted tea nor coffee. Tea and coffee were nearly unknown things in my Father's home. But on this trip I drank considerable coffee and I liked it very much, but we always had a limited supply of sugar, and thus it was very seldom sweet. At this particular meal my coffee was served to me already sweetened. It was much too sweet for me, and it affected me so as to create a dislike for sugar in my coffee, and `altho' I used coffee for the next several years, I never once used sugar in it again.

Next morning we were up and gone as early as we could get ready. We departed without the Box party, and except for a few members of it I never again saw them. We proceeded as fast as we could. We spent only the necessary time in Ft. Kearney and went immediately on our way. And in the course of the next two or three days we came to the South Platte River and were obliged to make a crossing over this stream. We forded the river immediately after our arrival and made camp as soon as we were safely across the stream. Here we found camped a Mr. Murdock with a mail party headed for Independence with the June mail.

Included in Mr. Murdock's party was a man by the name of Porter Rockwell. He was a very sincere friend of the Prophet Joseph Smith and associated much with him, and his activities in the Prophet's behalf had made him a much-sought for man in the eyes of the mobbers. Even down there at this time they would have liked very much to have the privilege of hanging Rockwell. Mr. Stoddard knew of the conditions down at Independence as it concerned Rockwell, and when he found out that he was with Murdock's party, he used his influence to prevent Rockwell going on to Independence. At first Rockwell thought Stoddard talked a little too much and made fun of the warning. However, when Murdock broke camp next morning, Rockwell remained with us and returned with us to Utah. We proceeded along our way as fast as we could. I remember one day while Mr. Smoot was walking alongside the wagon, soon after we had crossed the South Platte, he found a good pocket knife. He inquired and found out I had no pocket knife so he gave me the one he found. In the course of a few days we reached Ft. Laramie. The only incident delaying our progress was a wait necessitated for a herd of buffalo to cross the road ahead of us. They had the right-of-way, and we knew better than to try to hurry them or to force our way `thru' them. We were delayed here about one hour.

It became apparent as we neared Ft. Laramie that we were not making our trip to Utah fast enough to allow us to make our report concerning the army during the 24th of July celebration. We were positive we were the first to have any definite information concerning the advance of the army, so we felt it our duty to make known the facts as soon as possible. It was decided to divide the party, and the leading outfits were to take only absolute necessities and the best animals and proceed as fast as possible. The other part of the original party were to bring all the stock and to gather in all the stock that had previously been distributed along the route for relay purposes. They were to come slower and bring up the rear. The leading party consisted of George Dalton, about the best hand with a four-mule team I have ever seen, and he was taken along to drive. Our Mexican cook also went along with them to do the culinary duties. The rest of the party consisted of Stoddard, Smoot, Rockwell, and Mrs. Pratt. They left us at Ft. Laramie about July 12 or 13th.

We now had no particular occasion for hurrying, so we proceeded in a leisurely manner. We finally reached Salt Lake about August 9th or 10th, and during this time our trip was simply the role of every-day camper. Nothing unusual happened on our trip from Ft. Laramie west to Salt Lake.

It was understood among us that when this company was formed, that those who were called upon to help carry the mail were to become, in a way, members of the company and were to depend upon the profits of the company for remuneration for their time and efforts. So when we came back home to Salt Lake, we had no company, and there were no profits, and I do not know what happened to the livestock. I do know, however, that I never received a cent in money, and the only other things I received were a suit of clothes, a hat, and a pair of shoes for my four months of service. These were paid for by Mr. Stoddard out of company funds while we were in Missouri.

As soon as I was released from service, I went immediately to Farmington as the first lap on my way home. Here I stayed over night at the home of Mr. Stoddard. Next morning he equipped me with a horse and saddle to finish the trip to East Weber. It was near the middle of the day when I arrived at home. I found everyone enjoying good health, and I am sure my return was a welcome one; I at least know it was as far as I was concerned.

I was allowed but a very few days at home, during which time I helped around the farm in harvesting the few crops that were ready. President Young had immediately, on receiving the news of the army's advance, started to make preparations to prevent the army entering Salt Lake Valley. He called for volunteers, and nearly every man was available at once. I departed from home about August 20th with the group of men who were offering their services from East Weber. We immediately proceeded to Echo Canyon where the main encampment was forming. The camp there was under the command of Colonel C. W. West, of Ogden. Here we subjected ourselves to military discipline and training. I remember here our drill sergeant, Dan Campbell, who was a very efficient man. He was perhaps 45 years old and about as quick witted as any Irishman that ever lived. He was always very considerate of his men.


During the latter part of August I was allowed to return home on account of ill health. I remember the account I heard of the unfortunate killing of one of the volunteers named William Simmons. This happened a day or so after I departed for home. Practically all the guns we had were muzzle loaders, and it was common belief among the camp that these guns would not throw a bullet over the highest cliff of the canyon facing the camp. One day in some leisure hours, Bill Simmons, and Henry and Larry Robinson climbed up the cliffs. In order to do so they had to go quite a way up the canyon and ascend `thru' a small canyon that broke the line of cliffs. In the course of a few hours they showed themselves on a large rock on the highest point of the cliff, and noticing a small group of men standing around a tent door cleaning a gun, they started a conversation with them which ended with Bill Simmons offering the man with the gun a shot at him. I cannot recall the man's name who did the shooting, but as soon as he could load the gun he aimed the gun at Simmons, who was standing in the middle of the three abreast of each other, and fired. No one ever dreamed of the possibility of the result of firing, but the bullet found its landing place in Simmons' left temple, and he would have certainly fell face forward over the cliff had it not been for his companions. They immediately brought the body to camp. The two Robinson boys and Simmons were all members of East Weber Ward. Next day (Sunday) the body was wrapped in a wagon cover and placed in a wagon and brought to East Weber. Here I viewed the remains of the body the evening of the day it was brought home, a silent reminder of the uncertainties of life. We were on our way to evening meeting when the body arrived. The first impressions throughout the community were that the army had arrived and that there had been a battle, and excitement ran high for while until the particulars became known. I, somewhat overcome by a curiosity to see the body, went to the wagon and uncovered the body until I could see the head and shoulders, and there in his left temple I saw the wound. Believe me, in the course of the next 24 hours I wished I had mastered my curiosity.

Some few days previous to Simmons' death, Col. West had turned the command of this camp over to a Col. Jones from Salt Lake. Col. West had then returned to Ogden. Bishop Osborn of East Weber had spent this Sunday in Ogden and before returning home had seen Col. West, who asked the Bishop if there was anyone available in East Weber with whom he could send a message to Col. Jones in Echo Canyon, and he informed Col. West that I was at home and would take the letter . I don't believe that my eyes had been off Simmons' body over 5 minutes when the Bishop found me and made known what I was wanted to do. I was furnished about the poorest excuse of a horse and saddle that ever anyone was asked to ride, and after taking my wife home I set out for Echo Canyon, the letter having been delivered to me by Bishop Osborn. When I set out, it was quite dark. The night was clear and starry but there was no moon, and the shadows of the canyons served to intensify the darkness. My instructions were to proceed to the upper end of Weber Valley and there make application to Ben Simonds, an old Delaware Indian who was very friendly toward us, for another horse. I was forced to cross the Weber River the second time soon after I reached Weber Valley. I never was so disgusted with a horse in all my life as I was with this one. I used about twenty different kinds of persuasion on him, and I couldn't find a single one to impress in any way upon him the fact that I was trying to hurry. I coaxed and coaxed and whipped a little, and then a lot, and I could not make enough difference in the rate of speed to hardly notice it. I believe the only time I had him on a good, healthy gallop was once soon after I crossed the river up in the valley. I was just taking a great deal of satisfaction in the rate of speed I had attained, when a front foot of the old critter found a badger hole and threw me a distance 'considerable' farther than I could see in the dark. I have absolutely no knowledge of how long I lay there on the ground, but when I regained my senses sufficiently to gather myself up, I was still pretty well dazed, and for a short time I couldn't get things straightened out in my mind. Finally I got things figured out and was ready to start on except for my horse. At first I couldn't see him, but I located him very shortly. He was standing within an easy distance of me, perfectly still, as if wondering why we didn't go on our way. It was now only a few miles to Ben Simond's place, and in a short time I was there. I had to arouse them out of bed, and when I had made known my wants, every effort was made to assist me. One of Simon's men was detailed to get me the fastest and best horse he had, and I was fed while the horse was being brought, ready to go, all saddled and bridled.


I proceeded from Simon's place on up `thru' the Upper Weber Canyon. In all the experiences of my life, I know there has never been anything quite so lonely as that night. If I hadn't seen Simmons, body and the wound, it perhaps would have been quite the same as any other night. It was simply impossible to make any speed on that old horse and I worried along as best I could; the time, as a result, dragged along and passed as if it really hated to go. I knew I was alone in the canyon, but the occasional flash into my mind of Simmons and the loneliness of the night served to make me quite uneasy and somewhat nervous, and I went along prepared for the worst at every turn. I was pretty well along on my trip through upper Weber Canyon having just passed Devil's Slide, when in the distance ahead of me, I noticed a faint light. Here again my imagination and the condition of my mind as a result of the other happenings of the evening served to make me wonder what was to be the next thing. The first thing I `thot' of was a detachment of soldiers were there to prevent just such communications as I was bearing. I advanced cautiously and slowly, and as I neared the light, I found a few parties who had made camp. The light was a little to the left of the road, and so far as I could detect, the road beyond the light was clear. So when I `thot' the proper place in the road had been reached, I spurred up my horse to a fair rate of speed and rode straight `thru' their camp. They heard me but made no effort to stop me, and only remarked it was someone going `thru' camp on a horse. I was surely glad when I did get past, and I went on up the canyon as fast as I could and be sure my horse would last. About day break I was within sight of my destination, and as I approached Col. Jones' tent, I was met by the orderly, and there ended the most lonely night I ever spent in my whole life, and I was surely thankful it was over and had been no worse. My instructions had been to give the letter to Col. Jones personally, and when I approached, I made known to the orderly what my mission was and asked for Col . Jones, and in a few minutes I was presented to the Colonel and delivered the letter.

The day before I came up to Echo Canyon there had come a request from Lot Smith to Col. Jones for fifty men, and the men had all been selected from the number who volunteered, and as I arrived there that morning there was a great hurry to get ready and be on the way. I asked the orderly where the men from East Weber were located, and he told me. I went immediately over to where they were, and there I found my brother Dave, Gordon and Henry Beckstead, and Joe Wadsworth, Jim Laird, and many others from our community, all making preparations to go out to help Lot Smith. They wanted me to go with them, and when I found out Col. Jones had no further use for me, I decided to go with them.


I don't know whether there was any one man in particular in charge of the detachment going to Lot Smith. We went on as fast as we could in a body, and that evening we joined Lot Smith at Ham's Fork. One reason Smith had asked for more men was to enable him to send some men to care for the cattle he had stampeded belonging to the soldiers, to round them up, and take them on into Salt Lake. He divided the men and assigned the men that were to care for the cattle, and next morning they were gone bright and early. Our camp on Ham's Fork was made on the trail of the army, who were a very short distance up the stream from us. Lot Smith's orders were to do nothing but impede the progress of the army, and his activities had certainly done much to take the joy out of their lives. Our main object now was to follow the army and at the first available opportunity stampede their remaining stock. We were close enough now to the army to keep in pretty close touch with their movements. We always had a van-guard to protect us and at every point of the surrounding country high enough to allow a view of the army in the distance, some man was detailed with an eye-glass to go and ascertain their movements. Days we could locate them nearly anytime by the columns of dust flying in the air from their horses and wagons; when they moved up the canyon we followed. We were at no time very well equipped with provisions, and we were getting more or less anxious for a little excitement. So on the evening of the third night out we made a much later march than was customary. We knew we were quite close to their camp, but we didn't have its exact location. In a certain place in the canyon the road detoured a short distance from the stream, and in doing so it climbed over a small hill. We were proceeding with caution, and as we went round the point of hill, we were certainly surprised to find the camp just a short distance from us. As we approached the point of the hill, we heard the descent of the guard who had been stationed on this hill as he went madly down through the loose shale rock below the road on the hill. It was a very short time until the alarm was sounded throughout the camp. We could see their camp, and the light from their fires made it possible to see the camp before the sound of the alarm. We also heard the bugle as it sounded its warning.

It was now much too late to do anything as the soldiers maintained a night guard of their stock and kept them right in camp at nights. So we doubled our trail until we came to a point on the stream about one mile below the soldiers camp, and here we made our camp for the night. We returned down the hill about half way, and instead of going on down the road to the stream, we cut off sharply over the hill to the stream. It was decided that next morning reconnoitering parties would be sent out to find out in which direction they were ranging their stock. It was decided that six men should stay on the camp grounds with the six animals we were using for pack animals, and they were to be ready at any minute to go. We were all lined up next morning before any moves were made, and Smith made a short talk to us, the substance of which was to this effect--if any man in the company had any dread of facing a tight place and was afraid of a bullet and perhaps death he wanted him to drop out of the line then and there; he wanted no one to go home and report that he had been instrumental in some way of getting them shot; he said he had use for six men to stay with the camp outfit, and asked for volunteers, and there was not a single man moved a foot. So all Smith could do was to appoint a man to do this. So he did and the rest of us prepared to go on our little reconnoitering party. We had gone perhaps a little more than half way up the hill we went up the night before, when we located their camp, when some of the leaders of our company heard a mule bray. We were then a short distance from where we had left the road the night before to go down to the stream. They were headed back down the stream and were below us, so that when we entered the road, we were directly between them and their camp. We were perhaps a little short sighted in not knowing more about the number of men in company with the stock before we rushed them. But we had been surprised at finding the mules so quickly, and we heard that one bray before we saw them. Every effort was made, and quickly too, to get to the mules in a hurry. When we gained the top of the hill, we found a man with every mule all abreast across the road prepared to do battle. There were ninety-six of them, every one with a gun, and standing on the opposite side of the mules from us. Captain Marcey of the soldiers and Lot Smith held a short conversation, and when Smith returned to us, we were all puzzled to know just what to do, but it was evident to us we must move very suddenly, so we made as good a job as we could of going back down over the hill to our camping ground of the night before. Believe me, we didn't lose any time getting on the trail again. Went up the hill on the opposite side of the canyon from our descent. Perhaps, if you could see that hill, you would say a man and a horse couldn't get up it, but I know that there were fifty-two of us who went up and made a nice quick trip, too. When we reached the top of the hill, we found a nice level plateau, and we went right straight across it for about one mile. Here we descended over the brink of the plateau and were perhaps two or three hundred yards down the slope when suddenly we heard a few sharp reports of rifles. Here we were again very much surprised for turning we found out the soldiers with the mules had overtaken us and were amusing themselves shooting at us. When we went down over the hill where we first found them, they had gone on down the road to the stream of water, crossed it, and followed up a small ravine, flanking us all the way. They had gained the summit of the plateau about the time we started to descend and rushing across it had taken us completely by surprise.

As we were about over the plateau Lot Smith told us to uncap our guns, being sure we would see no more of the soldiers that day. Therefore, we were quite unprepared, and under the conditions the best thing we could do was to hurry. I don't know how many shots were fired, or about how many either, there being plenty, however, to insure speed among us. I guess there were somewhere near fifty or sixty shots fired, all by the soldiers. During the shooting as we were putting out our best efforts, the horse Jim Laird was riding stepped into a badger hole and spilled him quite badly. However, it was but a few moments until he was coming on again at full speed. When this happened, there was great shouting among the soldiers for they thought they had shot Smith, (he and Laird were riding horses about the same color); however, there was not a single bullet of those that were fired that took effect in man or beast. The closest call came to Mark Hall, who had a little reminder left with him, when a bullet passed through the crown of his hat. He remembered when it happened but `thot' it was only a twig of quaking aspen that brushed him.

Just as soon as this affair was over, we started that very day to return to Ft. Bridger. We had very few provisions and were suffering `considerable' from the cold weather. We didn't have a single tent and Dave and Joe Wadsworth and I bunked together, and we had only three small quilts. In fact, when we started for Ft. Bridger, we were without provisions, and nearly all we had had on the previous day was a little beef. The first day toward Ft. Bridger we were overtaken by about six inches of snow and very cold weather. That same storm, I guess, also turned the soldiers back, for they never went another inch up Ham's Fork but came to the fort to winter in the course of the next week or so.


Through all the experiences of the past few months I had been without a coat on my back, and when I arrived at Ft. Bridger I was practically exhausted and was very badly chilled. As soon as we got there I sought shelter in the blacksmith shop, and as the heat began to warm me a little I began to see things as I knew they shouldn't be. I was so hungry and weak I couldn't stand, and so cold I was numb. The effects of the heat in a very few minutes made me lose consciousness. I fell in a heap and was removed to a manger in a nearby barn, and a while later I was revived by friends. Dave had gone on down to Ft. Supply, twelve miles south of Ft. Bridger, with a party who were leaving about the time we arrived. Next day the remainder of our company went on down to Ft. Supply, and I was with them. I rode my horse on down there. When we arrived at Ft. Supply, I was really a pretty sick boy, and Lot Smith immediately found a bed for me somewhere in one of the houses. There were quite a number of us sick here, and there wasn't very much room left when I arrived. I stayed here two or three days and there recuperated sufficiently to join the company Lot Smith had decided to allow to return home on account of poor health, there being about 75 in the company as I remember it. A man by the name of Milo Andrus was captain in charge of the company. Perhaps two-thirds of the company had horses, and the rest were afoot. It was necessary to carry what provisions we had on the horses also, and on this account most of the company were forced to walk. We proceeded without incident to where the road crossed the Weber River to climb Big Mountain. Andrus had the idea the proper thing for him to do was to maintain as strictly as possible a military camp. Ofttimes his insisting on a guard about the camp worked hardships on the few healthy men in the camp and sometimes on those who were not able to do the work. Here we were perhaps seventy-five or eighty miles from the soldiers, and there didn't really exist a necessity of any guard duty at all, but we were forced to do duty anyhow, taking as many precautions as if we were to be attacked anytime. We proceeded as best we could, a weary and tired outfit. Finally, in the course of three or four more days, we arrived at forks of the road, one going over Big Mountain to Salt Lake and the other one on down the river to Ogden. Here we were presented with a peculiar geographical condition. It was approximately 35 miles over the mountains to Salt Lake and about the same distance from where we were to Ogden. The distance from Salt Lake to Ogden was about the same as the two other points mentions. So it will be seen that the men living in the vicinity of Ogden could go down the Weber River and reach home about the same time as the men from Salt Lake and vicinity would reach their homes. Under any kind of reasoning imaginable, this was the proper way to proceed, but Andrus very stoutly insisted the company should, at all costs, go to Salt Lake to be disbanded. He even threatened court marshal to those who dared disrespect his commands. The company was not very well pleased with the way the company had been handled by Andrus, and the decision of the men from Ogden and surrounding country was to go down the Weber in spite of Andrus, and we did. The man to take charge of us informed Andrus if he could effect his court marshal he would find us down at our homes. Nothing further ever came of the affair. We camped at the forks of the road that night, and next morning each company proceeded, one over Big Mountain and the other down the river. The next big event of the trip was the supper we got when we reached Mountain Green, consisting of bread and butter and milk, and it was in reality a feast when compared to some of our other meals of the last weeks. Our supper was the result of the generosity of a Mr. George Higby, a brother-in-law of Dave's. He was up there feeding his cattle some wild hay he had harvested. We camped here for the night and went on down to East Weber the next day after an absence from home of about one month. All the harvesting was done, and practically all we had left to do now to prepare us for winter was to get a supply of good wood. I helped a little but not very much on account of my health.

My life at home was uneventful, being only an occasional dance to play for until the time came for the winter school to start, which I attended. It was taught by William Winward. I had been in attendance at the school perhaps three weeks when a little incident happened that made quite a difference in my own personal affairs, as well as Winward's. He had written a "copy" in my copy book, and it was something about Jacob. In the copy, he had written Jacob spelled without a capital letter. I perhaps trespassed a rule of discipline and of respect for the position Winward held and objected to the way Jacob was spelled to him. He still maintained he was right, and we argued a little about it. He told me that seeing I was so smart and knew so much he guessed I had better take the school. He finished that day and never again came back to take charge of the school. Winward reported to Bishop Osborn that he would not longer teach the school. During that evening, Bishop Osborn came over to see me about taking the school, and the next time I went to school I was no longer a student, having gained the steps from a student to a teacher in one evening. I was very fortunate in having access to a library belonging to John Parson. He was a very highly educated man, and had a very good library, and was much help to me in solving the problems in the school as they presented themselves. I got along quite nicely with varying degrees of success throughout the remainder of the school term which ended some time about March 1, 1858.


During the year of 1855, owing to the friendly relations with the Indians and the prosperity that had fallen our good luck, and in accordance with his plans of colonization of the surrounding country, President Young asked for the formation of a company to go to the Salmon River country to settle there. A company of about twenty-five or thirty families formed the train that went there. Here they got along fine and dandy, enjoyed themselves, everybody friendly, even the Indians, and they were quite prosperous. I believe the Indians of the Salmon River country were members of the Bannocks and were quite friendly with our people until the arrival of an mountaineer whose name was Powell. For various reasons he was bitter against the colonists and as soon as he arrived he used his influence to arouse the Indians against the colonists. He told them the aim of the colonists was to deprive them of all their land, kill all their game, and destroy their forests. He eventually aroused sufficient distrust among the Indians, especially the younger warriors, and the result was an attack upon the people and their stock. At the time, the people were all in the fort, and the stock were near by grazing. The Indians had the stock rounded up and were about to make away with it when the settlers first noticed them. They immediately rushed out to save their stock if possible. As they came nearer the Indians they were fired upon, and two were killed, named McBride and Miller. There were three others wounded. I cannot remember the other two who were wounded, but Thomas S. Smith was the third one. He was shot through the wrist. Not an Indian was hurt in the little affair. The fort was located on the Lemhi River and was known as Fort Lemhi.

It was news of this trouble having been brought to President Young by a young Indian brave name Arimo, in company with a settler or two from Ft. Lemhi, that prompted President Young to call for the company of volunteers to go to the rescue of these people. The quota President Young asked for was available in a very short time. We were to have fifteen baggage wagons and plenty of provisions. We were equipped as good as was possible, and we were to travel as cavalry. There was a driver with every wagon and about 150 cavalrymen, and including the officers, the company consisted of about 175 men. The officer in command of the company was Col. Cunningham of Salt Lake, assisted by Captains Layton and Belnap. Most of the company were men from the vicinities of Ogden, Kaysville, and Farmington. It was also a fact that most of the settlers at Ft. Lemhi were former residents of Farmington.

We started out on this expedition about the middle of March. We went up through Brigham City and crossed over Bear River at Hampton's Bridge, on north through Malad Valley, over the divide on to Marsh Creek, and followed that stream down to the Portneuf River, and followed the Portneuf River down nearly to Snake River over the ground where Pocatello is now located. However, there was nothing there then to indicate that such a place ever would exist. I am not positive, but I believe we were the first white men to ever take a wagon down Portneuf River Canyon. At the time we went down there, there certainly were no indications that a wagon ever had gone down in.


I remember some places in the canyon where it seemed impossible for us to go any farther. Several times we had great difficulty in making certain places in our course of travel. In one place in particular, we were confronted by a drop over a small precipice. We hunted for a short time and found a place where we decided to try it. The slope was perhaps three or four rods long and quite steep. This was still quite a dangerous place because our wagons were not equipped with brakes. We finally effected a passage over this point by taking off the leading team and tying a long rope to the rear axle, and the boys getting hold of this rope and acting as a brake, allowing the wagon to roll forward only so fast. We went on down and crossed over Snake River a short distance above the mouth of the Portneuf. Here we crossed on the ice without any mishaps. From here we went in a direction nearly straight north. We passed the big buttes west of Blackfoot's present location and followed up between them and the mountains still farther west. We went on farther north until we reached Birch Creek and followed this stream until we came to the divide between Snake and Salmon Rivers. We crossed over the divide and were proceeding down a small stream tributary to the Lemhi River; the sun was pretty well down toward the top of the mountains and camping time was near at hand.

All three of our officers were preceding us down the stream when suddenly around a small hill and right close to a large willow patch, they came onto a camp of Indians. Without making any kind of investigation, they returned to the main body of the train and ordered us to climb a small hill we were just passing around, to a little bench and somewhat higher ground, and to prepare to defend ourselves, for we had approached the Indians' camp and were right upon them. We reached the little bench and formed a corral and placed our stock in it, and in a short time were pretty well prepared to do our bit. We had no supper that night and no breakfast next morning for we dared not start a fire for fear of exposure. It was a very cold, bleak night, and I don't believe there was a single man slept at all that night. The wind blew quite fiercely, and we suffered considerably as a result of the weather without fires. We surely put in a terrible night, every moment expecting to hear a war whoop announcing the Indians. Finally day break and then sunrise came, and still we were unmolested. A little while later we had a good laugh at our officers for all our precautions had been quite unnecessary, as the wickiups belonged to three old bucks and their squaws.

When we found the true conditions of things, we pulled back off the little bench onto the road and went on down to Ft. Lemhi on Lemhi River and entered the fort, and that night we spent inside the locked fort, man and beast alike. In all my life I believe I never have seen a community of people anymore pleased and glad to see a bunch of men than they were to see us. There had undoubtedly been many anxious hours in the lines recently, and we offered them a feeling of security they hadn't enjoyed for some time.

While I was in Ft. Lemhi, I was entertained by an old-time friend of mine, William Smith, a brother to Lot Smith. The people of the fort certainly did all they could to care for our wants. They could not care for all of us, so the rest of the boys prepared their supper. There was a plentiful supply of good wood in the fort. We looked more like a company of cavalry on this trip, and we were much better armed and supplied than on any trip I ever had made up to this time. We "stacked arms" and did a pretty good job of it, and our camp in the fort looked like a pretty well-trained company.


Next day about noon it was decided to locate the Indians and hold a conference with them. The men in charge of the fort and our officers met. The location of the Indians was already known to be about ten miles down the Lemhi River from the fort. After some deliberation, it was decided to send a message to the Indians and have them come to the fort. There were two Indians in the fort at this time who were very friendly, and they were used to `deliver' the summons to the Indians. They departed and soon returned having delivered their message. It was perhaps the middle of the afternoon of this day that a party of ten Indians came to the fort. The first indication of their coming was when they entered the clearing outside the fort toward the east. The fort was built on the north, east, and south by logs set on end in the ground and was perhaps eight feet high. The wall on the west was made of adobe and was perhaps six feet high. This was built in order to keep the cattle within the fort. The entrance was on the east side near the southeast corner of the enclosure. The Indians came across the clearing running their horses and shouting as loud as they could. The fort gate was open, and they came rushing right on into the fort. However, they soon lost their boisterousness when they noticed the additional men and our display of guns. Immediately after their entrance, the fort doors were closed. It was the intention of the officers to keep the Indians until next day after the conference as a matter of precaution. Our interpreter had considerable trouble convincing the Indians that we meant them no harm. They were very shy and nervous. We divided out blankets with them to make beds for the night and fed them what we ate. They seemed to be feeling more easy in our company, when as the bugler sounded the first note of taps, they jumped to their feet and stood around as if badly frightened. After that, I don't believe they slept at all that night. Even next morning when reveille was sounded, they became very much frightened again. One of them allowed things had gone far enough for him and seemed to think the time had come for him to do something in his own behalf. As if in desperation, he made a run toward the north wall, and making one leap, grabbed the top of the wall, and pulling himself over, was off across the clearing in record time. I doubt if there was a white man in the crowd who could have cut close to following him. He cut loose across country, his blankets flying. I have said that a man could have played dominoes on his blankets as he went across the clearing. The others made no effort to escape but seemed very uneasy. I think it was about 1 o'clock P.M. that the company, together with the officers and the Indians, started for the main camp down the Lemhi. The messengers that had been sent to ask the Indians to come to the fort had been cautioned not to make known to the Indians our presence at the fort, and they didn't know until they reached the fort that we were there. Except for the one Indian who escaped, we would have surprised the entire camp. But when we arrived, they were all ready to receive us. They were perfectly friendly, and after an exchange of views between our interpreters and the Indian Chief and his counselors, we found that the trouble had been caused by those young braves over whom he had no control, who had been agitated and misinformed by this old mountaineer, Powell, as to the settlers intentions. The old chief was very sorry over the affair, and when informed that we had come to take the settlers away with us, he tried in every way to get them to stay. On our way to and from the Indians' camp, we noticed indications that showed very plainly what had happened to the fattest and best of the cattle the Indians had stolen. They had used them for beef. We recovered quite a number of the cattle and a few of the poorer horses; the better ones had been driven off into the mountains by the braves who had stolen them. We returned to camp and immediately started making preparations to go back home. The settlers had considerable preparing to do to their wagons and harnesses and some packing to do before we could start back. They had quite a supply of wheat on hand, and it was decided to take this along. The wheat was very smutty and had to be washed before we could use it. The squad of ten I was assigned to was detailed to wash some of the wheat. We did so, and it was ground up in a little mill--shorts, bran, and everything all together, and was to be used for bread on the way back home.


I had a little experience here at the fort. It was the first time I ever had a chance for such an experience, and I've never had an opportunity for one like it since. There was an old blacksmith in the fort whose name was Collett. It had long been known among the whites that Indians had a fear of a cannon. All that was needed to command respect of the Indians was something that could be called a cannon. They were quite superstitious and `imagines' the destructive powers of a cannon were something awful. It was perhaps with this in mind that Collett had decided to build some kind of a cannon, and in addition, he believed he could make one that would be serviceable. He accordingly set about his task and the finished product was quite a neat piece of work. It was about a two-inch bore and was made from old wagon tires and other scrap irons in the fort. The barrel was about three feet long. It was a solid ______________, a cylinder on the side of the chamber arranged with a percussion lock was the mechanism for the firing of the gun. It was believed among the people of the fort that this cannon had prevented much trouble, and that it had been this that had kept the Indians from coming to the fort after trouble finally did come. It was decided we would not have room for the gun so we couldn't take it home with us, so we decided to see if it would shoot. The entire outfit was short on ammunition, so it was thought advisable not to waste the powder. Finally, we were each allowed to give powder enough for one round. As they were preparing the gun to be fired, it was decided each and every one of us would take our turn and c*** and pull the trigger, so as to be able to say we had "cocked a cannon." The gun was then loaded, and at Col. Cunningham's order, it was taken outside the fort to be fired. There never had been an occasion to fire it, and as the time neared, it was decided that maybe some precaution had better be used. So the gun was taken outside the fort and placed close to the fort wall and pointed at a nearby hill. A string was tied to the trigger and brought through a crack in the wall. Finally everything was ready, and the string was pulled. The firing mechanism worked perfectly, but the charge of powder was far in excess of the amount that should have been used. A modest estimate of the number of pieces resulting from that explosion could be placed at 49,000. It was surely a fortunate a thing that the cannon had been placed outside and fired with that string, otherwise there surely would have been someone killed. The cannon had been loaded with scrap iron, and I believe that the majority of the pieces were imbedded quite deeply in the hillside.


We were perhaps ten or twelve days at Ft. Lemhi before we were prepared to start the return trip home. It was decided to start a company of ten men ahead of the main body of us, their object being to go home as fast as possible and inform President Young of our coming. They left one day in advance of us. They did not take a wagon with them, their bedding and supplies being carried on four or five pack horses. I can now recall the names of five members of this express to President Young. They were Bailey Lake, George Barber, John Blanchard, George Hill, and Balda (Watts). I cannot recall the names of the other five. When the day for their departure arrived, they departed good and early with instructions in case they encountered Indians in no way to molest them. We never saw them again until we reached home, except for one member who met with misfortune on Bannock Creek at the hands of some Indians. When we departed next day, we followed nearly the same route back until we came to the Snake River. I am not positive as to where we crossed the river, but it was some place below where Blackfoot now stands. This crossing was made on the ice again. Col. Cunningham had, some time previous to this trip, been up in the neighborhood of Blackfoot and had left a cache of flour near here. It was decided to send for the flour, so as soon as we crossed the Snake, a party consisting of several men and a four horse team and wagon went up to get the flour. It was a comparatively short trip, and they rejoined us before we reached Portneuf River. We were certainly in need of the flour, and it was a welcomed food supply. We were proceeding very nicely on our way home. We crossed the Portneuf and were perhaps four or five miles up Bannock Creek, this route having been taken in preference to going up Portneuf River Canyon. All during our trip we always had a vanguard as a safety measure, and as we were approaching a little flat place in the canyon, we met our guard coming back to us quite excited and hurrying as fast as they could. They reported having found the dead body of a white man a short distance up the creek. It was evident it was the work of Indians. We immediately corralled our wagons and formed camp. As soon as the camp was prepared sufficiently to insure safety to the women and children, we proceeded up the creek to investigate things there. Indications here were such as to lead us to believe the whole express might have been killed. Here and there scattered about was an old pack saddle, a blanket or two, and as I remember it, there was one gun. The Indians undoubtedly shot from ambush and indications were such as to lead us to believe that Bailey Lake, whose body we had found, had been shot while crossing the creek. He was quite a large man but had ridden the horse clear of the water before falling off. The rest of the express were so completely surprised and not knowing how many Indians were upon them, they could do nothing but seek protection for themselves, and it was undoubtedly their quickness in realizing the seriousness of their situation that saved them all from a death similar to Bailey Lake's. They hid themselves in a deep wash the creek ran through, and locating the Indians, were able to keep safely hidden, and at the same time, were able to get a few shots at the Indians, none of which, so far as was known, took affect. The Indians had stripped Lake's body completely of clothing, scalped him, and turning him face downward had shot three arrows into his back. A body of men were immediately formed to investigate further throughout the surrounding country, but found no other bodies and before coming back to camp were convinced that the other nine were alive.

The problem here presented itself of getting Lake's body home. It was finally decided to distribute Mr. Collett's blacksmith tools to some of the other wagons and carry the body in it. We removed the tools and then proceeded to fill the wagon box with snow which we packed as best we could by tromping it with out feet. As soon as the box was filled, a space large enough for Lake's body was dug out in the snow, and then after it had been put in place, snow was then packed solidly around the body. This worked out fine, for the body was quite well preserved. This was the very first time I had ever seen a man scalped, and it is indeed a very disagreeable thing to see.

The day following we went on our way up Bannock Creek and on over Bannock Mountains and down into Malad Valley. Here we found out that the nine men in the express were on ahead of us in safety. We proceeded on our way and crossed Bear River over Hampton's Bridge again without noteworthy incident.


It was believed by President Young and other Church Officials that the army in Ft. Bridger would try to force their way on into Utah as soon as conditions were favorable in the spring. In anticipation of this, President Young had ordered a general exodus of the people to the south. About this time a certain Thomas L. Caine had been using his influence with the President of the United States and had been permitted to come to Utah to investigate conditions and straighten things out peaceably if possible. President Young had ordered the move before Caine arrived and many of the people had gone, and those who were left were preparing to do. He was a friend of President Young, and wanted, if possible, to stop the move, at least until a better understanding could be had with the officers in charge of the army. President Young would not agree to do this, so Caine asked for an escort to go to Ft. Bridger and bring the officers in to Salt Lake for a consultation. Lot Smith and about fifteen other men formed the escort, and in the course of the next few days they returned with the officers, and I think Major Alexander was in charge, and Mr. Cummins, the new governor of the territory, was also with him. After their arrival a meeting was held in the little old tabernacle in the southwest corner of the temple block. It was an open meeting, and the house was packed to capacity. I attended this meeting, and here a review of our past treatment, even from the organization of the Church to the present time, was given. It was explained we were not acting in defiance of the United States Government, but it was thought the army sent out there was not a very friendly looking peace body, and it had been definitely decided if we could not prevent the army entering Utah, we would destroy all our improvements, burn homes and barns, and leave the valley as near a barren waste as it had been found. This exodus south had been started during our trip to Salmon River. The very first homes we encountered in Box Elder County in the territory we found deserted. Brigham City, then known as Box Elder, was entirely deserted except for a detail of men whose duty it was to care for things until the time came either for burning or homecoming. Every place had been "strawed" in order to easily fire them. The people before leaving had made caches of all food supplies they could not take with them. The same conditions existed in Willard and Ogden. When we arrived at Ogden we were disbanded, and I immediately proceeded on to East Weber where I found all my folks, except my wife, had joined the exodus. A few days after my return home, the team arrived that Dave had sent back for my wife and me and his mother-in-law, Mrs. Penrod, and as soon as possible we loaded our things and started out to join the rest of our folks. We overtook them about thirty-five miles south of Salt Lake City. It was while I was in Salt Lake this time that I attended the meeting of the army officers and the Church's Officials.

At this meeting it was decided the army could come on into the valley and that the terms President Young suggested were to be followed explicitly. Under no conditions were they to stop in Salt Lake City, but were to cross the Jordan River, go up that river on the west side, through the Narrows which were about eighteen miles south of Salt Lake City, thence round the south side of Utah Lake, and there on a small spring called_________________, they were to locate and make their camp. Their camp was known as Camp Floyd. The exodus of the Saints was not halted until every condition of the agreement had been fulfilled. As soon as the army was located at Camp Floyd, word was immediately dispatched to the Saints that they could return to their homes.

This word reached us while we were camped on Provo River about thirty-five miles south of Salt Lake. We camped here because we didn't want to go any farther if we were to be permitted to return home, and in case we had to go on south, we had a good start. The word to return home reached us in July, about the 15th of the month, and there was much rejoicing among us. When we reached our home in East Weber, we found our properties in excellent shape. Dave and John had both been left at home as members of the "burning detail", and they had cared for the things. There wasn't much we could do except prepare for winter until it came time to harvest what volunteer wheat there was on the place. We were certainly blessed for we harvested volunteer wheat amounting to 175 bushels, and excellent grain, too.


After harvest time was over, I had very little to do. Ever since I had been married, I had been almost constantly in some public service, for which I never had received a "red cent" of money, and as a result I had accumulated very little or no property. My wife and I had scarcely any additional clothing to the ones we wore. I didn't have the second shirt for my back. Work was very scarce, and there didn't appear to be a job anywhere. One day I decided I would go down to Mr. Stoddard, who usually hired quite a number of men, to see if I could get a few days work with him. He told me that he could hire any number of men he wanted for simply their board and room. They were mostly "camp-followers" who had come in with the army and were pretty well up against it for places to winter and something to eat. Stoddard told me practically all the work he had left to do was to get a supply of wood off the mountains for winter. Stoddard himself was sick in bed, but he told me if I wanted to get the wood out for him, he would give me the work and pay me $1.00 per day. He asked when I wanted to go to work, and I told him as soon as I could go home and return. I wanted to advise the folks of my whereabouts and what I was doing. When I told them the conditions under which I was to go to work, I was called some pretty rough names for going to work for anyone at $1.00 per day. But a dollar a day was a lot better than I could do and remain at home, for there was no prospect for any coin at all there. I had played for a good many dances and had always been promised something, a half bushel of wheat or potatoes or something of that kind, but was never paid any of it. I didn't insist on being paid and their promises were soon forgotten, so the prospect of $1.00 per day looked like big money to me. Of course $1.00 wasn't of much use--sugar, and brown sugar at that, cost $100.00 per sack or $1.00 per pound, and all other groceries were proportionately high. Flour at Camp Floyd was $25.00 per sack. The very cheapest cloth we could buy was 60 cents per yard and then proceeded upward. It was still customary in our family for Mother to make the majority of our clothes. I returned to Mr. Stoddard's the following Monday morning and went to work. This was about the first day of October.

I was provided with a very large cart. This cart was simply the front gear of a large wagon. I was given two yoke of oxen. Stoddard's place was about one mile from the foot of the mountain. I got up at four o'clock every morning and ate a cold breakfast that had been left on the table for me the night before, and as soon as I could get ready I struck out for the mountains. I climbed quite high on the mountain back of the present location of Centerville. There was quite a supply of good, dry wood almost everywhere. I would get the wood out, load the larger ends on the cart leaving the tip to drop on the ground. When I decided I had a load, I would start down the mountain. A short distance from the foot of the hill I unloaded the wood and went on to Mr. Stoddard's, arriving there about nine o'clock P.M. With the exception of Sundays, I worked continuously for twenty-six days. Mr. Stoddard decided that was all the work he had for me, so I was paid off a total of $26.00 in gold and silver. I returned immediately home with my money just as well pleased as if it were much more. A few days later we went to Salt Lake and purchased some of the things we needed the worst but returned home with a few dollars.

It was about this time my wife and I decided to move away from the folks to live by ourselves. We secured a house nearby and started out for ourselves. I remember my mother gave me a plate, one knife, one fork, and one spoon. The same things were furnished Jane by a Mrs. Robinson, with whom Jane used to live. Our cooking was done on a fireplace on a few utensils Mother had given us. We had a very good straw bed, except for a tick and a bed stead. However, I made a one-legged bedstead by using two walls of the room. Supports were fastened to the walls and the leg. We had no bed springs, so the bottom of the bed was a set of boards, and the straw was placed on them. We had no table. We ate our meals off a kind of chest we used to keep some of our clothing in.


Soon after I came home from Mr. Stoddard's, I was offered the job of teaching school at Mountain Green, which I accepted. I had about twenty pupils and spent a very pleasant winter. The proposition they offered me was none too good, but it was better than I could secure elsewhere. It was what was known as a "Subscription School", that is, the parents of the pupils were to subscribe so much to me-- some provisions, some money, and others those things that they were best able to give. I got along fine with the school all winter. I had moved Jane up there with me, and we lived in a house quite close to the school house. School was dismissed about the middle of February, and we moved back down to East Weber. Here in East Weber on March 1, 1859, our home was blessed with the arrival of a baby girl, christened Betsy. She was the joy of our home about three short weeks, when death very suddenly took her away from us on March 19,1859. These were indeed sad and dark hours to us in which we were deprived of our first born. Levi Hammon made us a coffin, and Mother washed and dressed the body and placed it in the coffin. There were no services held, the body being taken directly from our home to the cemetery. Ira N. Spalding, John M. Bybee, David B. Bybee, and myself acted as pall bearers. We very carefully deposited the remains in the grave, and Ira N. Spalding dedicated the grave to the Lord, asking for protection from all harm and to care for it as the final resting place of our baby until the morning of the first resurrection. We covered the coffin over with the dirt very carefully and went back home.

The following summer I worked for Father here in East Weber on the farm. We were exceptionally blessed this year in that we had very good crops, and all of us enjoyed exceptionally good health. The summer and autumn months passed very quickly and the first thing we knew winter was again upon us. There were many pleasant days passed, but there were no prominent occurrences that are worthy of note here. The winter 1859-60 passed over us very quietly and quickly. Our lives were uneventful, but we enjoyed ourselves very much and felt to thank God for the many things enjoyed, and we were indeed full of the joy of living. As spring approached us and dwindled off into the early months of summer, we were still helping Father out on his farm. Here again we had excellent crops, and when winter finally, came we were well prepared to receive it.

It was during this fall, on the 14th day of September, that the second of our children was born. This time we were blessed with a boy. Mother and child got along very nicely. The babe was christened Robert Lee, being given my name.

Some three or four days after we had finished harvesting our crops, we decided to go to the mountains for some wood for winter use. Wood now was quite scarce on the mountain unless time was taken to go near the top, and then it was very hard to get back with the wood. But farther up in the mountains we could get much good wood. So it was decided by Byram and I and Bishop Osborn that we should go up to Strawberry Creek in the lower end of Weber Valley. In making the trip it was necessary to spend one night on the way.

We had been to Strawberry and got our wood and were returning home when we had a little experience with some Indians. Between East Weber and Salt Lake there were two roads that were used mostly those days. One was down thru the open valley and was known as Sand Ridge road, and the other followed very closely the foot of the mountain and was known as the mountain road. About two miles out on this mountain road, a man had located by the name of Park. He operated a distillery and cared none in the least to whom he sold his product. As a result the Indians had become some of his best customers, and it was a bunch of Indians returning from visiting his place that we encountered. We had just come around a little hill in the road to a place where the valley on the south side of the river opened up a little, and there was a very pretty little place consisting perhaps of fifty acres. We were just well out into the little flat when I heard the Indians below us in the canyon. They were shouting and firing their guns occasionally and riding quite fast. There were thirteen of them and all were intoxicated except their chief, Little Soldier.

Another thing peculiar to the nature of an Indian was shown here. My father was always a friend to the Indians and in his dealings with them he was always fair and square and honest. If he made them a promise he always kept it, and as a result they were his friends under all conditions. Now, as a matter of fact, Bishop Osborn had made some promises to them that he had not kept, and was held in a very unfriendly mood by them, even with Little Soldier. Bishop Osborn's team was leading when they rode up and with an oath stopped his team. If I felt the same now as I did then I would say they kept us there about a week, but a more correct calculation would be about thirty minutes. I am convinced the only thing that saved our lives was the love and respect those Indians held for my father. Little Soldier was their spokesman. He always called my father "tosa pompa" which to them meant white hair. Little Soldier approached me, and putting his arm around my shoulders proceeded to tell them all about what a good man "tosa pompa" was, and what good boys "tosa pompa" had, and that when "tosa pompa" promised an Indian a shirt he got a shirt. Then he told them when Osborn promised an Indian a shirt "Indian no get 'um." I was very friendly with Little Soldier, and I acted as our spokesman. They didn't want "tosa pompa's" boys, but it took considerable arguing to get them to leave Bishop Osborn alone. Once they told Byram and I to go on but for Osborn to stay, but they finally rode on, and we were certainly a very much relieved trio when they disappeared around the hill, and you would be right in guessing we hurried right on home about half expecting them to change their minds and come to us again at any moment. We made several other trips for wood and never encountered the Indians any more.

Not very long after we finished our wood hauling, we got up one morning and found Father's two horses were gone. We searched everywhere we thought they were likely to be and couldn't find them. About two weeks after their disappearance, Little Soldier came to our home on one of his friendly calls. Father told him about the horses. Little Soldier promised to help Father out and immediately sent out a couple of his men to see if they could find the horses. It wasn't long until they located two Indians and what proved to be Father's horses. They were taken to Little Soldier, and he in turn brought horses and the Indians who had taken them to our place. When asked if they were his horses, Father said that they were. The horses were turned over to Father, and then Little Soldier took his quirt and approaching the Indians who had taken the horses, he gave them a very severe whipping. Father interfered on their behalf but to no avail. He wanted Father to see their punishment, and when Father interfered, Little Soldier pushed him back. When he finished the job, he merely grunted "Bad Injuns."


The next few months passed without encountering any excitements. I did not teach school this winter, and except for our home work and an occasional dance, we passed a very quiet winter. The spring of 1861 broke in on us. Things were now quite different around home as Father had rented the farm to John, and it was necessary for me to look around for work. There was practically nothing around East Weber, and previously I had heard of some work Mr. Stoddard intended doing, so I went down to see him. I found out he was figuring on going to Carson City, Nevada, with a train of six wagons loaded with salt. He told me I could drive a team for him on this trip; in fact, he had been figuring on me as a driver. This was about April 15th, and as there were some preparations yet to be made, I went immediately to work for him. The wagons each had been fitted with eight boxes so made and arranged as to use all of the room in the box. These were filled with salt. Some time previously, Mr. Stoddard had become interested in a mercantile business in Farmington, and in trading he had accumulated a large supply of eggs. It was decided to pack the eggs in the salt, never once allowing for the likelihood of the salt becoming damp and packing solidly around the eggs. They had accumulated about 2800 dozen eggs, and they were distributed in the salt in the six wagons. Mr. Stoddard thought perhaps we would need some extra ox-bows, and as there was plenty of good young oak around our place in East Weber, I was sent down there to make some. I had about fifteen of them made when the time came for leaving. Mr. Stoddard thought perhaps we would need quite a supply of butter for our trip, and when he started looking for a place to secure it, I told him about Mother and her butter-making abilities, and he had me tell Mother to make all the butter she could, and he would buy it or allow her trade in the store. The butter was put in a large tub. There was about fifty pounds in the tub.

I returned to Farmington about April 28th or 29th and finished making our preparations and were ready to depart. On the morning of May 1st we set out. When we left Farmington, the other five wagons traveled the Sand Ridge Road while I went to East Weber around the mountain road. The object of this was to get my bedding, the butter, and the ox bows. I joined the other wagons in Ogden.

From Ogden we went north to Brigham City and crossed Bear River straight west of there. Our first camp was made a few miles north of Ogden. Our second camp was made soon after we crossed Bear River. Our company consisted of seven men. Herton Haight was our wagon boss and had charge of the company. There were six of us drivers--a Mr. Cleveland , Ed Pierce, and myself, and three other men whose names I cannot recall. A man named William Carbine was also a member of the party, but he had his own cargo and his own individual outfit. We were camped on Bear River three or four days because we were advised that the Indians were very bad on the Old Immigration Trail. We were also told there were quite a number of people leaving Utah headed for California, and that they were departing in the next few days. So we waited and joined them. We were now a company of thirty-six wagons, the number of men being a little above forty. Nearly every wagon except our six were occupied by families. The company as a whole `were' fairly well armed with guns and ammunition.

One day just about the time we were ready to leave our camp, and before we were joined by these other people, Haight was approached by an Indian, and after an exchange of a "little White" for a "little Indian", it was found out he wanted to travel west with us. Haight decided he could go along with us. He was the object later of much argument for these other parties at first quite seriously objected to his presence. However, he went with us. He turned out to be a very good hand to have along. He took his turn standing guard, carried wood and water, and never evaded an opportunity to be of service.

We made pretty fair headway and everything went along fine. Haight had refused to act as captain of the joined companies, so it fell to the lot of one of their members. He was named Mallory and was a horseman of considerable repute. He proved to be a very good captain, and except for one little incident, I remember him as a very fair-minded man. He had married a second wife, and when he decided to leave Utah, she refused to go with him. They were parents of a very clever little boy, and I've always held it against him that he took that child away from her, regardless of pleading and cries.


As we proceeded westward, we encountered several natural freaks that interested us. We were two or three days on our way when we came to what was known as the City of Rocks. It was a group of rocks located some distance from the road, and the first impression when viewing them from a distance is that of a city. The next thing to excite our curiosities very much was Thousand Springs Valley. Here there were large numbers of springs, which presented a very pretty sight. At no time were we forced to camp without good water easily obtainable. The first water we came to of any importance was known as Raft River. In the course of a day or two we came to Goose Creek and Rock Creek in the order named.


When we departed from Rock Creek, we proceeded in a generally westward direction, bearing perhaps a little to the south. We always were able to make our camp on good water, but the next stream of any importance was the Humbolt River. When we came to Humbolt River, we were confronted by the serious proposition of crossing the stream. At this particular place the physical conditions around us made it impossible to go to either side of us for a ford. The mountains up the stream placed themselves as a barrier to our progress up the stream. Below us the stream entered a box canyon, the sides of which were not very high, but of a nature to make it impossible to cross with a wagon. A consultation was held, and after a thorough survey of the canyon, it was decided to try and cross right where we first struck the stream. We were handicapped at this time, too, on account of high water. Even after we decided to cross the stream here, conditions were such as to delay us quite a little while. A short distance up the stream from us the water fell over a little riffle, and for a short distance it formed a pool of slow sluggish water. It was perhaps 25 or 30 feet wide and about 10 or 12 feet deep and followed closely to the west bank of the little canyon. Back of us on quite a large mountain there were plenty of pines, but we estimated the distance there to be ten miles, and as we were now in Indian country we thought it inadvisable to divide our party. It was believed in those days that the sight of Indians and their presence occasionally along the road were good signs of their friendliness, and up to now we had not encountered a single one. More on that account perhaps than any, we gave up the pine trees. It was decided we would have to build a bridge of some kind, so Haight and Mallory set out to figure a way to do it, and under the conditions it was quite a feat of engineering. The main thing that troubled us was stringers. To overcome this handicap we dug holes on opposite sides of the bank about four feet deep, and in these we placed ox yokes., There were six placed on each bank about two feet apart. After this had been finished we used log chains. The chains were about 11 feet long, and three of them were used for each set of yokes. They were fastened together and the ends were securely fastened around the yokes. In this manner we were able to account of six stringers. This part we accomplished in a short while, but the proposition of a floor for it was something else. But our engineers had planned for this too, so we set right to work cutting and binding willows in bundles perhaps as large as live men could handle. There was a plentiful supply of willows on hand, our main trouble was to get something to use to bind the willows with. We used nearly every rope in the entire camp to do this. As fast as the bundles were completed, they were lashed to the chains as tightly and as close together as possible. We did not have to make approaches to the bridge on either side. We had quite a time getting the log chains pulled tight enough to keep them out of the water. We did this by using a horse, and when we started to place the willows on the chains, they cleared the water perhaps two feet. Even after the willows were in place they were clear of the water a little bit. When everything was finally ready we rolled a wagon by hand to the edge of the bridge, and by means of a team on the opposite bank and a few log chains, we pulled the first wagon on the bridge. It was one of our heavy wagons. As it was pulled on, the bridge settled a little nearer the water, but still the chains weren't in the water. The wagon was pulled on across the bridge as safely as though we had a much better one. Our six wagons were pulled over first, and not until two or three had passed over did the chains finally submerged in the water, and as it did so it insured the entire success of the bridge for the water then served a support. We took all thirty-six of those wagons across that bridge without a single mishap. There was a feeling of security felt after a few wagons were over, and when the later wagons were pulled, the families were allowed to remain in them.

As soon as we crossed the river and had recovered our chains and yokes, we proceeded immediately on our way, which now lead us down the Humbolt River. At no time now were we very far from the stream, and in many places we were forced to travel in the river bed. We encountered no difficulties going down the river, and after several camps we reached what was known as the Sink of the Humbolt. Here the river spreads out over quite a little territory and forms what was sometimes called Humbolt Lake, and to this there is no visible outlet, hence the name, Sink of the Humbolt.

Here we spent a day to let our stock feed and rest up in preparation to crossing the Big Desert. The heat of the day and the sand of the desert made a little precaution necessary here. In addition to feed and rest for our animals, we had to protect them against the heat. To do this we delayed our start until perhaps 3 o'clock in the afternoon. This would give us cooler hours for traveling when we hit the worst part of the desert. I think the distance across this desert was about ten miles. It was quite a coarse sand and offered much resistance to our wagon wheels, making it very hard to pull. We were unable to make very good progress and were forced to travel continuously throughout the night, arriving at the Carson River on the opposite side of the desert just at the dawn of the following day. Many times as we crossed that desert we were forced to stop and rest our animals. We spent the remainder of that day on the Carson River resting up.

We were perhaps about two days travel east of the Sink of Humbolt when we saw the only Indian we encountered thus far on the way. He came in early one morning riding a horse and had quite a supply of buckskin. He wanted to trade buckskin to us for bullets and powder. We were just breaking camp and as soon as Mallory found out what he wanted, he called out to everyone to listen to him, and in a very few words made his views on the affair plain. Among them he said if anyone in the outfit traded him bullets or powder, he hoped that the offender was the first man to be killed by the Indian. A short while afterward the Indian departed without gaining his wants.

When we arrived on the Carson River, the first place we struck was called Ragtown. It was quite a place there being one blacksmith shop, one cabin, and a small haystack. We laid over the day of our arrival here to rest up a little. We then followed up the Carson River until we could see Virginia City off to our right toward the mountains. When we arrived at Ragtown, the Indian who had joined us at our camp on Bear River near Brigham City, disappeared. He never said a word about his intentions to any one. This seemed to be where he was headed for, or at least as close as we were likely to go to it, so he simply left us.


As soon as we arrived at Carson City, Mr. Haight hunted up a Mr. Grant. It was thought perhaps he could in some way help us to dispose of our cargo. He lived in this neighborhood, and I believe he was interested in mining. He was an old friend whom Mr. Haight had known in Utah before he left for Carson City. Later we disposed of our entire cargo to Mr. Grant, excepting the eggs. I think it was about two miles north of Carson City where we ranged our stock in a little valley called Washue Valley, there being plenty of good feed. We spent about six weeks in and around Carson City. We were confronted nearly all the time with the problem of cooking. It was the one job everyone wanted to dodge. I was asked by Haight after we reached Carson City if I would do the cooking. I agreed, and all the time we were there I was cook. During the time we were there we disposed of our eggs. All the care and caution we had taken in packing the eggs was of no use, for the salt had absorbed moisture quite rapidly, and when we got out on dry ground where it was warm the salt packed very solidly. It was almost impossible to get the eggs out of the salt and the big majority of the ones we did get out were no good. We perhaps sold about fifty dozen of the 2800 dozen we had. We sold a few in Carson City, and as the condition of the eggs became known our market no longer existed, so one day Grant and I set out for Virginia City to dispose of the remaining eggs. We sold a few in Silver City and Gold Hill on the way up, and when we reached Virginia City we got rid of the rest of them and set out for home. We returned the same way we went up, and in Gold Hill and Silver City we were recognized as the egg men, and while they didn't bother us at all, we heard quite a few sarcastic remarks about our eggs.

We were in Carson City when the 4th of July came and everything considered, it was quite a memorable day. It was about this time that the news of the outbreak of the Civil War was getting out west. The Fourth was a day that everyone felt it their duty to observe, and it surely was a good day for horse racing, drinking, and fighting. Another big attraction was the arrival of the first overland stage going east. The route was just being inaugurated, and this was the very first one of them. Every once in awhile some one would shout "Hurrah for Jeff Davis", and another someone someplace else would shout "Hurrah for Abe Lincoln", and in a few minutes there would be an exhibition of the manly art of self-defense. I sat in front of a saloon that evening and saw six fights just about as rapidly as they could be pulled off.

A day or two after the Fourth I went out with Mr. Grant to help him put up his hay. It was all wild hay, and we were perhaps a week putting it up. I was told by him that during the previous winter hay had reached the price of $150.00 per ton.

We were now only waiting around to dispose of what remained of our cargo. We also sold all our outfit, and in the bargaining, we received in exchange four mules and harness, a little old wagon, and twenty-five head of little Spanish mares. The rest was paid to us in money. About August first we started out to gather up our stock to deliver them. They had scattered quite badly and we were about a week finding them all. We found the biggest part of them in a day or so, but there were five missing, and it fell my lot to hunt for them. I was quite lucky and found them all, but only after quite a bit of riding. When we had them all together, we turned them over to Mr. Grant to whom we had sold them.

When everything was finally settled up and we were ready to start home, it was about the 5th and 6th of August. Here again the cooking problem presented itself. I didn't mind cooking after I got started, but I didn't like that very well. So when the time came to assign the job to someone, Haight came to me and told me if I would do the cooking that would end my work. I wouldn't have to get my wood or water and would have no camp duties to perform. So I agreed to do it.


When we left Carson City, the telegraph lines from the west coast were in operating conditions, and the construction gangs were working out of here toward the east. We followed their line as far as Ragtown the first day, and here made camp. Here we were rejoined by the Indian who had left us here when we were going west. His rejoining us was as unceremonious as had been his departure. No one knew where he came from, and no one asked him questions. He asked permission to return to Utah with us, and we let him. From Ragtown we took an entirely different route home to the one we came down on. It was known as the Simpson Mail Route; the coaches of the Overland Route followed this route, and the telegraph company was following this also with their line. We were perhaps a day's travel out of Ragtown when we reached the end of the line the company had constructed, up to that time. It was during this time that the Pony Express was being run from St. Joseph to Sacramento, trying to see how quick such a trip could be executed. They too, were following the Simpson Mail Route. The second night out on this route as we were making camp, the Pony Express rider approached us, and to my great surprise I recognized the rider. It was the little Mexican cook who had been with us on our trip to Independence, Missouri. This was the first time I had seen him since our company was divided at Fort Laramie on our way back home. He seemed very glad to see me, but in a few minutes he was on his way again, and I've never seen him since.

Our party now consisted of seven white men and the Indian. Two of our original party remained at Carson City with the intention of going on into California. We picked up a man in Carson City who wanted to travel to Utah with us, so we let him.

Our journey homeward was quite uneventful until we reached Egan Canyon. The wagon we received in our settlement with Grant was a very small and frail outfit. It was too light to withstand the load and the roads. We were not expecting the trouble with the wagon, but as we were going down the canyon, the end of the right rear axle broke. We were many miles from any help and had only an axe, ourselves, and the timber growing on the mountainside (pinion pine) to depend upon. The situation seemed to us quite serious, but after exchanging ideas a few minutes, we got busy with some of them. While some members of the party were getting a piece of pine, others took out what was left of the axle and using the axe beveled the broken end of it as well as possible. Then, shaping a piece of pine to fit the beveled end and also the other end of the pine to fit the skein, we were able to do a pretty good job of the fitting, and then we were confronted by the problem of getting a hole through these two pieces. I don't know who suggested it, but I know who did the shooting. The two pieces were placed together, and I got a few feet away from them, and taking careful aim with my pistol, I shot a hole through them in pretty good shape except for cleaning out the hole. This was overcome by heating the bolt and forcing it through the hole. We put the wagon back together, and the best we hoped for at this time was to have it hold until we could get help at some blacksmith shop. However, we did better work than we knew, for we never had any other work done on the wagon, and it took us home in fine shape.


Somewhere near the boundary line between Utah and Nevada, we encountered a large slough. To our left its length was not known to me, while to our right, the trail (the Simpson Main Route) was a sixteen mile trip to go around it. At the point we came onto the slough it was approximately 400 yards wide. At this season of the year the water was quite low, and while it was quite a risky business it was possible to cross. We discussed the proposition and decided we would try to cross over it. However, as a feeler, we drove our stock over first, and they made the crossing with ease, and for that reason we were encouraged to try to cross it with our wagon. After looking around a little, we pulled out into the slough, and in a short time we had successfully crossed the slough and were on our way. The first day's travel after we crossed the slough was over a long dry stretch of country, and here we suffered considerably for water, and especially did the stock suffer. We made the best we could of it, and sometime in the late afternoon, we came to a place where we could get water. We pulled off to one side of the road toward the mountain and camped. We had then to climb the side of the mountain quite a distance to get the water. We immediately got water for cooking purposes and later drove the stock up to the spring.

If I remember correctly, we made only one more camp between here and Salt Lake, and that was near Black Rock near the southern end of the lake. It was here our Indian friend left us, and I've never heard of or seen him since. The next day we reached Haight's home near Farmington. He lived out northwest of Farmington about four or five miles. His home was known throughout the country as Haight's Grove. I spent the night at Mr. Haight's place and next day I went home. As a special privilege, he let me ride one of his little race mares home, asking me under no condition to run the mare, to be good to her, and feed her well, and sometime when I wasn't very busy to bring her home. Some two or three days later, I rode her home and took one of Father's horses to ride back home.

After a few days of recuperating from the toils of our trip, I took one of Dave's yoke of oxen and went to the mountains after wood for winter use. I had perhaps hauled three or four loads when I was taken ill of typhoid fever. I was very sick and was bedfast for about six weeks. As a result of this sickness, the first doctor I ever remember coming to our home came to see me. Mother was always our family doctor, and she surely was a good one too, but this seemed to demand something she couldn't figure out, so one day they decided to send to Ogden for Dr. McEntire, a good old-fashioned doctor. He came over and prescribed, and in the course of a week or two I was on the improve. The disease, before leaving me, seemed to settle in my right leg below the knee, resulting in varicose veins which bothered me quite a considerable in my future life. I was over in Ogden one day, and I saw the doctor. I asked him how much I owed him, and he said 2 1/2 bushels of wheat.

I was unable to do much to help out around home during the remainder of the fall and all that winter, but by the time spring came I was in pretty fair physical condition. When spring opened up, I went down to Farmington to see Mr. Stoddard about work. He told me he always would have a job for me as long as he hired men, and that I could go to work as soon as I wanted. I was to go to work in Farmington Canyon, hauling and cutting logs for his saw mill and shingle mill. They were located about three miles up in the canyon from its mouth. Mr. Stoddard pointed a house out to me that I could move into, so I returned home immediately for my family, and in three or four days I returned to go to work. Mr. Stoddard let me have a yoke of cattle and a wagon to move my family down with.


Work was not the only motive for this move; as is sometimes the case, relatives do not get along as well as they should. I do not wish to have it thought that our troubles in any way were connected with my father and mother. We always got along fine and dandy, there always being a feeling of good fellowship between us, our aims and conditions usually being shared alike as were our good fortunes and bad fortunes, there always being a feeling of mutual understanding that seemed to mold our lives together. I was really very sorry to make this move, but it seemed to me the proper thing to do. Jane had entered into my mother's life and heart just as securely as if she were her own daughter, perhaps more so now, as there were none of the girls home, and Jane was always very considerate of her wants and desires and was on hand at every opportunity to help out in any way she could with the washing or the scrubbing or what ever the work was. In doing this Jane had in reality, I believe, become a favorite with my mother. But in so doing she had roused jealousy among the rest of our folks, and the attitude they were taking, and the things they were saying made it advisable it seemed to me to move away. So as a result of these conditions, we moved to Farmington. This move was made about May first.

After we arrived there and as soon as we were comfortable settled, I went to work. The Monday following, I went up in the canyon with supplies sufficient to last me a week. I stayed in the canyon until Saturday night and then returned home. There were three other men besides myself working with the logs; their names being George Chase, Dick Welsh, and Ed Pierce. Welsh was the sawer, Pierce and Chase felled the trees and logged them, my duty being to keep a supply of logs handy to the mill. The mill was very inefficient and was not a paying proposition, but Mr. Stoddard had contracted to supply lumber and shingles for a meeting house in Kaysville and to some other people in Farmington, and it was to fulfil this contract that we were working.

We had the work pretty well caught up in the canyon by July first, so Mr. Stoddard sent me down to Farmington to prepare for hay cutting. I was joined here by John Sheridan, and as soon as we were prepared to go to work, we set out on what proved to be a long job of haying. Our implements were the approved ones of the time, and while our arms weren't very strong at first, before long they were much stronger. We mowed with a scythe and snath, the scientific name for "Armstrong's Mower."

Our first meadow in Farmington consisted of about thirty acres of wild hay. As soon as this was completed, we moved to Centerville where we mowed about 25 or 30 acres, maybe a little more than that, of wild hay. The first day here we had four new men to help us, but the morning of the second day found John and I doing our work by ourselves again. Here we had to do another kind of work with the hay that we missed in Farmington, and that was raking the hay in windrows, after it had been mowed, and then bunching the hay. We were sent from here to Upper Weber Valley before any hauling of the hay was attempted. In Weber Valley we mowed his meadow which was a field much larger than either of the other two previous ones. Here the work was much easier because we were cutting a soft slough grass with a little red-top in it.

About this time I was called home to prepare for an accouchement, the result of which was a baby boy. This event transpired on October 2, 1862, in Farmington, Davis County, Utah. My mother was present at the time, and the birth was made under her care and supervision. As soon as was advisable, I returned to my work in Upper Weber Valley, leaving Jane in the care of my mother and one of my nieces, Salome Hammon. The baby was christened Francis Marion. This name was decided upon at the suggestion of Frank Stoddard. He was an old friend of the family. At first we decided on the name Jonathan Marion, a name give to an older brother of mine who died when he was l 1/2 years old. The name was quite willingly changed to Francis Marion, as that was the name of one of my hero generals of the Revolutionary War, of whom I once had a complete history.

When I returned to my work in Upper Weber Valley, I went to work where I had left off, and we worked continuously mowing hay until frost killed the grass, this being about November 1st. It was soon after this that my family and I moved down to Centerville. There we lived in Mr. Stoddard's old home, taking care of the property for him. The place we moved onto consisted perhaps of 40 acres, most of which was wild hay mixed with timothy and red top. After spending the winter 1862-63 there without any particular occurrences worthy of note, I decided in the spring to rent the place. We had about ten acres of grain, all wheat. We passed the months here very pleasantly, except for a flock of geese belonging to my neighbor, George Chase. There were perhaps fifteen or twenty geese in the flock, but they surely did do a lot f damage to some of my wheat. Complaints on my part to Chase were ignored, so one day I asked Stoddard what I was to do about them. He said to load up the old gun and shoot a few of them and toss the birds over in Chase's yard. I finally became provoked enough to do the shooting. I took the bird over to Chase's fence and threw it over into their yard. I never had a particle of trouble over the killing, but I cured my goose troubles, never being bothered again with them. Next day Mrs. Chase sent one of her youngsters over to the house, and when I answered the door, the child said her mother wanted me to come over to dinner. I sent word back that I didn't care for goose. I harvested a fairly good crop that year, both hay and wheat.

About this time Father's health was in such a condition that it was decided to move to a climate that would be more agreeable to him. His health was no worse than usual, but at that he was in rather poor health and had not improved since he located in East Weber. He nearly always enjoyed fair health in the warmer months, but when winter came, he was usually confined to the house and sometimes to his bed for weeks at a time. Considering this condition, it was thought perhaps if he were able to locate in a climate that was milder, and where the changes of temperature were less severe, it would be better for him. It seemed to him that southern Utah, then known as Dixie, would be a much better place. When, too, there were some excellent opportunities offered in Dixie, and everything considered, the move seemed to be a wise one. Soon after harvesting time was over, Father came down to see us and asked us to move down there with him, and we decided to make the move.

So after my work was caught up, I busied myself making preparations to go to Dixie. About the time we were ready to start, Dave decided to go along with us. Our preparations were completed and our start made about December 1st. We had three wagons, two belonging to Dave and the other to Father with whom I was traveling. This in many ways was one of the most disagreeable trips I was ever on, and it was particularly hard on Father and Mother. Our progress was slow; we encountered poor feed, and the weather most of the way was very cold. Several times on the road we stopped and built fires in order to get hot coals to put in "dutch ovens" to warm Father and Mother. We followed what was know as the State Road, except for a detour around the west side of Utah Lake. We passed through Goshen, Nephi, Fillmore, Beaver City, Parowan, Cedar City, Kanarah, and Toquisville, about ten or twelve miles east of St. George, and then went up the Virgin River to Grafton, where we arrived about the last of December. We were surely a tired and weary bunch and were glad the trip was over.

Father here located on a place he traded some stock for. We arranged things for our comfort as best we could and spent and fair winter. When spring opened, I rented a place near Grafton belonging to William Lang. Lang owned a very small place, and nearly everybody there was there because they couldn't get away. Dave returned to East Weber just as soon as spring opened up.

The climatic conditions of this part of Dixie had failed to produce the beneficial effect in Father's health that we had hoped for. In fact, as the warmer months approached it was evident that his health was failing fast; something in the atmospheric conditions here, or the excessive heat, soon took what vitality he had left. I kept the folks posted at East Weber concerning his condition as best I could. Father had here set himself up in a small way as a shoemaker and repairer, and during the times he was able, he did his work. Nearly all his customers furnished their own leather and always left their supply with Father. One day he called me in and asked me to come in sometime, when I could, and help him arrange the leather in rolls with the names of the owners written somewhere on it to identify it with. He seemed to have some kind of premonition that something was going to happen to him, because when he asked me to help him with the leather, he said he wanted things arranged so that in case anything should happen to him everyone would get his own leather. He told me he was quite sure something had happened in his left lung; something seemed to drop down out of place. Father, up to the time of his death on June 27, 1864, was not confined to his bed. I never did get around to help him with the leather.

On the evening of June 27, 1864, according to my mother's statements, he ate a very hearty meal and seemingly enjoyed it very much. He was in very good spirits, considering everything, and was in no particular hurry to go to bed. Mother had preceded him a few minutes to bed. When he did come to bed, he said something had dropped down out of place in his lung. In a few minutes Mother was startled by hearing some peculiar sounds as that of gushing water. Father, immediately afterward, got up and walked over to the outside door. He stood there a few moments, and without uttering another word, fell face forward, dead. Mother summoned our nearest neighbor, Mrs. Rhoades, and she came for me, and as soon as I possibly could, I rushed down to the house, and there I found my father dead, having died in his own door yard. Father's death was certainly a sad blow to us.

The first twenty-five or so years of his life he was a very healthy, athletic, man, hardly knowing what a sick day was. Father was born February 25, 1799, in Barin County, Kentucky. I have never been able to find out exactly where he was born, but I've often heard him mention experiences that occurred around Bowling Green, and in his conversation at times, he dropped remarks that lead me to believe that he was born in the close vicinity of Bowling Green. His boyhood days were much the same as those of other youths of that day. As he grew older he learned `considerable' about the shoe making and repairing business, a trade which he followed more or less the rest of his life. In addition to this, he became quite efficient as a stone mason, but this he was later forced to give up entirely on account of his failing health. Father was 5 feet 8 inches in height and weighed about 160 pounds in his youth. As he grew older, he became much lighter in weight. At about 35 his hair had changed from black to a light gray, almost white. His general complexion was dark; eyes that were almost black. Before his death, his hair had turned much darker again, being an iron gray.


About the year 1834 Father was a member of the State Militia of Kentucky. During this summer, 1834, the militia was encamped at Bowling Green. Father, in his youth, was a fairly good all round athlete and especially was he fleet of foot, there being very few who ever able to show him their heels in a race. On the day the militia was dismissed to return to their homes, they held a kind of field and track meet, and Father took in it quite strenuously. When the afternoon's entertainment was over, and they were dismissed, Father, without taking any precaution to protect himself, set out for home warm and perspiring quite freely. Before he reached home, he was overtaken by a very cold and sever rainstorm. He was thoroughly chilled and a fever followed, and he was quite sick for a time. As a result of these indiscretions, his health was impaired in such a manner that he never again enjoyed good health, always thereafter being afflicted by weak lungs.

As near as I can calculate, Father was married about 1818 or 1819 to Betsy Lane, a girl native to Tennessee. I am inclined now to believe that Father moved from Kentucky to Indiana about the year 1836. His family now consisted of seven children, mother, and himself. He moved to Clay County, Indiana, and there located on a little stream called the Eel River. Here I was born, and four years later we moved to Nauvoo, and in the course of a few years, we landed in Utah and located in East Weber, and in a few years moved to Dixie where Father's ill health resulted in his death.

Father's death, as I said before, was a very sad blow to us. He had always been the leader of his family, at least while it was under his own roof, and we had learned to depend very much on his advice and counsel. Father's death was taken very seriously by Mother. I was as completely lost as if I had been deprived of all my friends , and I was indeed deprived of one of the very best friends I ever had. He was buried in the cemetery at Grafton on June 28, 1864. I could fill an ambition of my later life if I could but return there to see about the grave and find out if I could locate the grave and the little head stone that had been chiseled out of sand stone by___________. (This was not filled in.) The little stone bore the date of birth and death and Father's name. I sent word to Byram to come down after Mother as she wanted to get away from there as quick as she could, and I could not leave until I had settled up Father's business as well as my own. Byram came as quickly as he could with an outfit, arriving about the middle of July, and departed as soon as possible for home in East Weber.

I finally completed my business in Grafton, settling up with Mr. Lang and Mr. Woodbury, for whom I had hauled cedar posts or pickets to build a protection from rabbits around his nursery, and we set out for East Weber about November 1st. When we arrived at Beaver City, we changed our plan somewhat and decided to spend the winter near Beaver City with some of Jane's brothers and sisters. We spent the winter with Robert Easton, having a room of his home for our use. I spent the winter in a leisurely fashion, having only to supply a little wood now and then for our own use. I often played for our own dances and parties.

During my stay in Dixie I was very fortunate in accumulating property. My wife and two children were all I had in this world when I went there, but I earned by good hard labor a yoke of cattle and a wagon and some other little properties I had accumulated. In addition to my stock, Mother gave me one yoke of Father's oxen. I had some other stock out on a ranch belonging to William Maxwell, about ten miles southeast of Grafton. These I made no attempt to take with me at this time. When spring opened up and as the time approached for renewing our journey, we set out to round up our animals that we had turned out on the range to winter. All my stock came in the first drive except one ox. He was one of the best ones I had, and I was quite concerned over him, but in the next drive he was found.

As soon as spring was sufficiently well along to insure a fair supply of grass, I left Beaver City headed for East Weber. This move was started in the latter part of May, and we reached our destination about June 10th or 12th. We moved into a part of the house where my brother John now lived. It was here that an increase came to our family, on July 2, 1865. It was a baby boy and later was christened James Andrew. It was decided to name him this out of respect for James Mack, who married one of Jane's sisters, and Andrew Mason, a friend of mine who married in my sister Elizabeth's family. He married her eldest daughter Rebecca.

I wasn't in East Weber very long, and as soon as Jane was able to travel, we proceeded on our way to Smithfield in Cache Valley. Working conditions were about the same in East Weber, and I was advised by some friends of mine, particularly James Mack, who owned a threshing machine and a part interest in a grist mill. He was interested with Alonzo P. Raymond and Thomas Hillyard in the mill. He advised me work was quite plentiful up there. We left East Weber about August 1 and arrived in Smithfield about August 7th or 8th. Immediately on my arrival at Smithfield, I went to work for Ruben Miles in his harvest field. My work consisted of binding the grain after it had been cut. Later in the season I did the same kind of work for Jim Mack, and upon completion of this harvesting, I went to work on Mack's threshing machine. Here on the threshing machine my duty was to measure the grain. I worked with this outfit until all of the grain of the neighborhood was threshed.

I then went to my home in Smithfield, where during the winter of 1865-66, I assisted Charles Wright in teaching the public school of the vicinity. We lived in a little log house on the creek about two or three blocks from the school house. During this winter we organized a string band: Tom Lutz, leading violin; myself, second violin; Charles Wright, Piccolo, and Calvin Craggin.

Except for a dislike taken to me by Bishop Raskelly of Smithfield, I believe I could have secured a piece of property just north of the township of Smithfield. Here there was a piece of ground embracing about five or six hundred acres. The ground was government property, never having been filed upon. The Ward Church Authorities decided to lay this ground off in eighty acre tracts and would be available to only those persons who were not land owners at the time. Raskelly also disliked James Mack, and although James used his influence in my behalf, we could secure none of the land. Raskelly assumed the authority to select the persons to whom the land was to be given; I was ignored never, I suppose, being considered at all in the proposition. The land fell into the hands, in a good many cases, of people who were already land owners.

School lasted until sometime in April, and as soon as it was dismissed, I rented a farm of James Mack located about one-half mile west of Smithfield. Hay was the principal crop on the ranch, about forty acres being in hay and grain. During the days on the ranch when my attention was not needed there, I worked up in Smithfield Canyon, getting out a set of house logs with which to build a home on a lot I had purchased up in the east part of town.


As the harvesting of the crops came along, Rube Miles and I exchanged work with one another and in this way we got along pretty well. After all my own crops had been harvested and threshed, I again spent the fall working on Mack's threshing outfit, measuring the grain. As soon as this work was completed I went to work, assisted by Mack, and built my house in east Smithfield. It was a one-room log house with a shingle roof, and as soon as we could, we moved into it. About this time school opened up again, and once more I assisted Charles Wright in his labors. During this winter we reorganized our string orchestra; occasionally we went to Richmond to play for theaters and dances. We were the best obtainable music of the time in Cache Valley, and our services were required far and near. We played for the theaters for the privilege of seeing them, but our efforts at dances usually netted $5.00 per night for each of us. The winter soon passed very pleasantly and agreeably, as soon as the school term was completed in April.

During the winter months of 1866-67, a little Jew by the name of Joe Bowers had come to Smithfield with a large supply of groceries and dry goods, his object being to dispose of them among the people of Smithfield and vicinity. During the last two or three years the price of wheat, had increased `considerable' in Cache Valley. During the early years of the sixties, wheat wasn't worth very much, ranging about $.25 per bushel. In the next few years it approached the highest price in 1864, reaching $5.00 per bushel. This on account of mining activities in the Salmon River Country. During this winter, wheat reached about $3.50 per bushel and was about as important as a medium of exchange as was real coin. It was as a result of this money condition that Bowers was trading his goods for flour with the intention of taking the flour to Fort Lemhi. He accepted one or two or three pounds as willingly as he would larger quantity. It was about the time school was over that he had disposed of all his goods, and now he had a large supply of flour on hand. The next thing now for him was to find a way to freight the flour to Ft. Lemhi. The proposition he made that was finally accepted was to give half his flour to have the other half freighted over there.

Jim Mack and I got together and figured out a way between us to take 4,000 pounds to Ft. Lemhi. I was to go along as driver and furnish one yoke of oxen, and Jim was to furnish the wagon and two yoke of oxen and pay all money expenses of the trip. I secured my 2,000 pounds of flour and Jim got his, and then we loaded 4,000 pounds on our wagon and were ready to start. Our party consisted of twelve outfits all from Smithfield. I can recall the names of the following men who made that trip: Moroni Price, George Merrill, Mr. Richardson, Robert Gibson, Rube Collett, Abe Lower, John Hammer, and myself; the rest of them I cannot recall, but there were twelve men in the party.

We left Smithfield about June first. We went north through Cache valley and crossed over to Swan Lake and followed down Marsh Creek to the Portneuf River. We were out perhaps a week when we came to a place on Marsh Creek, near Swan Lake, called Red Rock. It was a large cliff of rock on the east side of the road and was known as Red Rock on account of its color.

On our trip up to here had been quite slow, and we had encountered a few unpleasant things among the personnel of the camp that was causing some dissatisfaction among us. Some of the boys would not keep up their share of the camp work, cooking or getting wood or water, and always relied on someone else to bring in their stock mornings, some even almost refusing to stand guard on their turns. When we reached Red Rock, things had reached the point where it was decided to organize someway, in a manner we could get the help out of all our party. I refused to act as the boss of the company as long as I could but finally had to give in and take the responsibility. We got along much better after this, but I still had my troubles with one or two of them.

We went on down the Portneuf River until we came to about Pocatello's present location, although then there was nothing there. From here we went almost straight north to Blackfoot, which then consisted of a few houses. From Blackfoot we went on north to Idaho Falls then known as Eagle Rock. We crossed the river here at Eagle Rock on a toll-bridge operated and owned by Robert and John Anderson. They were known as Anderson Brothers, and in addition to the bridge, they owned a general merchandise store. After crossing the river, we went up the stream about one-half mile and camped. Here we wrote letters to our folks at home. Next day we went on north and made our next camp at Market Lake, now Roberts; from here we went straight west to the foot of the mountains and followed north along these until we came to Birch Creek. One day while we were on the road on Birch Creek, the queen bolt in the front hounds of my wagon slipped out of place and broke one of the hounds. We overcame the trouble by using a chain some five or six feet long which Rube Collett happened to have in his wagon. This was very successful, as I didn't have the wagon repaired until I reached home again. This was the only accident of the whole trip that delayed us at all.

In the next few days we reached Ft. Lemhi, all okay. Here we had a little trouble with Bowers, who evidently at the time the contract was formed, thought Salmon City was near Ft. Lemhi. We agreed to deliver the flour at Ft. Lemhi instead of Salmon City which is about twenty miles on down the river. He thought we should go on with the flour, but we refused. He puffed and puffed for a while, but no one got hurt. I proposed to the boys that we should take the flour on to Salmon City, and for our troubles we would keep one sack of flour which was worth $8.00. We put the proposition to Bowers who very reluctantly agreed to the same. Just as soon as possible after delivering our loads of flour, we set out for home.

Some time previous to our starting out for Fort Lemhi, Levi Hammon had moved from East Weber to Franklin, Idaho, and my mother came along with them and had stopped at our home. When I left them, she was enjoying her usually good health. We had returned as far as the ferry across Snake River, a few miles below Blackfoot, without incident. Most of the boys ferried their wagons over and made their stock swim, but I ferried my whole outfit. We had all crossed successfully and were preparing our dinners when I noticed a horseman, who had been attending some cattle nearby, riding toward our outfits. As the horseman approached, I recognized Preston Lane, a cousin of mine. We exchanged greetings and had talked a few minutes when he asked me if I had heard from home since I left, and I told him I hadn't, and here through him I learned of my mother's death. I was very much shocked for when I had left home her health had been very good. I was so overcome with sorrow that I sat down on my wagon tongue and cried, the news coming so abruptly without the least intimation of it that I simply couldn't prevent the tears that came.

I know I had just as good a mother as any man who ever lived. She was good, honest, and faithful, a dutiful wife, and a mother whose love of her children and her home was very sincere. She was much more than an ordinary mother for the position she occupied in our family demanded much more of her. She was the financial head of our family, and Father's sickness and the handicaps he encountered increased her duties much. She met them all with a strong heart and always gave her best.


I am sorry that I don't know more of her early life, but I never appreciated the fact that someday I would want this information. She was born on June 24th, 1801, in Tennessee. I don't know in what county or what town, but I have evidence that leads me to believe her birthplace was in Tennessee. In some way she met and married Father around Bowling Green, Kentucky, and until Father's death June 27, 1864, she was his constant companion. I often wonder at the patience she had to raise a family as large as she did. Times and conditions were such as to try the patience of any, but always she was able in any emergency and equal to the occasion. Her religion was a more practical one than Father's. They both were strict observers of the Sabbath, and all during our early lives we had constantly impressed upon our minds a reverence for God and his words, and it was usually our custom to be found at church on Sunday with Mother when at home.

All Mother's life was spent doing her duties in a log house, the only things that were modern in any way were her chairs, table, and beds, and their only semblance to each other was due to the fact that each of them had four legs. I am sure Mother never owned a sewing machine, and I don't believe she ever used one, and maybe never saw one. All the cooking she was compelled to do in her life raising her family, and otherwise, was done in an open fireplace. I am quite sure that Mother never prepared a meal on an iron range in her life.

Mother was perhaps five foot seven inches in height and weighed, I believe, about 140 pounds. Her complexion was quite light with light blue eyes and auburn hair (about two more shades and it would have been red). Mother had come up to our place to make her home with us; her love for Jane, I believe, being the main reason she came. Her death was not preceded by any lingering illness. She died on July 7, 1867. That letter that I wrote home to my folks was written and dated on the day Mother died.

From our noonday camp on Snake River we went on home up through Portneuf Canyon, up Marsh Creek, and over to Bear River, which we crossed on a bridge west of Smithfield, as fast as we could. This end of the trip was without incident. We arrived at Smithfield about September 1st, 1867. Between the time I arrived home and the time I went to work on Jim Mack's threshing outfit again, I went to the mountains and got out a supply of wood for myself. It was during the harvest work of this year that our home was again blessed with the arrival of a baby girl. This event transpired on November 16, 1867, at Smithfield, Cache County, Utah. The baby was christened Mary Alice. This name was chosen for her in memory of a little girl in Farmington that we had once known there. Her parents were very good friends of ours, and we had taken a great liking to the little girl as well as the name. Again in the winter 1867 and 68 as soon as I was through threshing, I went into the school again with Charles Wright. Our orchestra was organized again and our calls for dances, shows, etc., took us all over Cache Valley.


In those days in Smithfield it was necessary to burn coal for blacksmithing about the same as we had done in Missouri. I had previous to this time burned some coal for one of the town blacksmiths. He offered me the chance to burn some more for him in this spring. So about the time school was dismissed, I made arrangements to go to work on the coal pit. So one day I went into the second small canyon to prospect for a good location to build a pit, and one that was handy to water and a good supply of wood. I had just ascended a small hill and had located a nice bunch of red ceder wood on a little flat but which had no water available. The place was quite inaccessible, so I decided I would have the wood out to my home to burn. I was just about ready to leave for home when in the valley below me, I noticed two boys with a team and wagon entering the canyon where I had located my wood, and I was pretty well satisfied that something would have to be done on my part to save the wood.

Some years previous to this two men had been killed in this near vicinity in a snowslide. I knew that the parties below were Al Hatch and a younger brother, both being quite young. I hid myself behind a large cedar tree, and as the boys came up the canyon, I played my little joke. The only place they could climb that would bring them up near the wood was the one I had come up, and as the boys neared this, I called out to them in the most weird voice I could, and when I got their attention, I asked if they could remember the two men that had been killed there some time before, and when they answered me that they could, I told them I had been sent there to warn them not to go into the canyon that day as it would be a very bad day for them. I pulled my little stunt just about in the proper time and place for the youngsters immediately held a consultation, and about as fast as they could, they got out of the canyon. That saved my wood alright and furnished many a good laugh. The boys immediately spread the news about town, and for a few days, there was a discussion around town about the wonderful things that were transpiring in the heavens and the warnings that were being made. I told Jim Mack about it, and one day in a crowd, he made known that I was perpetrator of that wonder. Everyone seemed to appreciate the humor of the thing, and no ill feelings resulted, but I never made known my motive for the ruse.

I got out the wood, made the pit and burned it, and delivered the coal to Peter Tidwell. I straightened up my little bill with him and received money from him for the balance of my labors. I spent all the spring and the early summer months with the coal, getting out timbers to fence and otherwise improve my place. As the harvest time approached, I went to work with Rube Miles as had been my custom the last two or three years. However, this fall I did not go out on the threshing machine but worked at home, completing the improvements I had started earlier in the year.

On the 29th day of October, 1868, I was married to Harriet Raymond, who had been born at West Jordan in Salt Lake County, Utah, on October 3, 1852, and who had moved from West Jordan to Plain City and from Plain City to Smithfield, having arrived in Smithfield when about eight years old. We traveled from Smithfield to East Weber with a yoke of oxen and wagon. From here we went to Salt Lake City with a team of horses and a wagon belonging to Byram. We arrived in Salt Lake City on October 28th and were married on the 29th by George Q. Cannon. We returned immediately to East Weber and spent ten days or perhaps two weeks there while Byram used my oxen in the mountains getting out some heavy timbers. He gave me $10.00 for the use of them. A few days later we returned to Smithfield, arriving there about the middle of November. This winter I didn't help out in the school, but built some `addition' room to my home, getting the logs out of Smithfield Canyon. In the spring of 1869 I finished the rooms. I got out lumber, took it to the sawmill in the canyon owned by Alonzo P. Raymond, and had it sawed. I meanwhile secured some shingles and when the rooms were finally completed, we were much more comfortable.


About June first Harriet and I went to Mountain Green to help Dave in the work he had undertaken in supplying ties and piles to the Union Pacific Railroad. Here about September first, 1869, our first child was born. I have nothing definite in my records concerning the date of this birth, but it was about September 1st. The child was prematurely born and lived about one-half hour. I christened the babe during the short span of life, giving it the name of William Wallace, the name being chosen due to the fact that Harriet had an uncle by that name, this being his namesake.

As I mentioned above, I was up in Weber Canyon helping Dave supply ties to the Union Pacific. When he had supplied them with all they wanted at that time, he had quite a number of ties still on hand. He had information to the effect that there was to be a railroad constructed from Ogden to Salt Lake, it being a local company with local capital, and he had made arrangements to dispose of his excess ties to them. At the mouth of Strawberry Creek up in Weber Canyon, the railroad had constructed a siding, and it was known as Strawberry siding. Adjacent to this siding and in a handy place, Dave had about three carloads of ties already for use, and which were to be sold to the Utah Central Rail Road Company Accordingly they were loaded upon three flat cars belonging to the Union Pacific. A permit was secured from U. P. officials at Wasatch for the privilege of unloading the ties at a convenient place along the right-of-way. The permit granted us forty minutes. I was sent down with the ties to superintend the unloading. As we neared the desired place in the road bed, I told the engineer and showed him where we wanted to stop. I had secured permission to ride in the engine. The engineer was a very grouchy and unpleasant sort of man and made no effort to stop where we wanted to unload, but stopped 400 or 500 yards beyond the point, and absolutely would not back the train up, even disrespecting the permit we had secured from company officials. I got the men who were to unload them and went to work. These were the very first ties to be delivered for use in the Utah Central R. R. This was in the month of October, 1869.

We spent the winter of 1869 and 1870 here at Mountain Green. I taught the public school here this winter. The winter passed uneventfully, and I had quite a successful school year. As the "17th of Ireland" approached, I was informed by Byram that he had an opportunity for himself and me to play for a dance. It was to be held in the freight house at East Weber, and we were to be paid $10.00 each for playing. The dance was being promoted by a number of Irishmen who were working on the railroad. We agreed to do the playing, but on second thought I began to worry about the dance. All the fellows were more or less roughnecks, and as the day was Ireland's big day, it seemed to me there was a chance for a rough house, but we had agreed to do the playing, so we did. The dance was a very orderly affair, and everything went along fine and dandy until late in the evening, when a saloon owner of the town entered the dance hall with a woman of ill repute. All the rest of the women immediately prepared to go home. The floor manager was at a loss to know what was the matter, but Byram informed him, and the floor manager asked to be heard a moment. After he had halted the departing crowd, he went to the saloon owner and informed him that it would be necessary for him and his friend to leave the house. The man argued a little, but when he saw the door open and heard once more that he had better be going, he departed and the dance went on again as well as before.

A few weeks later following the dance we prepared to leave Mountain Green and return to Smithfield. We left Mountain Green about April 1, 1870. We were three or four days on our way. When I reached home I picked up what work I could around the town. About May 20th, Harriet went down to Plain City to help her Aunt Almira do her spinning, preparatory to making some clothing.


On June 17th, 1870, a baby girl came to our home in Smithfield, who was christened Elizabeth. She was given this name by her aunt, Elizabeth Mack, one of Jane's sisters. As a result of this accouchement, Jane's health as well as the health of the baby, was very seriously impaired. Jane during the sickness took a severe cold and a few days later blood poisoning set in, and as a result of these complications, Jane passed to her reward on June 28th, 1870. For a long time it seemed as though it would be impossible to save even the life of the baby who seemed to get worse day by day.

Some few days previous to Jane's sickness, and in anticipation of it, I had sent one of Harriet's brothers, Lon, down to Plain City for her. She reached Smithfield some two or three days previous to Jane's death. Harriet, as soon as she arrived home, specialized her attentions on Elizabeth. When she was born and as Jane's case became more complicated, some of our neighbors had taken the baby, and when Harriet arrived, she found the baby suffering from "white mouth" a kind of canker and in a very serious condition. She was assisted in the care of the baby by her sister Mary, and in the course of a few weeks, the baby had improved greatly and was on a fair way to recovery. Jane's death was a blow to us. Harriet was then in her 19th year, and here she was called upon to assume the care of Jane's five children, ranging from ten years of age to the baby just born.

Jane had always been a very good and dutiful wife, cared well for her home and her children, had been a good friend and companion, and had always been willing to assume conditions as we found them, making the best she possibly could out of them. She was born in Scotland. I never was able to secure the name of the place where she was born, but she was born on August 12, 1840. Her parents migrated from Scotland as converts to the Church in 1849. There were six girls and four boys in the family when they departed for this country. The family was kept intact until they reached St. Louis, Missouri. Here the father and mother and one boy fell victims to cholera and died in St. Louis and were buried there. The oldest boy of the family, David, upon his own responsibility, assumed the leadership of the family, and through his untiring efforts, he was successful in bringing every one of the children safely to Utah. Here they were accepted in different families and later were all married. I met Jane while she was living with a family named Robinson, and married her March 20, 1857. She was buried in Smithfield cemetery, beside the grave of my mother. Some few years later, Frank bought and had a tombstone placed to mark the grave of Jane.


The following months until harvest time came, I spent working about Smithfield, mostly up in the canyon. The harvest time I spent working with Rube Miles. When harvesting and threshing time was over, I became interested in a school that had been offered me in Providence. I had not agreed to take the school but reached that conclusion one day while I was working up in the canyon, in about the same place where I frightened the Hatch youngsters. The following incident helped me reach my conclusion: A long way up on the mountain side, I located a nice large dry pine tree that I decided to get, as I was up in the canyon after wood. The snow was quite deep, and I had considerable trouble getting up to the pine, but when I got there, I soon had the tree down and trimmed ready for the wagon. When everything was ready, I started to roll the tree down the mountain. It rolled all right for a short distance and then changed its direction clear off to one side and fell over a precipice clear out of my reach entirely. This was very discouraging, but I had to have some wood, so I located another tree, and this time with more care in cutting and falling it, I was able to get it to the wagon, and when finally I was successful in loading it on my wagon, I set out for home. I was wet and hungry and very tired and discouraged when I reached home. After I had my supper I felt much better, but I was still convinced if I could find any other way I was going to do something else.

I decided I could do just as well working my head a little as by so much physical exertion. It seemed to me it couldn't be any worse. Harriet and I agreed on this course, so I went next day to see Bishop Hammond about the school. I was given the school, so about December 1, we moved from Smithfield to Providence, and I immediately took charge of the school. I enjoyed my work very much, but for my compensation I was dependant upon the parents of my pupils, who had agreed to certain conditions to provide so much, but their promises did not keep provisions on the table. I was not treated as I thought they should have treated me, but I stayed with and completed the school term, which ended about April 1st, 1871.
I worked the next few months in Providence at whatever jobs I could secure. Here in the month of August, 1871, Harriet gave birth to a baby boy who was christened David. I blessed the baby, who was named after my brother David. I have no definite record of the birth or death of this baby, but it was prematurely born and lived only a short hour or so.

The next few months I worked about Providence. I had been offered the school again, but I was not very much interested in it on account of the way they had previously treated me. One day during the fall I was approached by Charlie Card, a Logan man who had charge of public instruction there, and he wanted me to come to Logan to teach there. I explained to him why I was dissatisfied in Providence, and he promised me better things if I would come to Logan. So I agreed to take a job teaching there. I went to work when the school term opened and had taught about five weeks when it became apparent to me I was not going to be treated any better here than I was in Providence.

About this time, I was offered a job with M. D. Hammond in a branch house he was starting in Logan, his original business being located in Ogden. He wanted someone to take charge of his business and care for implements and supplies as they were sent to Logan, and otherwise, care for the wants and needs of the business. With him the security of my salary was quite different, and I decided to go to work for him if I could dispose of my school to someone else. I explained things to Mr. Card one day, and he advised me after everything was considered that it would be best for me to take the job with Mr. Hammond. We solved the school problem through Mr. Card, who happened to know of a young lady, Sarah Holden, who was desirous of obtaining a school. I offered her what was forthcoming from the five weeks I had taught the school if she would take it off my hands. She agreed to the plan and immediately took charge of the school while I went to work for Mr. Hammond, about December 1st, 1871. During this time, I had disposed of my property in Smithfield to Douglas & Richardson, to liquidate an indebtedness I had incurred there for groceries and merchandise. I had purchased a house and lot in Providence from Dick Welsh. I traded him a span of horses and a wagon for the property and fifty bushels of wheat.


Harriet and the family remained in Providence when I went to work in Logan. I boarded with a Mrs. Maughan and Mrs. Blair. I got along fine with the work, doing considerable business during the summer. Previously, Mr. Hammond had sold a threshing machine to a man near Bear Lake for which he only received part payment. During the month of October, Mr. Hammond decided to send me to Bear Lake to make some arrangements for the final settlement for the machine. So Charlie Wright, who was going to Bear Lake to attend some personal affairs, and I went to Bear Lake.

While I was away on this trip, another baby girl was born to us. She was christened Harriet Rebecca, after her mother and one of Harriet's sisters. Harriet Rebecca was born October 20, 1872. The folks continued to live on in Providence through the year 1872 and 1873, while I worked in the wagon and machine company with Mr. Hammond. I was quite successful and enjoyed the work very much. About February 1st, in 1874 Harriet Rebecca took a severe cold, and it grew worse, resulting in pneumonia. In spite of all we could do Harriet Rebecca died on March 20, 1874, being about 17 months old. Soon after her death, about May 1st, if I recall correctly, I moved my folks over to Logan, where we rented a house close to the old school house on the north bank of Logan River. The summer months passed over us quickly and pleasantly without particular interest. On October 1st, 1874, Clarinda was born to us. M. D. Hammond christened her. She was given that name in respect to Harriet's mother. About Jan 1st, 1875, I moved the folks back to Providence to our home over there.

About April 1st, 1875, I was offered a promotion from the Logan house to Ogden. There was a vacancy created in the Ogden house by a Mr. Stratford, who went to work with one of Ogden's newspapers. I decided to accept the position and went to Ogden about April first. I spent about a month down in Ogden where I boarded with Mr. Stratford. About May 1st I sent for my family, and as soon as they could, they came to Ogden on the train over the Utah Northern R. R. Company. We rented a house in the northern portion of the city up on the bench and lived here about five or six months.

Then about November 1st we moved to another place closer to work and a much nicer house to live in. We lived in this house until we moved to salt Lake City about May 1st, 1876. While we were living in this house, Clarinda contracted a very severe cold which resulted in Pneumonia. Our home was very close to Dr. Anderson's, and we had him take charge of the case. Her case was a very severe one, and it seemed it would be impossible for her to live. Dr. Anderson gave her up entirely, saying there was no hope for her recovery. At the time the crisis came, Dr. Anderson said she could not live until one o'clock A.M. This was in the evening. He wanted us to call him if she was still living at that time. At one o'clock I went and notified him she was still alive, and his only consolation was to inform me again that she couldn't live. I never did feel that she was to die, and next morning when I found her still alive, I went down town and got Mr. C. E. Penrose and Mr. Stratford to come up home and administer to her. They did and almost immediately she began to improve, and in the course of the next three or four weeks, she was quite well again.


One day while in Ogden I received a letter from Absolom Bybee then living in Deweyville, Utah. In his letter he told me that he had some information that he thought I should have and that undoubtedly would interest me. He said he would come to Ogden on a certain day, and if I possibly could to be there to meet him. He wanted to spend a few days with us to which I was more than pleased. He was an honest, straight-forward man, and all through his life was honored by his many friends. He was a cousin to my father, making him my second cousin. I met him at the station as he wished, and as I remember it now, the following is the information he gave me. Early in the 16th century two brothers left the old country and embarked to America and settled in Virginia. Their names were James and David. We have no way of knowing which was the eldest of the two, nor do we know which one of them is in the line of our progenitors. One of these brothers had a boy named John. (Here there are two pages left blank.)




About April 1st, I got information that Stratford was to re-enter the Ogden house of the company. When I moved to Ogden, it was understood by Hammond and I that I could have my old place back in Logan. Hammond failed to keep his end of the agreement, and thus when Stratford came back to work, I was without a position until Mr. George A. Lowe came to the rescue and offered me a job in Salt Lake. Mr. Hammond's business was in reality Mr. Lowe's business, he working in connection with Mr. Lowe on a commission basis. In this manner, I was not transferring to an entirely new company. So when we moved to Salt Lake about May 1st, I was still in the wagon and machine business only under Mr. Lowe's personal management. He increased my wages from $50.00 to $100.00 per month. I was generally employed as a handy man, sometimes in the yard and sometimes in the office, as conditions required. I rented a house belonging to Ferimore Little on East south Temple Street and paid him $16.00 per month rent.

I think it was about July 1st of this year that Mr. Lowe called me into his office and told me he had a little canvassing and advertising he wanted me to do in Southern Utah. I addition to this, I was to secure local agents at several of the more important towns. I departed from Salt Lake about July 1st with a single horse and buggy to make this trip. I traveled as far south as Cedar City, approximately 350 miles south of Salt Lake City; when I had completed the business Mr. Lowe had planned for me, I returned to Salt Lake City, my work was about the same old thing, being a sort of handy man.

The day of September 22, 1876, brought to our home another baby girl. She was named Rhoda Lee for my sister Rhoda, and the Lee came from my own name. She was blessed by Henry Parson in Manti, April 5, 1877.

One day during October I was called to the office of Mr. Lowe. Previously to this, I had reported to him about the conditions I had found at Manti while I was away on my trip. The man down there named Funk had failed to produce the desired results, and I guess was getting worse for his object in calling me into the office was to find out if I would accept the job down there. He explained his plan which would pay me a commission instead of a salary. I asked for a day to think it over, and that evening Harriet and I discussed the proposition and decided to take the job in Manti, so next morning I informed Mr. Lowe of our decision.


So within a day or two I departed for Manti, took what property Funk had left, and turned it over to E. W. Fox and Company, Manti merchants. This done, I returned to Salt Lake City and made arrangements to move down to Manti. This move was made during the month of November. We sent our goods by freight over the Utah Southern to York, which was the terminal at that time. From here they were taken to Manti, a distance of about sixty miles, by two men with wagon and teams from Manti, and we went to Manti with these teams. The first night out we camped with a Mr. Goldsborough about fifteen miles from York. His home was known as the Mound House, called this on account of the peculiar mound shapes of the earth around the house. The second night out we camped at Fountain Green, which was about 20 miles nearer our destination. Next morning we were out bright and early and reach Manti that afternoon. We moved into a house belonging to Harrison Edward, for which I paid the rent of $4.00 per month.

As soon as we were located comfortably in our home, my next problem was to establish an office in which to do business. I procured a small piece of land free of rent, belonging to E. W. Fox and Company, adjacent to their store. In the course of a few days, I had erected a little office which proved quite sufficient and was quite comfortable. The first winter I spent there, 1876-77, I did very little business, an occasional plow or horse shoes or now and then a piece of iron, being about the size of the business. I had been unable to freight any implements or supplies down, and so all I had was what Funk left. With the opening of the spring 1877, I shipped a supply of hardware from Salt Lake to York, and from there it was freighted to Manti by teams. As spring opened up my business increased sufficiently to make it necessary for me to build a warehouse which I built in the rear of my office, but joining onto it. This warehouse was built during May. During June I hired an outfit consisting of a horse and buggy from Mr. Fox and made a trip around Sanpete Valley advertising my business as best I could. I scattered among the people some little printed advertisements, sent to me by Mr. Lowe, with my name and location, and which described the line of goods handled in my business. During my absence Robert took care of the business, being supervised by Mr. fox. The summer of 1877 passed quickly, and I made a good deal and made friends at the same time, enjoying an increasing business.

About the 30th day of August I went to Salt Lake City to attend the funeral of President Brigham young, who died August 29, 1877. I reached there in time to see President Young's corpse as it lay in state in the tabernacle. As soon as I could return home, I did so and took up my work which had been cared for by Robert and Mr. Fox. The rest of the year 1877 I spent caring for my business. During the winter 1877 and 1878 I got along very nicely. During this winter I didn't do very much on the violin. But I managed the dances for the young people. In fact before I moved away from Providence, I sold my violin to a friend of mine named Buckley Fullmer. Since then I have played some but always on a violin belonging to someone else. On February 28, 1878, our home was blessed with a baby boy, whom I christened Alonzo, after Harriet's father. The baby died on March 21, 1878, never seeming to be healthy and living only about three weeks.

During April it was decided among the Saints in Manti to divide the ward. There were sufficient people there to demand another ward for their convenience. The ward was completely organized except for someone to act as superintendent of the South Ward Sunday School. I was asked to take the position and I accepted. The work with the Sunday School was a great satisfaction to me. I had a very fine set of people to work with, and I recall those associations with much genuine pleasure. In those days it was not customary to have the congregation sing, the singing being done by a choir which I organized. It had twenty-six members, and there were many quite efficient singers among them. I had four real good organists in the group. The Sunday School work, as well as my business, progressed excellently throughout the entire year 1878.


The winter of 1879 passed quite uneventfully. I prospered considerably in my business. During the early spring months, I think it was in the month of May, I made a very serious breach of business etiquette, as it turned out in later years. I was approached by Jacob Hesse for a supply of tents, wagons, and other necessary equipment to fit up for overland freighting. He was said to be interested in mining in Colorado. He was recommended to me by his brother-in-law, Harrison Edwards, who I had always considered a friend of mine, but in whom I had misplaced my confidence. However, he offered to mortgage his property to me to secure the goods, but I failed to have him do, on account of the explanation Edwards offered concerning his brother-in-law. He represented him to be strictly honest in every sense of the word, and his work in Colorado to be legitimate. Hesse secured the goods, amounting to approximately $600.00, and departed for his supposed to be Colorado mines. As he drove away I had my last look at the property, and for which I later had to pay, never receiving a cent from Hesse. This was step number one in my financial demise. I carried on with a pretty fair business the rest of the year 1879. In October of this year, on the 25th day, Walter Ray was born to us. I am not positive as to who christened him, but he was given the name of a friend of ours, Dr. F. R. Kenner, and the Walter was given him after Walter Barber, a cousin of Harriet's. On January 5, 1880, my son Robert Lee, was married to Lydia Forbush. The marriage came as a complete surprise to us. They made their home in Manti.

The first four or five months of the year 1880 were about the same as the usual run of things,--pretty fair business conditions and enjoying my works in connection with the Sunday School. In June of this year there was held in Ephriam, a Jubilee of all the Sunday Schools of Sanpete Stake. At that Jubilee, George Goddard, then general superintendent of Church Sunday Schools, was present. I recall this jubilee with much satisfaction as there were some events transpired there that were much to my liking, some that affected me directly, and others that fell to the good lot of others. My Sunday School class was trained on the Ten Commandments, and the manner in which they recited them resulted in many compliments to my school and me. As I took Mr. Goddard to Nephi after the Jubilee, he told me I had the best Sunday School in the Stake. I was also complimented by Bishop Johnson of Fountain Green, he saying he could see I was good for something besides selling wagons and plows.

I recall in connection with Bishop Johnson a little incident he related to me once. A certain woman in Fountain Green brought a nice large portion of butter to him as a tithing offering. He weighed it and gave her a receipt for so much butter which was all in a large lump. When time came for distributing the butter, Bishop Johnson found a large rock salt in the middle of the butter. He changed the receipt to read so much salt and so much butter. This was one of his favorite stories, and he enjoyed telling it very much.

I returned home from taking Mr. Goddard to Nephi and proceeded with my business. A few weeks later I went to Providence to dispose of my property there, which I traded to Charlie Johnson for a fine span of mares and a new Schuttler Wagon. On my return home, I stopped in Salt Lake City and loaded about a ton of hardware supplies to take on to Manti with me for use in my business. Between Salt Lake City and Manti I found out that the mares had not been represented to me correctly, both of them being balky. I disposed of the mares to a man whose name I cannot recall for $300.00, the harness included. I told him they were not trustworthy, but they were what he wanted for brooding purposes.


One day in September I was asked by Mr. Fox, who in connection with Oscar Coolidge and George Sidwell owned the E. W. Fox & Company Store, if I didn't want to buy in the store. Sidwell wanted to get out of the business, and the others were willing that he should. It was Mr. Fox's proposition that I should buy Sidwell's interest in the firm. From the company's books and the way it was represented to me, I thought it would be a good proposition, so I bought in with them. I made my mistake when I did not insist on another inventory. The price asked by Sidwell was $l,900.00. Maybe all the goods they said were there could have been found, but the prices that were attached to them were far in excess of their real value. The goods were shelf worn, and I am positive were not worth fifty cents on the dollar. This now, as I look back over my financial life, should, I think, be numbered step number two in my financial downfall.

Some time previous during the summer, Mr. Lowe had sent to me a set of surveyor's instruments to care for, cautioning me not to let their presence by known to anyone, and that at a future time they were to be delivered to a man who would bear a request for them from him. Mr. Lowe was then Vice President of the D. & R. G. Rail Road Company.

The remaining months of the year passed quickly. I had begun to feel as though I was slipping in my business, but I was nevertheless caught sleeping again during this year by a man named Erickson, who was a workman in the mines in Frisco. His business, I suppose, was hauling ore for he wanted to buy a large heavy wagon. I had to go to considerable expense and trouble to get the wagon. I got one from Corrinne, near Brigham City, for him through Mr. Lowe. The wagon represented $260.00, and other supplies he got totalled his bill to a little over $300.00. The veracity of the man was vouched for by Hans Larsen, he offering to mortgage his property to secure them, but I was so completely fooled by his stories and general appearance that I did not insist on the mortgage. As he drove away, I unknowingly said goodbye to the whole outfit. I later had to dig up every cent of it. This, I guess, could be step number three in the downfall.

Josh Billings once uttered a truth, at least it is the truth in my own case, which goes something like this, "When a man starts to go down everything is greased for the occasion." As I look back over my life of that time now, I wonder if someone hadn't told Josh about me and my position, thus affording him the inspiration for that remark. It seems, in spite of everything, that I couldn't pick a winner. I believe I had many very good friends in Manti, but some of the ones I trusted most were the first to shove, and I guess pushed the hardest. As the year 1881 opened up I realized that the E. W. Fox Company was not nearly so well managed as previously, and while I had begun to doubt about those other debtors I hadn't given up hope entirely. It was during the spring of this year 1881 that the surveying instruments were called for.

The man came with Mr. Lowe's request for them, and I delivered them to him. He was M. T. Burgess, then the chief engineer of the D. & R. G. R. R. Co. The company was then building a road up through Castle Valley, some 25 or 30 miles east of us. I had been recommended to Mr. Burgess by Mr. Lowe as being worthy of a contract with the company if I wanted it. Burgess and I discussed the situation quite thoroughly, and I finally decided to take a contract for twelve miles of grading. I spent about two weeks with Burgess over in Castle Valley and became quite familiar with the country and decided on the piece of work I was to do.


At that time I enjoyed credit with Walker Brothers, Studebaker's, Auerbach Brothers, as well as Mr. Lowe, almost without qualification. If I wanted any of their merchandise, I could get it cheerfully. I purchased dump carts from Studebaker's; plows, scrapers, dynamite, caps, fuses I got from Mr. Lowe's business; other things such as provisions, meats, flour, etc., I got from Auerbach and Walker Brothers. I hired men who had their own teams. I furnished hay and grain to them, purchasing these supplies where it was most convenient. As it was impossible for me to care for the implement business and my interest in the store and supervise the road construction at the same time, I was forced to hire a man to boss the grading gang. The man I hired was well represented to me and could have been a very big help to me except for his indifference and lack of interest in my work. His name was Mallet.

In the portion I had contracted, there was about four miles of ground that was easily graded and everything went along fine on the job. The other eight miles was through a more or less rough country and required much work. The work had progressed perhaps a mile or two into the bad part of the grading as winter came along. I had to construct something that would shelter the men during the winter, and I had to transport over there a supply of provisions sufficient to fed forty or fifty men during the winter. I had all this done at quite an expense when, without any warning whatsoever, the railroad company abandoned the work. It seems upon investigation that there were several routes that could have been followed to much better advantage, even the survey we were following could have been a little better perhaps. This was known as the Cottonwood Route, and the new route followed up Price River, crossed over Soldier Summit, and down Spanish Fork Canyon.

Heretofore I have accounted for the steps in my financial move downward by numbers, but now the misfortunes came so fast upon me that I couldn't count them. I'll just state the general conditions and call them all "the straw that broke that camel's back." The bottom simply slipped out from under me, and down I went with a dull thud. All the tools and implements I had purchased were left on my hands besides the provisions. A thing that cost me considerable money was the failure of Mallet to turn over to the company the four miles of grading that was done first, as soon as it was completed. The prevailing winds of that section working on the new grade with its loose dirt changed the center of the grade by blowing the dirt from one side to the other, and this work had to be done over. As soon as I possibly could, I got over into Castle Valley but failed to reach there in time to see Mr. Burgess. I left everything in the camp under the care of Harrison Fugate and went immediately to Salt Lake to see Mr. Lowe. I explained the whole situation to him. I told him of the property I had over there and of the accommodations I had built and the provisions I had on hand. I told him I thought the company should buy out my belongings, or at least redress me in some way for the expense I had incurred preparing for the winter's work. He advised me that in all probability the company would not do this; also he advised that I should have a law firm, Hagge & Jonason, enter suit against the company to recover the money I had expended. Before I went home, I turned my case over to this law firm.


Upon my return to Manti, Abner Lowery came to me and wanted to buy the property I had over there in Castle Valley. I gave him an order to Mr. Fugate for them to invoice the entire stock and turn it over to Mr. Lowery. Mr. Fugate was to bring one copy of the property over to me when he returned home. Lowery immediately made off with the property; the only thing I ever got out of it was the duplicate copy of the amount of goods that Fugate brought home. Lowery didn't have the money to pay for the goods at the time. In order to give him a chance, I let him move the property from where it was over to the new line of work. He was to pay me the next summer. Next summer he turned out a failure, and I was over there in Manti holding the bag, out everything.

During all this financial trouble I was having, we had another baby girl born to us, whom we named Minnie. She was born on September 28, 1881; the name of Minnie was given her because it was a favorite. I do not know who christened her.

As soon as I found myself in the condition I was in, after my railroad experience, I realized that I was trying to do too much. I had too many irons in the fire, and as a result, I let some of them burn. I tried harder than ever with my other work, but I was discouraged. I seemed to be unable to get going, everything seemed to turn unfavorably toward me; during the winter the implement business dwindled to almost nothing, and I never did get a red cent out of the store. As things grew worse with me, I became almost despondent and except for the arrival of F. M. Lyman upon the scene, things would possibly have been much worse with me.

The first time I ever met or, in fact, ever heard of F. M. Lyman was in Fillmore, Utah. He was then County Clerk of Millard County, and I had been instructed by Mr. Lowe to call on Mr. Lyman to see if it would be possible to get him to take the local agency for Mr. Lowe's business. This was in July 1876 while I was canvassing for Mr. Lowe from the Salt Lake House. He said he was going to Salt Lake in a few days and would see Mr. Lowe. From the very first time I saw Mr. Lyman, I was impress by him. His character and personality appealed from the first. His presence was enough to make me feel that he was a man of integrity. The views he express were always fair and always gave credit to where it belonged. He entertained good wholesome views on life and always spoke well of his neighbors and friends. He made me feel from the very first that he was a man of honor and as honest as he possibly could be. I felt he was a man I could love and trust, and I wanted to shake his hand and be friends with him. Of course I cannot account for his feeling, but he was certainly a friend in need to me and to him I owe much.

About the time my misfortunes and my spirits were at their lowest ebb, Mr. Lyman, with President John Taylor, George Q. Cannon, and Moses Thatcher came to Manti and held a quarterly conference on Saturday and Sunday. At the close of Sunday evening meeting as I was leaving my seat in the choir, Mr. Lyman motioned to me to come to him, which I did. He wanted to know if I remembered him, and after I told him I did, he asked me if I could take him to Mayfield on south of Manti 18 miles. I told him I could as my team stood idle in the barn. He wanted to go on over there for a meeting next day at ten o'clock in the morning. Next morning as soon as I was ready, I went down to Bishop Mabin's where Mr. Lyman was stopping. From here I drove back home and explained to him that I had a very sick child, which was Minnie, and that I wished he would administer to her, which he cheerfully did. We then started for Mayfield.


The Word of Wisdom was almost a part of his life, he loved and respected it, and we had proceeded a very short distance until he began to feel me out concerning it. He asked me first about tobacco and when he found out that I did not, and never had. I had had my "morning's morning" and as a result of his talk, I had begun to feel a guilty conscience bearing down on me. Even as abruptly as he approached these subjects to me, I did not feel in the least offended toward him as I might have at some others had they approached me. I can't explain why, but he made me feel he had my interest at heart. My conscience was accusing me, I knew I was pursuing a course I shouldn't; I was more or less despondent, and it seemed everybody had a kick for me on down the hill, at least none seemed interested enough in my final outcome to offer a little encouragement to me; so I had pursued my way even against a better judgement. When Mr. Lyman started out on the Word of Wisdom, I felt as though this was an examination of me, so after I answered his question about tobacco, without offering him a chance to ask any more questions, I told him I did something worse than that. I believe now he had smelt my breath and only feigned the surprise he showed. He reminded me that I was Superintendent of the Sunday School, along with some other little responsibilities I held, that brought me in contact with the young of the community. He asked me how I could stand before those young people and ask them to refrain from doing something I was practicing. I told him I did not do that. No more was said just then, but we drove on to Mayfield and there proceeded with the meeting, where Mr. Lyman gave a very excellent address. After the final singing, I offered the benediction at the suggestion of Mr. Lyman to the Bishop.

At the close of the afternoon meeting, I went up to Mr. Lyman to bid him goodbye, so I could start home. He told me not to be in a hurry but to go down to the Bishop's with him for supper. I agreed to that alright, and upon its completion, I started to bid Mr. Lyman good-bye again. He asked me not to be in a hurry as he wanted to see me. I went on outside and in a few moments he followed me. We went out in the yard to a place where we were sure we were alone, and then the argument began. His first statement almost was that he wanted me to quit drinking. He said he thought I was too good a man to waste my life with drink and fall someday into the gutter. I refused to grant to his request quite consistently for a long time, but as the shadows increased their length and the sun began to get quite low in the west, Mr. Lyman remembered he was to rejoin his friends in Gunnison that evening. He told me this and that he would have to be going pretty soon or miss his appointment, but still I refused. Finally he turned squarely to me and placed a hand on my shoulder and said, "Mr. Bybee, I'll never leave you until you promise me you will quit drinking whisky. You'll either promise me right now, or I am going home with you, or else you're going home with me, and under no condition will I leave you until I have your promise." Here was an evidence of interest and friendship the sincerity of which I've never questioned, that was a new experience in my life, and it certainly appealed to me, and I could feel my argument for refusal weakening. However, I refused once more to grant his request on the ground now that perhaps temptation would become too great for me, and I would fail to keep my promise. His reply to this knocked down my weak defense. His words were to this effect, "I believe that you are a man of your word, and that if you promise me to quit drinking you will, and I expect you to keep your promise." I gave up and made the promise to him. He advised me not to make known our agreement to anyone. He reminded me again of my responsibilities and advised me never to forget to pray for help and guidance in the hours of my trials and temptation. We shook hands, and I went to my team while Mr. Lyman went to the house. I hadn't been away from Mr. Lyman five minutes until one of my neighbors from Manti, Warren Snow, asked me for a ride home. He was one of my chief aids in my drinking exploits. I gave him a ride home and worried all the way for fear he would be the first to tempt me. He evidently was "bone dry" on the way home, but when I let him out at his front gate, I was also close to headquarters. As soon as Snow was clear of the buggy, I applied the whip and was off for home before he could say anything. The only time I looked around I saw Snow headed across the street for "roll call."


According to Mr. Lyman's instructions, I made my troubles one of prayer, and from that day in Mayfield I can truthfully say, I never have craved for a drink. My appetite for it ceased bothering immediately and entirely. For a time I felt in awe of the ridicule I might be subjected to, but I never was bothered much even that way. Mr. Fox was perhaps my closest associate in this drinking business; we always had our little supply on hand, and we "organized" between ourselves many times. The morning I went back to work I spent the whole forenoon figuring out some way to evade the "organization." I did this by a stall on medicine but worked not only at noon but at night as well. Next day the same procedure failed to give as good results. Mr. Fox was a little suspicious, so he asked me if Mr. Lyman had been working on me. I told him he had and that I had promised to quit. I respect Mr. Fox's attitude taken on that occasion. He said, "If you have really decided to quit drinking, I never will place a temptation in your way again," and he never did. He told me that anytime I wanted whisky to help myself to his supply and that I would find it in the same one place. I thanked him for his consideration.

I made my reformation as complete as I could. My hardware business was now broken down and paid me very little. The store was always a "no good" proposition to me. However, I stayed with them throughout the remainder of 1881 and 1882. I resigned my position with the Sunday School during the summer of 1882.

One day during the month of June, I believe it was, I received a telegram from Mr. Lowe, advising me to come to Salt Lake as he had some information for me about my suit with the railroad company. I went to Salt Lake as soon as I could, and upon arrival there, I went immediately to Mr. Lowe's office. He told me about a new engineer who had succeeded Mr. Burgess with the company and that he was in Salt Lake at this time. His name was Goss. Among other things, he was there to effect a settlement with me. I was informed by Mr. Lowe that the company had sent him to investigate my claim and see if it was justifiable, and if so they were to make some kind of redress to me. I was presented to Mr. Goss by Mr. Lowe, who had advised me to compromise my claim. My claim, as handled by Hogg and Jonason, was originally for a little over $9,000.00. After a thorough consideration of my case, he offered me a cash sum of $4,200.00, less than half my claim. I asked for the opportunity to consider this proposition and was granted until next day to do so. I consulted Mr. Lowe, and he advised me to take it. I was doing this business without the advice from my lawyers. I went to see them, and they advised me to settle and that they would relinquish any claim they had on it. So next morning I went to Mr. Goss and told him I would accept his plan of settlement. He then had to get the company's official acceptance of the plan. This was perhaps the best plan for me as the railroad company could have held me off indefinitely and then might escape without paying me anything at all. I returned to Manti as soon as I could and tended my affairs there with Mr. Fox.

Sometime in the early spring, 1883, I think in March, I received word from Mr. Lowe that he had my check and was holding it for me. So I went up to Salt Lake City and got my check. I put the money in Walker Brothers Bank, subject to check. I paid Studebaker's up entirely, as I did Auerbach Brothers. I made a payment to Mr. Lowe and took some money home with me to pay some bills I owed there. At this time I owed Walker Brothers about $700.00, and I still had some money coming from the railroad company on the final estimate of my work; I promised this to them. They asked no question but accepted my word. I had about $700.00 coming from this work which would offset their demands.


In the fall of 1882 I turned my implement business back to Mr. Lowe, and his representative, a Mr. Ruth, accepted the salvage of my wreck and turned it over to E. W. Fox & Company, and at that time at the request of Mr. Lowe, I mortgaged my home to him for $l,200.00. This mortgage was in default for Harriet failed to sign it because neither Mr. Ruth or I knew it was necessary.

Soon after I gave up my business with Mr. Lowe, I became interested in Upper Snake River Valley through some correspondences we carried on with some of our friends and relatives. There were some excellent opportunities to gain good land up there, and upon the arrival of each letter, we became more and more interested in the place, and then I wanted to go somewhere and take another trial. In the early spring of 1883, in April, I became interested enough to make a trip up to Eagle Rock and was met there by one of Nephi Stephens' boys. Stephens was then located about 18 miles north of Eagle Rock at Cedar Buttes, now known as Menan. While there I located a piece of property that I liked, and so on my way home a few days later, I filed on the ground in the U. S. Land Offices at Oxford. I went home determined if possible to return to Idaho as soon as I could.

I had been at home a couple of weeks when Jesse May was born to us. She arrived on April 17, 1883. Harriet was cared for by a neighbor woman. Our baby was given this name I guess because it was a favorite with us. I don't know who christened her.

We now set out to prepare for our journey to Idaho as fast as we could. The business with Mr. Fox I turned over to him. Out of my $1,900.00 investment I received Mr. Fox's thanks, a suit of clothes, and more worries than a modern adding machine could total in a year. My property, except household goods, had been turned over to Mr. Lowe, and some of the household goods we sold, only keeping what we could conveniently carry.

Harriet, with the children except Jim, left Manti about June 1st and went to Smithfield. Frank was then firing on the D. & R. G. Railroad. Robert was in the mountains east of Manti working at a saw mill. All the rest had gone north. Jim remained with me to help me. As soon as I could arrange my affairs I departed for Idaho. We had two horses on a wagon, and all the household goods we were taking with us. We followed Harriet a little over a month later, leaving on July 6, 1883.

I stopped in Salt Lake a couple of days to see Mr. Lowe. I went to his office and there informed him of my intentions of going to Idaho. I told him how I was fixed and what I thought my prospects were in Idaho. I asked him if he intended to interfere with my going. He said he would not. He said he believed that he would get his money if ever I got it and that I could go where I wanted, and he never would interfere with me.


We went on to Smithfield, arriving there about the last of July. We "laid by" in Smithfield until about the 15th or 20th of August. During our stay in Smithfield, it became evident to me that my little Schuttler wagon wasn't going to carry all of us and the furniture too, so I sent Jim back to Manti for a team and wagon belonging to Frank. He had some trouble locating the horses. Just as soon as he got back to Smithfield, we departed for Idaho. We were in no hurry starting out for we had been warned to be quite late in the season, about September first, on account of the mosquitoes, which were very bad.

We went on up through Cache Valley, over to March Creek, and down to the Portneuf River to Pocatello's present location, and north from there to Blackfoot, on through Eagle Rock to my homestead some eighteen miles north of there. We spent a couple of days in Oxford visiting some of Harriet's folks. Our travel was quite slow. We went on our way without incident until we reached Mosquito Springs east of Pocatello. Here we made camp, turned our horses out, and spread a wagon cover out to put our supper on close by the fire.

Soon after we had our supper as we were preparing for bed, something happened that spoiled the sleep of most of us. We had spread a carpet over the ground upon which we intended to make our bed. Libbie was sitting on the edge of this carpet quite close to the fire holding the baby, Jesse May. No one was paying any particular attention until Libbie called out, "Here's a snake!" It had crawled over the carpet between Libbie and the fire and went right on its way across the carpet. Jim was first upon the scene of action with the neck yoke of one of the wagons, and no sooner had he seen the snake than he knew it was a rattlesnake, and about the second or third pass with the neck yoke, killed the snake. Here the preparations for bed on the ground ceased, and those of us that could, slept in the wagons. We were perched and hung around in several different places and got along as best we could, however, very few of us slept any that night. I, afterward, found out that this was quite a locality for snakes.

Next morning, as soon as we possibly could get our breakfast and our horses rounded up, we were on our way for Blackfoot, which we reached that evening. One place on the road just south of Blackfoot in order to pull through a cut in the road through which the railroad also ran. As we approached this cut we noticed the head light of a train coming. I thought it best to wait and let the train pass as something might happen in the cut. Well, if I had known how long that wait was to have been, very likely we would have chanced making the cut, for we certainly were forced to wait a long time. Finally the train passed, and we followed through and reached Blackfoot and went to bed there without our supper. After an early breakfast next morning, we set out for Eagle Rock, where we arrived in the evening, making our camp just south of Eagle Rock on the river bank. We prepared our suppers and went to bed. Next morning I went up to town and bought a couple of loaves of bread from a bakery run by Charles Bunting. We had to throw every bit of the bread away for the bread was so impregnated with flies that we couldn't possibly use it. Never before nor since have I seen so many flies in the same amount of space. As soon as we were ready, we went to Cedar Buttes where we went to the home of Nephi Stephens. We reached here on August 31st, 1883.

They received us very kindly, and we stayed with them about two weeks. Meanwhile we were making plans and arrangements to move to our place. Everyone was more or less weary when we completed our trip, and we surely appreciated our rest.


We made the move to our place about the middle of September and located our camp in a nice grove of cottonwoods on the bank of Snake River. We lived in a tent. One evening our horses got away from us, so Jim and I started out after them as soon as we missed them. We were not away very long until we found them. They evidently were frightened by something in the woods, but in a little while forgot their scare. It was dusk in the evening when we left camp and quite dark when we returned. Harriet, during our absence, had been quite badly frightened by a "hoot owl" in the tops of a nearby tree. It was the first one she had ever heard, and she was unable to locate where the noise came from. She was there alone, and the weird, plaintiff notes of the owl were too much. She grabbed up the old stove poker and got up on the bed prepared to do battle with whatever showed up. However, we saved the owl, all right, for we arrived home just about the time Harriet's belligerent arrangements were completed. She was quite badly frightened but soon felt better after our return.

At the time of our arrival at Cedar Buttes, the supply of prairie chicken was practically unlimited, not particularly wild, and often were found on our table, being easily obtained. Little white-tail deer were quite plentiful then, it requiring very little effort to go and get one nearly any time we wanted it.

After the first of October, Bishop W. B. Preston of Logan, Utah, came up to Cedar Buttes on his way to Rexburg. He was attending to Church affairs en route to Rexburg. Before he left Cedar Buttes, he asked John R. Poole and myself with several others to go to Rexburg with him, which those of us who could, did. At this time Bishop Preston was the Presiding Bishop of Cache Valley, and this part of Idaho was then an addition to Cache Stake and was thus under his supervision. His business then in particular was to organize wards and branches more completely. We were gone two or three days to Rexburg and upon our return home found everything all right.

So far as I know or have ever been able to find out, John R. Poole was about the first white man to become familiar with this part of the country. At least it was through his reports to Church Authorities and assistants that some of the first settlers came there. His first visit to the place was the result of his team of mules getting away from him and crossing Snake River on the ice. He was then working on the railroad at Roberts, and in his pursuit of the mules, he located this territory which appealed to him as a very good place for a colony. He reported his find to Franklin D. Richards.

About this time or perhaps a little previous, John R. Poole, Nephi Stephens, Spencer Raymond, and perhaps some others had filed upon a section of land here for a townsite. Everyone else almost in the community had been asked to move onto the ground before I was asked, but the opportunity to me solved a problem of a place to live the coming winter. During Bishop Preston's stay, arrangements had been made to build a tithing house on the townsite, and it was someone to occupy this place and care for the tithing that they wanted when I was offered the place. There was to be a two-roomed house with a large room for us to live in and the other a store room for whatever tithing came in. Everybody, nearly, agreed to help to build the place, but Jim and I, with Nephi Stephens, did most of the work.

We lived on the river about two weeks and then moved back to Stephens place, where we stayed until the house was near enough completed for us to live comfortable in. Then we moved there. I was given the privilege of using the necessities I had to have out of the tithing by Bishop Preston, but keeping, at the same time, a record not only of what I used but all I received as well, with the understanding I was to repay for all I used. In this way we were able to move into a house for the winter.

During our little layover in Smithfield before we started for Idaho, I met President Thomas E. Ricks, and he asked me when I was coming to Idaho. I told him that in a few weeks I would be up in Cedar Buttes where I had filed on a piece of ground. He told me he had some work for me when I got located. He said he wanted me to take charge of the Sunday Schools throughout his Stake which was then called Bannock. During my visit to Rexburg with Bishop Preston, I was set apart as Stake Superintendent of Sunday Schools, and upon my return to Cedar Buttes, I organized a Sunday School. They had had a school there previously, but there was no organization whatsoever. This work was done about November 1st, 1883. Albert Ellsworth was selected as Superintendent, and I think his sister, Mary Ellsworth Raymond, was Secretary.

About a month later I went to Cleveland, now known as LaBelle, and organized another Sunday School. If I recall correctly, Brigham Morgan was selected as Superintendent. The rest of the organization I cannot recall. The organization was completed some time later.

I think it was about the middle of December when I went over to Lewisville and completed the organization of their Sunday School, started sometime previously by President Ricks.

The winter I spent without doing very much except visiting some of the nearby Sunday Schools and caring for the tithing business. I had my team to care for which I fed on some wild hay I had managed to put up down on the river place. The forepart of the winter we enjoyed ourselves very much, and the year 1884 came upon us, and up until some time in the forepart of February, everything went along fine. During this month our baby Jesse May contracted a very severe cold, and in a very short time pneumonia complicated the sickness which resulted in her death on February 27, 1884. She was buried down on Nephi Stephens' property, this being before a cemetery had been selected.

With the opening of spring, 1884, as soon as I could, I went to plowing on my place and planted about ten acres of wheat.

Time passed quickly and pleasantly over us until about June 1st. One day about this time I received a message from President Ricks that some of the Church Officials were in Rexburg, and that they wanted me to come up there for a consultation about the advisability of organizing some more wards and the proper places to establish them. I went as soon as I could, conveniently. I was gone about ten days. Apostles Wilford Woodruff and H. J. Grant were the men up there. After a short consultation, we decided to visit Teton City, Salem, Egin Bench, and all the country adjacent to these places. The nights when we did not return to Rexburg were spent with Bishop Parker on Egin Bench.


One day about the time our business was completed, three men drove a band of horses up on the hill south and east of Rexburg. It was quite late in the evening, perhaps a little after sundown, when they arrived there. They had, I guess, about eighteen or twenty horses, and good ones too. They left the horses up on the hill and came on down in town to secure accommodations for the night. There were few places where it was possible to take care of them, but finally Brigham Ricks offered them his place while he went to the home of his brother and spent the night. Scarcely had they made themselves comfortable in the house until a sheriff with a posse of five or six men came in town. They demanded to know where the men were who had brought the horses there. They were shown where they were spending the night. It was now so dark that it (was) inadvisable to go to the house to see the men, so they decided to wait until next morning. The three men who drove the horses there were horse thieves and were making away with these from Montana. They seemed to have no suspicions at all of the presence of officers. I suppose a guard was kept around the house so as to prevent their escape during the night. Next morning they seemed to be in no hurry, waiting until quite late to get up; in fact, Mr. Ricks woke them up and asked them to move out. Previous to Mr. Ricks going in, the place was surrounded. One of them, the first one to come out of the house, walked leisurely toward the barn; at about the time he arrived there, the next one was just leaving the house. One of the posse commanded him to throw up his hands, which he did but began to run at the same time. He was fired at but was missed intentionally. He fell face forward and lay quietly there. The man by the house was shot and died about one-half hour later, as he tried to regain the house. The other man in the house was ordered out, which he reluctantly did. As soon as this man gave up, the first one shot at got up and came over and gave up to the sheriff also. The man that died suffered much before he died. Our party stood on the opposite side of the street and saw this whole affair.

The day following the shooting, I went home to Cedar Buttes in company with Elders Woodruff and Grant. President Ricks was taking them to Eagle Rock; there they were to entrain for home. Upon their return home, they did not recommend the organization of any new wards, but they did recommend the organization of a new Stake.

I almost forgot to make mention of something I did during the month of May of this year that I am quite proud of. I secured, through William Homer, quite a number of Poplar trees which I planted in front of our lot just across the street south from the old grist mill in the eastern part of Cedar Buttes. I believe that everyone of the trees I planted grew and are large, nice trees, being there the last time I was there some forty years later.

About the time I returned from Rexburg, a company of people intending to make their homes near Rexburg came to Cedar Buttes. The big majority of the party only stayed over night, but one family was overtaken with sickness and were forced to remain in Cedar Buttes. Later it was found out this sickness was diphtheria, and it proved to be very serious throughout our little community. I believe there were two members of that unfortunate family died there before they finally became well enough to complete their journey. From the little community of Cedar Buttes, fourteen or fifteen members were buried before the disease was finally controlled.

This summer I had one of the best gardens I have ever been able to grow anywhere. I was advised constantly not to go to the time and expense of caring for a garden for I would have to give it up on account of the mosquitoes. But I planted and cared for the garden all right, and it was certainly a good one. The most of my time up until about August 10th, I spent around the place fixing it up as best as I could. I dug a well on the tithing property and cared for my crop on the other place.


Sometime between the 10th and 15th of August, a party consisting of President John Taylor, George Q. Cannon, George Teasdale, and F. M. Lyman came to Rexburg to complete the organization of Bannock Stake, acting upon the reports of Elders H. J. Grant and Wilford Woodruff. I had been notified of their coming by President Ricks, and in company with Nephi Stephens and some other parties, I went to Rexburg and attended their meeting held on August 17, 1884. I was advised by Ricks to remain away from the morning session of the meetings they were holding. During this meeting they were to select individuals to hold the offices in the new Stake. He said there may be some things said that perhaps I wouldn't care to hear. They selected twelve men to constitute the High Council of the Stake. Thomas Bassett was chosen Stake Clerk. In selecting individuals to act as Bishops in some of the wards in the new Stake, I was mentioned for the position in Cedar Buttes.

Upon mention of my name, Mr. Lyman became interested at once, and before he quit he secured enough information concerning me to know that we had met before. He asked for no further consideration of my name until he had found me and had a talk with me. President Ricks had recommended me, and George Q. Cannon knew me through our Juvenile Instructor business, and among them there seemed to be no reason why they should delay; however, they granted Mr. Lyman his request. During the intermission between meetings Mr. Lyman found me, and together we went down to Thomas E. Ricks, Junior's for dinner. Before our meal was ready, Mr. Lyman took me off to one side and asked me about the promise I had made him that day in Mayfield. I informed him there had been absolutely no violations on my part. And then right on top of that he asked me if I used tea and coffee, and I told him I did. Then he lit out to get from me a promise that I would quit using them. We each in turn advanced our favorite arguments. I finally agreed to compromise the affair with him. I would quit tea, but I wanted coffee. Then he told me they were contemplating using me in some other ways than the ones I already occupied. I held out for a while longer, but he finally bested me again, and I agreed to quit them both, which I did, and up to now I have used only one cup of coffee, and that was taken as the result of a dare, and one cup of tea, up to now some forty years later, is all that has ever passed my lips, and it was used then as a stimulant.

As soon as I had made my promise to Mr. Lyman, he hunted up the rest of his party and withdrew his objections, if such they were, and that afternoon during the meeting I was ordained a Bishop. F. M. Lyman was the mouth and set me apart to preside over Cedar Buttes Ward. We attended the meetings on the 18th of August, and on the 19th, we went back to Cedar Buttes. We went on to the South Fork of the Snake which we were forced to cross in boats on account of high water. The parties who brought us from Rexburg returned from here home, and we were met by other parties on the opposite bank, who took us to Cedar Buttes. During our Rexburg meeting, President Taylor made the statement that with proper cultivation 500,000 people could live nicely in this country. On our way to Cedar Buttes, we were to pass the Little Buttes just east of there, and it was President Taylor's intention of going to the top of one of these to view the surrounding country. When he finally got where he could see, he was much impressed and said he would change his estimate to a million people who through proper cultivation could have homes and be comfortable there.

We held a meeting in Cedar Butte's the afternoon of the 19th, and from here our visiting friends went to Eagle Rock to entrain for Salt Lake City.

The next few months passed quickly, and in addition to caring for my crops and the garden, I put up as much wild hay as I could. I attended to my duties as best I could and prepared to meet the winter.

In November of this year I was elected in the general election to the House of Representatives with John Donaldson of Teton City and a Mr. Pratt of Oxford. At this time Oneida County extended from Montana's southern boundary to Utah's northern boundary. All the intermediate country was Oneida County, and we were located within its limits, and Pratt, Donaldson, and I represented this district. About this time the total population of the Saints was much less than the total of the other denominations, and our enemies of the section were using their influence to arouse sentiment against us. They were advancing the propaganda that has always followed the Saints and had succeeded to a certain extent in making things embarrassing for us. Idaho was then a territory; William Bunn was Governor, a Mr. Pride was Secretary of State, and Fred T. Dubois was Marshal. It was a known fact that there was to be an effort made in Idaho's legislature, with the Church Officials in Utah, as well as with the Saints in Idaho, to prevent anyone in sympathy with us to take his seat in the legislature.

Anticipating this, a lawyer named Joseph Rich had been employed to go with us to Boise on the same train, thus all arriving there together. At one time Mr. Rich was a slave to liquor but had controlled himself of late and seemed to be perfectly trustworthy, and except for an occasional drink, he was almost a total abstainer. We had to take the coach from Kuna to Boise, and upon our arrival there, we secured accommodations at the Overland Hotel. I think it was the only hotel in Boise at that time. There was no heat in the rooms. A large fireplace in the lobby furnished most of the heat. However, we spent quite a comfortable night, and next morning after applying our beauty touches and securing breakfast, we started out to get somewhat acquainted with the town. This was the day before the legislature was to meet. We had gone but a short distance down the street when we met four gentlemen. One of them was Governor Bunn, another Secretary Pride, the third was F. T. Dubois, and the fourth was W. H. Homer, my brother-in-law. I was introduced first by Mr. Homer to the Governor, then John Donaldson. I then introduced Mr. Pratt to them. After we had exchanged greetings, Mr. Dubois asked in a casual way what we were doing in Boise. We told him our business down there was to attend the session of the legislature just convening as representatives from Oneida County. Mr. Dubois came to the point quickly. He already knew our business down there, but he proceeded to tell us the election that gave us our authority as representatives was a fraud. Since then another election had been held and men elected properly to take our places, and that we had just as well return home.


At this time we did not think it necessary to pay any attention to their statements, so we waited around until next day when the legislature was to open, and when it did, we were right there and secured seats. As soon as the house was organized, which was at 12 o'clock noon, a man from Lemhi secured the floor, and addressing the president, said there were three men in the assembly who had no business there, and he moved that they should be ordered out. We knew this was an attack on us but we kept our seats. He secured the floor again and asked that we be ordered out and not one of us moved. This third effort was somewhat more lengthy than the two previous, and this time he insisted that if we did not get up and go out that the sergeant-at-arms put us out. This time Mr. Donaldson got up, and after stating that he supposed he with Mr. Pratt and me were the ones meant, told the assembly that we had been duly elected to the House of Representatives and were there to assume the responsibilities attached thereto, and that we had our certificates of election in our pockets and would show them to the proper committee when the time arrived. I followed Mr. Donaldson and Mr. Pratt followed me. Upon completion of Mr. Pratt's little talk, we all got up and walked out. After our departure they appointed a committee on credentials, and a few other matters were attended to, and then they adjourned until next day.

As soon as we found out the credentials committee had been appointed, we immediately tried to find out where they were in session. We had considerable trouble finding them and then almost by accident. We stopped in a livery barn to secure a little information from there about where they were meeting. The man we addressed pointed to a room across the street, and there we found them. The committee looked up, just long enough to find out who it was, and then accorded us no more attention than if we failed to exist. We gave them our credentials which were afforded no consideration at all, and we never saw them again. All during this time we had been unable to find Mr. Rich, but when we did find him, he was drunk and had been so nearly ever since he landed in Boise. We spent three or four days in Boise awaiting reply from President Ricks to whom we had written about our troubles. When we did hear from him, he advised us to come home, which we did.

The only courtesy and consideration we had been shown at all in Boise was the effort put forth by a man, whose name I cannot now recall, when he secured half rates for our return fare home.

Politics in the State of Idaho at that time were the rottenest, most corrupt, and disreputable of any I have ever heard of, and much worse than any other I ever have seen. The election of the men who were allowed to take our places was a fraud and a crime. The man, who was so persistent in having us removed from the legislature, was the man elected in that fraud to take my place. In many of the precincts, even in our own communities, many more votes were cast than were registered. That election and the enactments of laws of that legislature were a disgrace to the territory of Idaho, and as long as I live I'll always be ashamed of the fact that I lived in Idaho, which at that time was a dumping ground for the very rottenest of the political aspirants of the government. When a man became so rotten politically, that he would not be tolerated in states where the people were allowed to choose for themselves, he was appointed as officials in the territories. There were some very good officials in the territory of Idaho, and I desire to take nothing from them, but at the same time, some of them were the lowest and rottenest men in the nation, both politically and morally.

About the time of our return home, President Ricks had received a letter from George Q. Cannon. The activities of Idaho's legislature had already received attention in Utah, and it was perhaps appreciated by them, before it was by the Saints in Idaho, that the legislature here was enacting legislation that was calculated to bind us hand and foot and disfranchise us at the same time. They proposed to make slaves of us subject to laws that were simply intolerable and were a violation of the constitution of the United States. George Q. Cannon's letter was to ascertain if we were doing anything in opposition to the laws, and if we were prepared in anyway to offset their efforts to bind us, and to our own detriment we were slack in these matters. The lawyer, Mr. Rich, we had taken to Boise, had disturbed if not betrayed us, and the legislature of this winter, 1884-85, was freed from any opposition from us by Mr. Rich's actions, and the fraud that had been perpetuated to deprive us of our seats in the legislature.

It was during this session of the legislature that the infamous "Test Oath" was enacted. Its purpose was to disfranchise every Saint in Idaho also to discourage any further immigration of Saints into Idaho. We were deprived of the privilege of holding any public office, were to have no voice in the way our taxes were to be spent, but at the same time being forced to pay them. It was a clear case of "taxation without representation", and further we were not allowed a voice in choosing the officers to represent the territory. No office, even so small as a school trustee, was to be intrusted to the care of one of the Saints. The Test Oath was approved on Feb.3, 1885; this was the 13th session of the territorial legislature. While in the Test Oath the Saints were not specifically named; nevertheless, in reality this legislation was directed against us. This Test Oath was prescribed in addition to the usual qualifications exacted in the state previously, and which were used in neighboring states and territories.

When the Saints first started colonizing what is now Southern Idaho, they believed they were still within territory of Utah; their interests were in common with those of Utah, and it was with them that they cast their lot, paid their tributes to her, and their votes helped elect her officials. Their interests in politics beyond their own immediate concerns reached no farther than Utah's affairs. We were located out about a thousand miles from civilization, and in this isolated position we had no occasion to concern ourselves. However, as soon as we found out our lot was to be cast with Idaho, and realizing our taxes were paid to her treasury and spent by Idaho's officials, we began to interest ourselves in what faced us.

Idaho's political condition at this time was peculiar in so far as we were concerned. One party almost openly condemning us and uniting later with the other one, forcing the Saints entirely on their own responsibility and making it necessary to band themselves together for their own protection. It was the actions of the two leading political parties of the state, acting in conjunction with one another, that we were ousted from our seats in the legislature and that the "Test Oath" became a law. As I look back now over the early colonizations of Idaho, I wonder if the students of Idaho's history today can't see the unjust and unfair conditions that were forced upon the first bona fide settlers of the state, and if they won't agree with me that Idaho's past isn't without stain. After Idaho was able to "clean house" of the political trash that was dumped here, and the people could see through and realize to a small extent how unfair things had been to us, and even though she now recognizes and appreciates what our early pioneering meant to the state, I still hold it against her. I can still remember the chagrin and embarrassment I was subjected to, and the fact that I, along with many others, was disfranchised on account of my religious convictions which our Constitution professes to guarantee.

As soon as we appreciated the seriousness of the situation ahead of us, we started out to establish some method to secure finances to employ a lawyer to represent us and fight our battle out for us in the courts. This procedure was known as the "Defense Fund." As scarce as money was in those times, and as hard as it was to secure, it is somewhat of a puzzle to me now, as I look back over those times, to know how that money was subscribed, but they rallied to our cause in pretty fair shape. As soon as this Test Oath rascality was passed by the legislature and was signed by the governor, our activities commenced. A committee of three men, of which John Donaldson was one, was chosen to enlist the services of the best lawyer obtainable, one preferably in sympathy with our cause, to represent us. Our case was finally carried into court where it was lost to us, and in a succession of appeals even to Supreme Court of the United States, and there our case was again lost. The first enactment of the Test Oath made any Saint, whether a believer in polygamy or not, subject to it.

Even when the time came for statehood, the territory had no better supporters than the Saints who exerted every effort to secure that end. They labored with loyalty and zeal and gave their best assistance, only to find out that as soon as statehood was secured that there was a movement on foot to perpetuate the political bondage under which the Saints had labored. The first session of the state legislature served only to make the conditions worse. They went further than the state constitution dared. During this time our efforts in our own behalf began to secure good results for us. The injustice of our conditions were appealing to the fairer, soberer thinkers of the state, and as a result, the second legislature of the state acting on instructions contained in Governor McConnell's message to the legislature, irrespective of political party, passed a bill striking out of the elector's oath all its unjust and retroactive provisions, which act was approved on February 23, 1893, by Governor McConnell.

All during our troubles in the territory, as at all other times in our latter day history, the Saints were ever loyal to the flag and always maintained a devotion for the institutions of the country. Upon the passage of that bill in 1893, conditions with the Saints immediately became better. A feeling of confidence prevailed between the political parties and the Saints, and the Saints, who had been forced to organize among themselves for what good they could get out of it, now assumed relations with their favorite party, and the interest displayed by them in election matters left no room for doubt about the sincerity and appreciation of the changed conditions. The State's third legislature wiped the slate clean by removing all strictures and references to the Saints from the State's laws. Even though the State now places just appreciation upon the Saints and their early efforts toward colonizing the state and an active and beneficial participation in the affairs of the same, yet in all sincerity I can say that I take no pride or satisfaction in the fact that I have been a resident of Idaho now about forty-two years, the only place where I have ever been disfranchised for my religious beliefs.

My return home from Boise was sometime about the middle of December. Here my activities included my church duties and what other things befell me in the daily affairs of our family life. I willingly gave every assistance to the "Defense Fund" I could. In this spring of 1885 I secured some fruit trees from Harriet's father. They were apple trees and I planted them on the lot across the street south of the old mill. I had a pretty fair garden that summer and a small crop on the ranch down on the river. I cannot recall of anything of real importance that occurred this year. Of all the places I have ever been in, this vicinity around Cedar Buttes was absolutely the worst place for mosquitoes I ever saw. In fact, all the mosquito stories I have ever heard aren't in exaggeration of mosquito conditions here. I almost believe the story of old Tom Wright, who said he could step outside his door in mosquito season with a pint cup and with one swipe over his head catch a quart of mosquitos every time.

On February 8th, 1885, at Cedar Buttes, Ida was born to us. I christened her and gave her this name in respect to Harriet's sister. The christening was done on April 2, 1885. Harriet was cared for in her sickness by Jennette Poole.

During this year of 1885 in the month of May I went over to Egin Bench country and organized a Sunday School in what later became the Ward of Plano. I cannot recall who was chosen superintendent.


The winter of 1885-86 passed over us without any particular event occurring that is particularly worth of note until about April 1st, 1886.

With the opening of the year 1886, our troubles became even worse and were complicated further by action of the Federal Government of the United States. They had enacted legislation against the Saints, particularly against the practice of polygamy. When these laws were first passed, they were not overlooked by the Saints, but considering the situation from the point of view expressed in the first amendment to the constitution, it appeared to them that the enactment of these laws was unconstitutional and an encroachment upon the exercise of religious convictions and that the Supreme Court of the United States would most certainly uphold this view, and as a result of these beliefs, the Saints had continued the practice of polygamy. The enemies of the Saints had never ceased to try to arouse the public sentiment of the nation against the Saints and had in every way possible served to bring them into disrepute mostly through false vicious lies. About this time the Saints were just beginning to feel the pressure exerted by the Federal Government in the presence of several Federal Marshals. Their efforts were concentrated against anyone with more than one wife, and their activities had forced some of the leading church members to go into hiding, as well as some individuals who were residents of the different wards.

At this time President Ricks had W. F. Rigby and Frank Gunnell, Jr., as counselors, and Presidents Ricks and Rigby were offenders according to the federal laws and were being pursued so closely that they found it necessary to hide. This being the advise sent out by Church Officials in Salt Lake, believing in the end, that the constitution would maintain our religious beliefs and practices. Frank Gunnell, Jr., a former resident of Wellsville, Utah, had returned some time previously to that place, and thus when Presidents Ricks and Rigby were forced into hiding, there was no one in charge of church affairs in Bannock Stake. The President of the Church, John Taylor, was also in hiding at this time in Kaysville, Utah, and here secret meetings were held among those holding responsible positions in the Church. At one of these meetings it was decided by President Taylor that some action was necessary toward conditions in Bannock Stake. In some way these conditions had been brought to his attention, and as a result of a conversation with Bishop W. B. Preston, it was decided that some one should be put in charge in this Stake to act until some future day when these other men could return to assume their duties. President Taylor characterized us as a "flock of sheep without a shepherd." This work was left to Bishop Preston, who, when asked by President Taylor if he knew of someone he could get to take charge of things that could be trusted and held responsible, Bishop Preston recommended me, and I was given approval by Pres. Taylor. Bishop Preston, following the advise of Pres. Taylor, came to Idaho to take care of this work. He was to call a meeting in Rexburg upon his arrival there to set me apart acting President of the Stake. Previous to the meeting he ascertained from me as to whether or not I would accept the position, and I gladly and willingly accepted. I went from Cedar Buttes up to Rexburg in company with Spencer Raymond and Bishop Preston.


On the following Sunday I was set apart by Bishop Preston as acting President of Bannock Stake, and I was also set apart as President of the High Council. Before departing for home following the meeting, I had met Arnold Miller, a resident of the Egin Bench country, and had made arrangements with him to make a trip to Spencer, Camas, and Medicine Lodge. This was the first duties I performed after being set apart as acting president, the purpose of which was to visit the Saints in the places and ascertain their conditions. These visits were made a week or so later following my appointment, Mr. Miller and I making them. We spent one night in Spencer and one night in Medicine Lodge. Our outfit was furnished by Mr. Miller. We had a very enjoyable trip and found the Saints enjoying different degrees of religion, mostly little or no religion at all. However, we were received very kindly and the Saints made us feel they, to a certain extent at least, appreciated our intentions and expressed hope for a closer association in the future. We were gone three days on this trip, and upon my return home to Cedar Buttes, I spent the next couple of weeks visiting among the different wards close to home. During the forepart of May, Apostle John W. Taylor came up to Cedar Buttes, his purpose up there being to ascertain our conditions and assist in the organization of some new wards.

About the time when Taylor came up to Cedar Buttes, we were trying to secure for ourselves a post office, as there was a sufficient number of people to justify it, and we needed it quite badly. In making the application for the post office, it was advised by the postal department in Washington, D. C., that a shorter name should be accepted if possible and agreeable. So at a general meeting one Sunday of the people of the community, I offered the name "Menan", an Indian word meaning island, and it was accepted with only a few dissenting votes, and since then has been known by that name.

The first ward organized after Mr. Taylor came to Idaho was organized at Plano. Previous to this about one year, I had organized a Sunday School at Plano which had proved to be very successful. Mr. Taylor and I went over there in the first place to visit the Saints of the community but without the intention of organizing the ward. However, we found upon our arrival there that there was a demand for the organization of a ward, and the necessity certainly existed. The Saints were a thrifty lot of people, and the addition of new Saints to the ward were sufficient to justify the organization from the point of numbers. So before departing from Plano, which is located at the western end of Egin Bench, we completely organized the ward. A Mr. Hyatt, I believe, was chosen the first Bishop of the ward which was organized on May 19, 1886.

As soon as we completed our visit in Plano, we returned to Menan. We spent a few days around Menan, and then on May 21, 1886, Mr. Taylor and I went to Rigby and there organized a ward. There had been a Sunday School organized there previously. Rigby ward was organized with George Cordon as Bishop. The meeting was held in the home of Dan Robbins. Mr. Cordon was the son of Alfred Cordon, the captain of the fifty wagons with whom we left Missouri. For sometime following the organization of Rigby's Ward, they had no meeting house, their meetings being held under a bowery on Mr. Robbin's property. Later they built a log house which proved a very poor piece of construction; for in the course of the next year or so they had to reinforce the building. Rigby's fortunes varied somewhat but was usually one of the best in the country, and all my visits there I usually enjoyed very much. Today Rigby is one of the best communities in Upper Snake River Valley, and their improved conditions are wonderful. I will always recall my associations with the good people of Rigby with pleasure, and it is a source of satisfaction to me to know I was instrumental in helping Rigby in her infancy and forming an organization that so ably prepared her for the place she now occupies.


From Rigby Mr. Taylor and I went over to Iona (Sand Creek), our intention being to complete the organization of the ward. Their Sunday School organization was not then completed; so in connection with the ward organization, we completed the Sunday School organizations. In the ward organization we selected James E. Steele as Bishop. When the time came for choosing the man for the office of Bishop, Mr. Taylor told me it was up to me to select the man, and I promptly told him that if the selection were left to me, I already had my man chosen. I had had some little experience with Mr. Steele previously and was quite impressed with him, and it was a pleasure to me to recommend him for I was convinced of his integrity and was sure he would make a good leader for the people of Iona. When Iona was first settled, Menan was already several years old, and Iona found it convenient for several years to secure some of their supplies from us, particularly hay and potatoes. We had accumulated a considerable amount of these two things, as there were many of the Saints who paid their tithing in this way. As these two items were needed very much by the people in Iona, it was customary for them to come to Menan for our excess supply. Mr. Steele, Mr. Rushton, and Mr. Mulliner usually made the trips after supplies, and in this way I had become acquainted with Mr. Steele. They secured a request for the goods, usually from President T. E. Ricks. There are many changes between the Iona of today and the Iona of the time of this organization. There are many good people in Iona, and I recall my past associations with them with pleasure. Mr. Steele made a very good Bishop, and it was under his guidance that Iona made some of its greatest improvements. This ward organization was completed on May 22, 1886.

During my absence from home on some of my church visits, a letter came to me from President Taylor, the contents of which concerned Cleveland Ward. It had developed that there were two Cleveland wards, both in Idaho, and as a result there was much confusion, and a change was desired, and as our cleveland was the younger of the two, it was thought the change should be made up here. I called a meeting of the people of the ward and explained to them the situation, and as a result, the name was changed to LaBelle. There were several other names suggested, among them my own, but I refused to allow my name to be considered. About this time the ward organization was completed with Winn Walker chosen as Bishop. I had previously organized a Sunday School there, and in connection with Mr. Taylor now, I helped with the ward organization. Andrew Anderson, a surveyor of Rexburg, and I, following the suggestion of Church Authorities about this time, surveyed the townsite for LaBelle.

About this time it was deemed necessary by Mr. Taylor to return to Salt Lake City. He had been up in Idaho about one month. The time we weren't busy organizing some ward, we were visiting some other, and thus had gone the whole month. John W. Taylor was certainly a splendid man, agreeable to be with, and pleasant under all circumstances. I enjoyed my labors very much with him. A few days before Mr. Taylor departed for home, he suggested that an effort should be made to survey Swan Valley on the South Fork of Snake River. Swan Valley then was unsettled except for two brothers named Roos who were pasturing a number of horses in the valley. The valley was quite a desirable place and was large enough to justify quite a number of people settling here. It was with a view of settlement of this valley that we were to survey the place.


Mr. Taylor suggested that I should organize a company of ten men with a surveyor and go up there and, if possible, locate the government survey and from that lay the valley off in 80 acre tracts. This I did during the month of June. The party consisted of the following men: James E. Fogg, Spencer Raymond, Dan Robbins, Joseph Jones, Ed Paul, R. F. Jardine, Peen Jackman, surveyor, John Donaldson, Frank Bybee, and myself. At this time there were no bridges or ferries over the South Fork, and the roads were very dim. At Conant Valley there were some three or four families, Dich and Joe Higam, John Jones, and another family whose name I cannot recall. The roads, as dim as they were, faded entirely above Conant Valley. We followed closely around the foot of the mountains in this valley to the south, keeping always on the south side of the river, until we had crossed over Fall Creek. On one of the wagons of the outfit we brought along with us a boat. Before we reached the place where we were to use the boat, we had been forced to abandon the "white top" buggies on account of the conditions of traveling. But we had taken with us the wagon carrying the boat. At the first little creek above Fall Creek, on the south side of the river, we camped. This was the second night out, and from here we decided to cross the river. So next morning we proceeded with the task. We had taken pretty good care of the boat, so by putting it in the water overnight, we had no trouble with it when we wanted to use it. We conveyed all our supplies across the river in the boat, even taking the wagon to pieces and boating it across a few pieces at a time. When everything else was safely over, we forced our horses to swim the stream. As soon as we were across the river, we located a nice camp spot nearby and there made our camp, which was the only one we made there, doing all the work from this camp.

If there was ever a government survey through here, we were unable to find it, so we went about it the best we could and surveyed the entire valley, locating the townsite at the foot of the large mountain to south of Rainy Creek as it comes out of the mountains. Out of the first little dry canyon south of the mouth of Rainy, we secured a set of house lots and built a log house 14 by 16 feet, building it upon the townsite. We were about three weeks completing the work up there. We surely had a very nice time on this trip. It seems to me now, as I recall this trip, it was more of a pleasure trip than one of business. We had fish almost anytime we wanted them, there being several on the trip who were pretty good fishermen, but James E. Fogg was the champion. In addition to fish, we had a ready supply of venison, the most of which was supplied by Frank and R. F. jardine, both of whom were efficient at the game. One day while these two were hunting on Palisade Creek, they came across a bear and immediately set a few bullets in his pursuit, one or two of which took effect, but none of which proved fatal for the bear reached the dense thicket along the creek, and the boys were unable to over take him, although they took some awfully foolhardy chances in pursuit of it. During our stay here, we were visited several times by John Jones who proved to be a friend to us on two or three occasions by supplying us with some provisions when our supply exhausted. When we finished our work, we crossed back over the river in about the same fashion as we had previously. From here Frank and Joseph Jones went down the river in the boat. They rejoined us again at the home of John Jones where we had dinner upon our arrival there upon our homeward trip.


From Mr. Jones place we went down the river, and upon gaining the top of the canyon, we proceeded only so far as Granite Creek where we made our camp. Frank and Joseph Jones stayed with us that night but returned next morning to the river and went down the stream with the boat and rejoined us at Dan Robbins place that afternoon. It was at this camp on Granite that I witnessed one of the most wonderful electric storms I have ever seen. We did not pitch our tents, nor did we get wet, as the storm almost entirely passed to the south of us. There was an excessive amount of lightning; it seemed to me that for a period of 15 or 20 minutes the flashes came almost continuously, creating a very impressive view and certainly a beautiful one. Next morning we broke camp early and were on our way. Dan Robbins and three others of the party went on ahead of the main supply outfits and promised to have a dinner ready for us upon our arrival at his place. We reached there without incident, and true to his promise, Dan had a fine dinner ready for us. After partaking of Mr. Robbins hospitality, we went on to our homes.

Owing to the fact I had not lived on the homestead I had taken up but had lived on the townsite in Menan, it was impossible for me to prove up on the place. So I went to Blackfoot where there was a Land Office now and took Frank along with me, and I relinquished my claim to the property and Frank filed upon it. This was during the month of July.

During this summer I was called upon to handle a case of church discipline in the Lyman Ward. The trial of this case, I believe, was with out precedent in the history of the Church. According to church law, there is only one way to hold the trial of an offending Bishop. The affair that came under my supervision at this time was one between the Bishop of Lyman and another resident of the ward. I cannot recall the Bishop's name but the other man was William Simmons, more familiarly known as Bill Simmons. According to information obtainable from the people of the ward, the Bishop was at fault in the entire affair. Simmons' neighbors spoke very well of his character, and everything pointed to the fact that he was a good citizen, tended to his own affairs, and always ready with a helping hand. The Bishop on the other hand was unfortunately the possessor of a very bad temper. Their trouble dated farther back than this incident which took place on a farm in the vicinity. It seemed the Bishop was always ready to assume the aggressive in the argument, so one day while they were working on a threshing machine, they had words and, as a result, the Bishop threatened the life of Mr. Simmons. He left the threshing crew and went home and, a short time later, was seen returning to the outfit with a gun. As he neared the machine, he was noticed to throw something off to one side of the road. He was perhaps 150 yards distant from the outfit when he did this. The outfit had by this time ceased work and were watching for developments, keeping a close watch of the Bishop's actions. As he came near the machine, he was accused of having gone home for his gun, which he promptly denied. However, a search was instituted and his gun found under a sage brush some distance from the machine. This was the end of the affair, as far as Simmons was concerned, until a procedure was found to try the Bishop for his unchristian-like conduct in threatening the life of another.
According to church disciplinary methods, the Presiding Presidency of the Church is held responsible for the trial, either by handling it themselves or through appointing someone for the responsibility. The charges against the Bishop were preferred to me by William Simmons. And then followed a discussion of the proper way to hold a Bishop's trial and who could hold it, which finally was settled by writing to the Church Authorities in Salt Lake. I wrote to Franklin D. Richards to know what to do. He went to President Taylor and wrote, in the course of a few days to me, with the following instructions: To go ahead with the trial as I was then President of the High Council, as well as, acting President of the Stake, and the letter gave me authority to do the work. I summoned all the High Council and advised them of the date of the trial. I also informed the Bishop of the date and asked him to appear for trial. The trial was held in Rexburg in the latter part of August. After hearing all evidence from the witnesses, as well as the principals, and due consideration of the case by the High Council and myself, we decided the offense was serious enough to justify depriving the Bishop of his office, which we did. The vote was nine of the twelve High Councilmen in favor of taking the Bishopric from him. The other three would not vote, believing even in spite of the letter, that I had no authority to hold the trial.


The next few weeks passed quietly. I spent considerable time around home. Sundays I usually was off visiting some ward. About the 10th of November, 1886, Apostle John Henry Smith came up to Idaho to find out our conditions and visit around, offering advise and counsel. The first work we did after he came up took us to Rexburg. From Rexburg we went to Teton City. However, we held meetings in Rexburg first, and from there we sent word around to the different wards as to when we would be in each. John Donaldson was Bishop in Teton City then, and we held a meeting there. From there Teton City, we went for Parker where we also held a meeting. From Parker we went to Plano and from here to Lyman, and from here we went to Salem; the meeting house of which was near Sugar City's present location. We held meetings in all these places, which were very well attended, and enjoyed very much by all. Mr. Smith was a good, common sense talker and had a personality that appeals to most people. It was getting along pretty well into the winter season by now, the weather was quite cold, and we were expecting snow at any time, which finally overtook us at Salem. About one foot of snow fell that night and continued until we had a very heavy snow being approximately two feet on the level. This meeting in Salem was held November 20, 1886. From Salem we returned to Menan.

I was now burdened with more responsibilities than I could do justice to; when I was ordained a Bishop I was relieved of the superintendency of the Sunday Schools. I was now acting President of the Stake, President of the High Council, and Bishop of Menan Ward. It had become evident that I could not fulfil both these offices efficiently, and it was a part of John Henry Smith's mission to Idaho to relieve me of my duties as Bishop of Menan. So upon our arrival at Menan from Salem, we proceeded to reorganize the Menan Ward. When I was released, William Stephens was chosen Bishop, and he was ordained by John Henry Smith and set apart to preside over our ward. This work completed, we went over to Lewisville where we held a night meeting. I returned from here home to Menan while Mr. Smith stayed in Lewisville. Next day I rejoined him there and then went to Eagle Rock and organized the Eagle Rock Ward with James Thomas as Bishop.

At this time Eagle Rock was only a branch of the Church, and according to Mr. Thomas, a branch of the Church received about as much consideration from the main body of the Church as the Mormons did from the U.S. Government. It was through his activity that the ward was organized. He drew our attention to the fact that there was a sufficient number of Saints in the vicinity and that a ward organization was really necessary. Of course we had no authority from the Church to do the work as Mr. Smith's instructions included only work farther north and were in no way connected with Eagle Rock. However, appreciating the fact that something should be done about it, we decided to telegraph to President Taylor to know what to do, and within a few days we received a reply. He told us to familiarize ourselves with conditions, and if we decided it was advisable to organize the ward to go ahead and do it, which we did. Following the completion of Eagle Rock Ward, Mr. Smith returned to Salt Lake while I returned to Menan.

The early part of the year 1887, especially during the spring months, I did not do much visiting around due mostly to the condition of the roads which were very bad on account of the excessive amount of snow, some of which was still on the ground in late April. Here in Menan on March 14, 1887, our home was blessed by the arrival of a baby boy whom I christened Stanley on May 5, 1887. Harriet was cared for by Jennette Poole, and both Harriet and the baby got along fine.

The efforts of the government about this time were slackened very much toward the Church Authorities, and they were allowed to return to their homes and tend to their affairs without interference from the Federal Marshals. So about this time President T. E. Ricks returned to Rexburg, and also about this time, Apostle Lorenzo Snow came up to Rexburg, and in a general meeting of the Saints, I was released from the responsibilities of acting President of the Stake. I was honorably released and given a vote of thanks which I believe came freely from all except President Ricks. During his absence I had done several things that had met with his displeasure, among them being the Bishop's trial in Lyman. Another thing was the way I settled a "jumped claim" proposition that was left by agreement to me to decide. There were several other things to which he seriously objected and voiced his disapproval. President Ricks was a wonderful pioneer of that vicinity, and he did much to promote its settlement, and everything considered he did much good, but he was unfortunately one of those men whose desire for authority was abnormal, and when once he gained authority, he did not have sufficient foresight and good judgement to use it wisely and to the best purpose. He was almost a tyrant, and anyone who opposed him was due for some unpleasantness. Thus when he was again in his home and in command of what authority he had in the Stake, he began to make things disagreeable for me, which for a long time almost severed our friendly connections. He became so overbearing with me I avoided him all I could until in the last few years of his life when we became more friendly.

In the spring of 1887 I decided to use my right again as a homesteader, and thus one day I went to Blackfoot and filed on a piece of ground in the near vicinity of what is now Woodville. I secured a very good piece of ground. About this time, too, I disposed of my property in Menan to a Mr. Robert Oakden. I sold the property for $250.00, of which I received $20.00 in money, the balance of $230.00 I was to receive in lumber at his saw mill located on the headwaters of Antelope up the south fork of Snake River. As soon as I sold the property, I began to plan on making some improvements on my new homestead. I went down to the homestead where I lived alone in a large tent. I broke some ground, and although unable to plant any crop, I planted a few shade trees and some fruit trees, but the most of my time this season I spent getting out sufficient cedar posts to fence the place. The water I was dependent upon for use on the place was in laterals about one-half mile from my place. The supply was very limited and about all I could get was enough to save the few trees I had planted. I was able to build only a small ditch this year. With the arrival of cold weather and as there wasn't very much I could do anyhow, I returned to Menan where we spent the winter living in the tithing property. This was the winter of 1887-88.
The winter soon passed, and with this opening of spring, I again prepared to return to my homestead. Again this year it was evident there would be insufficient water; so I concentrated my efforts on building a house. As soon as the roads would permit, I started hauling my lumber from Mr. Oakden's sawmill on Antelope. My means were not very good for transporting the lumber; so it was a long, tedious job. When finally I completed hauling the lumber, I secured the services of Heber Yearsley of Menan to help me build the house on the homestead. The summer was pretty well spent when we finished the house, and upon its completion I moved the folks down from Menan. I had no crops planted and was fortunate in securing enough water to save the trees. While we were building the house, it was impossible for me to fix it up as it should have been, and as a result there was no laths or plaster; in fact, the house was simply a shell. Again with the approach of cold weather I found out we could not stay here, so in the fall of this year (1888) we moved to Eagle Rock where we secured a house from Bishop James Thomas.


During this winter of 1887-88 I spent doing whatever I could get to do, but principally I hauled cedar wood from the lava beds west of Eagle Rock. The haul was short and the wood easily obtainable. I could sell a load of this wood for $2.50 to $3.00. We wintered in pretty good shape until March 7, 1889, when we moved out to a ranch on Willow Creek belonging to Robert Anderson.

Following a series of incidents that transpired during this winter, which I will relate a little later, I was induced to again relinquish my homestead right. The canal I was dependent upon for water for my place belonged to a company of men in Chicago, and the tactics they were following convinced me I would have to relinquish sooner or later anyhow, and I had some other propositions that were of interest to me. My finances were at low ebb at this time, and the first thing confronting me on the place was a water assessment of $800.00. The company, I believe, intended to force the settlers to sell after a few improvements were made with the ultimate intention of getting the land and forming a livestock ranch. However, the assessments placed by them upon water to my place was clear out of consideration as far as I was concerned, so after some consideration I relinquished my claim to A. D. Morrison, the man representing the canal company in the East. I got $250.00 for my relinquishment, less than I had in the house alone, but I was glad to get out.

The toll bridge that had been built in 1865 was still in operation, now being owned by Anderson Brothers. It was necessary for me to cross this bridge going after wood, and the round trip cost me 50 cents. I had made several of the trips without paying for them, so one day when the total reached about $2.00 or $2.50, I went to see Mr. Anderson and pay him. He told me there was no hurry about the money, but I told him I was handling very little money, and I would rather not allow the bill to get very large and that I had to provide for a large family, too. However, at his suggestion I went away without paying him.

Some time had passed when one day a clerk in Anderson Brothers Store told me while I was buying some things that Mr. Anderson wanted to see me when it was convenient to me, so within a few days I went in to see him. What he wanted to see me about proved to be quite a surprise for I about half expected to be asked for my toll bill. His proposition did not include the toll bill at all, but was one concerning a place he owned on Willow Creek. He owned a section of ground which was covered with sage, and that he wanted removed. He also owned 600 inches of water for the place, but which was not on the ranch and there were no ditches on the place. There were only about 20 acres of ground broken, and this had been planted to alfalfa. The only other improvements consisted of a very poor lumber house and a log barn which was a very good barn. He explained these things to me and told me what he wanted and asked me to go up to the place and take someone with me if I wanted and look the situation over, and if I cared to handle the job, to make a proposition to him on the place.


In the course of a few weeks I went to the ranch, and I went to Iona and got Mr. Steele to go to the place with me. Mr. Anderson explained to me that under no consideration would he pay more than $5.00 per acre to have the land cleared of the sage. Some time before this John R. Poole had cleared the sage off about 200 acres of the place, but this had grown up again sufficiently to make it necessary to have to do the work all over. Mr. Steele and I looked over the ranch and decided it was a very good proposition and decided to take it. However, upon my return home when I went to see Mr. Anderson, I asked him if he intended to pay cash for the work, and I found out that he preferred to have the land pay for the work which resulted in a lease of the ground to me. The terms of the lease were about like this: I was to clear the sage off the ground, make the ditches and headgates. Mr. Anderson was to pay for all hired help used in ditch and cleaning work and making the headgates, also furnishing the materials. I leased the ground for five years with the understanding that I was to be furnished all machinery necessary for the operation of the ranch except the threshing machine.

At this time I had only a small span of horses, and it was evident that I would have to have more horses, so I asked Mr. Anderson about some. He then owned about 200 head of good horses, and he told me I could get me some animals from that band and that I could take the ones I wanted. He also had a fine span of large horses in Menan being cared for by Brig Lawson, and he offered me the use of them free of any charge. I got the horses from Lawson, but instead of getting some horses out of Andersons band, I bought four head of good horses from Charlie Martin. When I got the horses from Lawson I had no harness to fit them, as they were large horses, so I asked Mr. Anderson to help me out which he did by purchasing me a harness which was outside the contract and which never cost me a cent. I didn't have the horses very long until I decided to buy them from Mr. Anderson. I gave him $200.00 for them. These two purchases of horses totalling $800.00, as things turned out later, were mistakes on my part for there was an output of money that was unnecessary when you consider the fact I might just as well have had Mr. Anderson's horses without expense.

For my own labors on the place, according to the lease, I was to have the crop off the ground for the first year, water was to be furnished me. So on March 7, 1889, we moved onto the ranch. We moved into the house on the place, which had just been vacated by a Charles Plant, and of all the sad-looking houses, this was one of the worst we ever had seen anywhere. The house was not a very well constructed affair and had no lath and plaster on the interior. The walls were lined with factory which was loose from the wall and hung down all around the rooms. The kitchen floor was covered with burlap sacks about four or 5 deep, a new burlap being added as the dirt made it necessary. In all sincerity I believe this house was the headquarters for all the bedbugs in the territory of Idaho--they were in every crevice and crack in countless numbers. They were in such numbers, and their hiding places were so numerous that we were forced to call on Mr. Anderson for help. They seemed not to diminish at all in size or number in spite of our best efforts. Mr. Anderson came to our rescue with lath and plaster amounting to about $100.00, and in the next month or so following persistent efforts on Harriet's part, we got so we dared show our faces.


I could get almost any number of men I wanted for $30.00 per month. The spring of 1889 opened up exceptionally early, and I proceeded to get two plows, then the best plow on the market, known as the Gilpin Sulky Plow, sold by C. W. & M. Company in Eagle Rock. The sage on the ground that was cleared by Mr. Poole was quite young and did not interfere very much with plowing, so I went to work on some of this ground. I plowed continuously until about June 1; then having about 100 acres plowed, I decided to plant the ground to wheat. The work was necessarily slow, everything considered. I planted the whole piece of ground, which was a very serious mistake for two reasons-- first, that time of year was too late to allow the grain to mature, and second, I did not have ditches constructed to carry water to the place. Previously all through my life my farming experiences were limited, and I was not well enough posted to know just what to do. The construction of the ditches and headgates was much more of a job than I contemplated, and I did not get the water to the place in time to save my crops. It was a total expense of about $600.00.

During this spring and summer I had very poor health and for some time was confined to my bed, making it necessary that I should have a doctor. The doctor I usually employed had moved to Pocatello, and following the advice of Mr. Anderson I secured Dr. Pendleton, and through his care I was soon improved sufficiently to go about my duties.

The work on the place went on in the meantime, and after realizing my mistakes about planting the crop I turned all my attentions toward getting as much ground ready for next year as was possible. One day during this spring Bishop Steele of Iona came up to the ranch, his purpose being to get me to attach myself and family to the Iona Ward, and if I would do so, he wanted me to take the superintendency of the Sunday School of the ward, which I did.

The summer and early fall months passed quickly and without incident except for the regular routine of work. We had no harvesting to do this fall, so when it got so cold we could not work any longer, we prepared as best we could for winter, which we spent quite comfortably.

Here on December 30, 1889, our home was blessed with the arrival of a daughter who was christened Venla. The name was suggested by Alice. I do not know positively who christened her. Harriet was cared for by Mrs. Stephens.

The second year on the place opened up with a much better outlook for me because I had things in much better shape and knew more about the local conditions. The first few months, until spring opened up enabling us to start work, were spent without incident. With the opening of work there were many people living near around who wanted work, and I could secure nearly any amount of teams and drivers, as well as single hands, as I wanted. I had no money with which to pay for their help, but I could arrange with Mr. Anderson to let them have goods to the amount of their wages. I simply issued instead of a check an order for so much goods. Among the people that came seeking work was a man named Austin and his son. When he asked for work I explained to him what I had that he could do. He had his own teams and wagon. In the course of a few days I entered into a contract with him to do some clearing for me. I showed him the worst piece of sage on the place and offered him $3.50 per acre for clearing it, which he gladly accepted. He used a method I had not seen used before, but which proved very successful. It was an object of considerable weight that was drug along over the surface of the ground, and among the old sage it speeded up the work quite a bit.

Before I could plant any crops, the ground I had previously broken had to be plowed again and then harrowed and leveled. I reseeded all the ground I had in the summer previous, and in addition to this I planted close to 100 acres more. This additional acreage made considerable more ditch work necessary, and as soon as I had the crops in I went to work on these ditches. In addition to the teams I hired for the work, I got Heber Yearsley of Menan to come and help with the headgates, so that when the time came for using them I had them ready.


I mentioned before the $600.00 I had lost on the crop the preceding year, which I had an opportunity this year to erase owing to the generosity of Mr. Anderson, who, when I explained how and why I had suffered the loss, told me that I could use the land until it had paid me back all the money I had lost. Mr. Anderson intended to get his money out of the place through sale of the ground, and not through any crops that were grown thereon.

When spring first opened up I secured some shade trees from William Price Sr.; there were about forty to fifty of them which I set out around the house.

For the first time since my financial downfall in Manti, things now in 1890 began to seem much brighter to me. I could see a ray of light leading to the future which, owing to the kindness and consideration of Mr. Anderson, seemed to me to open a pathway through which I could, through honest toil and effort, pay all the debts I had encumbered in the past. The fact that there seemed a chance ahead of me lightened my burden somewhat. I was at peace with all the world, except the financial side of it, and I readily grasped the opportunity to erase that. True to his word, Mr. Lowe had never in any way whatsoever interfered with any course that I elected to pursue. Even now he did not know of my future prospects. The confidence that Mr. Lowe had placed in me made the paying of my debt to him almost an ambition.

The prospects of the future did not in any way induce me to forget the fact that I was dependent in every way for my life and sustenance and happiness upon my Heavenly Father; in fact, these things were only made clearer to me, and in my prayers to him, I honestly and sincerely sought his blessings to the end that I would be able to pay back every cent that I owed. I prayed that he would prosper me and bless my efforts so that I could in reality feel that "I owe not any man". I promised my Heavenly Father that if he would help me to do this I would pay my tithes and serve Him as faithfully as I could the remainder of my days. At this time my total indebtedness to Mr. Lowe was slightly above $5,000.00, and in addition to that, I owed George Sidwell of Manti about $700.00.

Things progressed very nicely on the ranch through the summer, and indications pointed to a pretty fair crop. Meanwhile the clearing work went right ahead, and by the time work closed that fall, we had about 300 acres cleared or approximately half of the section.

With the approach of harvest time, we had to make some preparations to care for the crop. I first purchased, through Mr. Anderson, a binder from Mr. Lowe, an old Buckeye binder, but which, owing to some mechanical defect, could not be used even after an expert had been sent to adjust the machine. The machine was returned to Mr. Lowe, and in its place one was secured from the C. W. & M. Company. In addition to this binder I had to hire some of the binding done by neighbors. As soon as the binding was completed I went to work hauling and stacking the grain. All the grain that fall was threshed by a horsepower outfit. I am not positive about how many bushels of grain I had that year, but I had by far the largest individual crop produced in that section of the country.


Before winter set in I did as much fall plowing as I could. I sold the entire crop to G. G. Wright, except enough for seed and flour. I had harvested about 25 or 30 tons of hay off the twenty acres that had been planted by Mr. Plant and had accumulated quite a number of horses and a few cattle. One day Mr. Anderson asked me if I were interested in a few more cattle. There was a man in Swan Valley who owned some stock, and he also owed Mr. Anderson some money, and they decided that the cattle were to be turned to Mr. Anderson to pay the debt. Mr. Anderson had no way to care for them, but he took the cows in order to get what he could out of the debt, and it was these he had reference to when he asked me if I were interested in more stock. I consulted a few of my neighbors, who had had some experience with cattle, and decided to take the cattle. There were eight head of them which were delivered to me at the ranch by the man from Swan Valley. The remaining months of 1890 and until spring opened up in 1891 was spent without particular incident. I was still attached to Iona Ward and cared for their Sunday School.

On November 25, 1890, Mary Alice married A. H. Boomer, the ceremony being performed by F. J. Smith in Leorin.

F. M. Bybee married Hanna Ritchie in December 30, 1890, at Leorin, the ceremony being performed by F. J. Smith, a lawyer of Idaho Falls.

About the first thing I did this spring (1891) was to plant an additional 25 acres of alfalfa, the seed being furnished by Mr. Anderson. We prepared the ground for crops and planted them as soon as we could, and then for a time we turned to clearing more ground.

The summer passed quickly, and of necessity I had more to care for because I had more crops to attend to and more help was necessary. At the close of the harvest season I had about fifty tons of good hay and a good crop of grain threshing out in the neighborhood of 7,000 bushels of wheat.

One day while I was in Eagle Rock I was 'talking to' G. G. Wright, and he told me he had a prospective buyer of a steam threshing outfit, and he wondered if I would consider having them do the work. I was by far the heaviest grain producer in the country, and the chance to do my threshing was usually an inducement to any of the machines in the country. Mr. Wright said he was sure he could make the sale if he was sure he could promise them my work. Horsepower work was very slow, and I figured the steam outfit would speed things up a little, so I decided to let them come and do the work. Mr. Wright made the sale okay, and in the course of a few days they came out to the place.

When they came to the ranch it was agreed that I should furnish the coal for the outfit, the pay for which was to be deducted from the threshing bill, but at this time there was no coal in Eagle Rock, so I went up to the Rush Beds on the South Fork of the Snake river and secured a few cords of dry slab wood and took it to the ranch, purchasing it from a saw mill owned by Fogg & Farnes of Rexburg. We had gone but a very short time with the threshing until we found out the wood was unsuccessful because there was not sufficient heat to produce the required amount of steam. I immediately went to Mr. Wright and informed him we had to have some coal, and in a day or so we were able to get coal which, when used with the wood, gave very good results.


It was during the time we were having the threshers that Venla died. This occurred on October 9, 1891. Almost as soon as she took sick we called for Dr. Wilson of Eagle Rock. Her sickness was not preceded by any serious symptoms, and her troubles were evidently complicated for the Doctor was never able to diagnose her case satisfactorily. She was sick a very short time and was buried in the Iona cemetery.

The year 1892 opened up, the first event of importance was the birth of a baby boy who was christened Leslie Ephraim. This occurred on January 5, 1892. The name Leslie was a general favorite among us, and the name Ephraim was taken from Bishop J. E. Steel's name. Previous to this Bishop Steele had named one of his boys using one of my first names, and in order to return the compliment I gave his name to Leslie. (February 2, 1892, Robert died. See account at the end of this autobiography)

Spring work opened up and the next month or so was devoted entirely to preparing the ground and planting crops. I guess I had about 200 acres of grain planted, principally wheat. During the previous summer we had cleared approximately fifty more acres of ground, which I plowed, but which was not planted this year. I increased the acreage of alfalfa this year by about 25 acres, now having about 70 acres of hay. Included in the 200 acres of grain were several acres of the newly cleared ground, and some of the older ground was summer fallowed. I don't believe I ever had more than 200 acres of wheat at any one time on the ranch, and all my estimates are from memory and are thus not absolutely accurate. Until threshing season opened up there was nothing of any importance that occurred.

With the opening of the second year on the ranch, when I entered into that agreement with my Heavenly Father, I decided that never where I could possibly avoid it would I allow any work done on my place on Sunday. The threshing this fall was done by Will Owens of Iona. He owned a steam outfit, and before I promised him the work I had it understood that threshing was to commence on Monday morning, and this rule I always held to as long as I was producing large crops. I don't believe there was over one instance that occurred in all the time I lived on that ranch where I asked to have the work done on Sunday, and that was occasioned by some hogs getting into a large number of sacks of grain that had not been moved after threshing, but that were covered with straw. The hogs were doing much damage so I asked two boys to go and haul the grain. The total number of bushels I raised this year was about 8,000 bushels, principally wheat. This year again I put up about 50 tons of hay.

Quite late in the fall of this year Brig Lawson came to the ranch to find out if I could arrange to take care of some stock for him. I told him he could have what pasture that was available but that I could not spare him any hay. However, he brought about fifty head of cattle over to the place. They got along pretty well for a time, but with the approach of snow and colder weather, they began to suffer considerably, and before the winter passed he lost about 50 per cent of them. It was impossible to buy feed for them, and it was an exceptionally long, hard winter.

James Andrew married Ozetta Eastman at Idaho Falls on July 20, 1892. I do not know who married them except that it was some minister in Idaho Falls.

Clarinda married J. W. Nowlin on December 14, 1892. They were married at Leorin by Peter Nelson.


The winter months of 1893 passed slowly, but we managed very well for ourselves as well as the livestock. With the opening of spring we proceeded with spring work as fast as was possible. By May everything was in pretty fair shape. Some new ground was planted and some was left to be summer fallowed. The total acreage was about the same as on previous years. In 1891 Sam Eames came to the ranch one day and asked for work, and I immediately put him to work, and he had remained with me.

In the month of April, I was approached by A. D. Morrison to know if I would consider taking charge of his company's ranch near Woodville. I was left in full charge of the place; Mr. Morrison departing for the East. They had secured some additional ground since I relinquished my claim to Morrison, and my work was to prepare the property for farming--plowing, leveling, fencing, in fact everything I could do to improve the property. I was recommended to Morrison by Mr. Anderson, and after a consultation with Mr. Anderson, I decided, if I could arrange things on the place, to take the job which would pay me $100.00 per month. I had always found Sam Eames perfectly honest and a good, conscientious worker, and I decided, if I could interest him in taking charge of the ranch while I was working for Morrison, I would take the job. I encountered no trouble getting Sam to take charge of things, so about May 1st I went to work for Morrison. Saturday evenings and Sundays I spent at home, and everything went along fine and dandy. I worked four months only for Morrison--May, June, July, and August.

Work was indefinitely suspended on Morrison's ranch, on account of financial conditions of the country, about September 1st. I received all my money without any delay. I immediately returned to the ranch and went to work there. The grain crop this year was about the same as the previous year, being about 8,000 bushels. I had about 75 tons of hay. Due to good crops and the money I had made working for Mr. Morrison, I was able to make a payment to Mr. Lowe. This was the first payment I had made him. It was for $500.00. We had had pretty fair success clearing ground this year. Except for about 100 acres, the whole section was cleared.

Will Owens threshed for me again this year, and he was there to go to work on Monday morning, but we had threshed less than 100 bushels when an exceptionally wet and heavy snow fall necessitated a lay-off of about ten days.

The year of 1894 saw the completion of clearing the sage from the ground. This was not completed in time to plant, but I had about the same amount of grain as in previous years, that being about 200 acres. Everything progressed very nicely. My first lease had run out, and I again leased the farm for five years.

This year I made another mistake owing principally to the fact of my inexperience in farming. I went to the time and expense of planting about fifty acres of ground to timothy. The crop was lost due to an insufficient supply of water. The seeds sprouted alright, and during the season up to the time for the first watering, everything went along fine. The timothy had formed small roots, but not knowing the nature of timothy and the large amount of water required by it, I failed to water it again soon enough, and the crop was an entire loss. I never harvested a single ton off the whole fifty acres. The harvest this year was about the same as the two or three years preceding. This year the grain crop totaled about 8,000 bushels. I had about 200 tons of good hay. Owens did the threshing again and everything went along fine and dandy.

On October 3, 1894, Elizabeth married C. W. Poole in the temple in Salt Lake City, Utah.

In 1895 working conditions were about the same on the ranch. I put in about the customary 200 acres of grain. I suppose I now had about 100 acres of alfalfa, and owing to this fact, I plowed up some of the oldest alfalfa and put it into wheat. I also planted some more in its place. This year we finished plowing the place; however, the whole place was not planted to crops.

As soon as we completed plowing, we went right to work making ditches so as to be able to water any and all around on the place. At one time I had an estimate quite carefully prepared about the number of miles of ditch that I constructed on the place, which were quite a few miles, but now I cannot remember the total.

In June of this year Apostles John Henry Smith and B. H. Roberts came up to Iona. Their purpose was to organize a new Stake using part of the territory that previously had been under T. E. Ricks, known as Bannock Stake. The meetings were held under a bowery built along the old rock meeting house of Iona Ward. President Ricks had had supervision over all this territory up to this time except for the time I was acting president. He at this time was more or less unfriendly toward me, and I am positive that he used all his influence to prevent any consideration being given me for offices in the new Stake. I know these conditions to be facts, and I also know that for no justifiable reason he refused once to give me a recommend to do work in the temple.

When the new Stake was formed, the boundary line between the two Stakes was the Snake River including the South Fork. North of Snake River was known as Bannock Stake, while the new Stake was known as Bingham, being north from the old boundary near Blackfoot to the South Fork. The Saints west of Snake River that were situated adjacent to Bingham Stake were included with us. J. E. Steele had been selected to fill Gunnell's position as second counselor to President Ricks; J. A. Mulliner had taken his place as Bishop, and George Ward took Mulliner's place when he was chosen by Mr. Steele.

James E. Steele of Iona was chosen as President of the new Stake and ordained and set apart to preside over it by John Henry Smith. As is the custom, the new president was allowed to choose two counselors to assist him in his labors. I was chosen as his first counselor and Joseph A. Mulliner as his second counselor.

Things on the ranch proceeded along very nicely. My church activities now, on account of my position in the new Stake, increased considerably. I had been an active worker in Iona Ward but had been confined to work in the Ward, and now with the new responsibilities connected with my office, I was called upon to do considerable running around visiting the different wards sometimes with President Steele, other times with Mr. Mulliner, and sometimes by myself.

Sam Eames was still with me on the ranch, and things went along almost as well during my absences as when I was there. He was never indifferent to his work and always kept things in good order and abreast of his work.


In connection with President Steele and Mr. Mulliner, we visited several of the wards that came under our supervision; our main object being to become better acquainted with the people of each ward and to familiarize ourselves with conditions existing in each. In November of this year all three of us went to Rigby where we held a ward conference.

Crops were harvested in good shape, and if I remember correctly, I had a little more grain this year than at any time previously and had about two hundred tons of good hay.

The year of 1896 opened with increased activities, especially with church affairs. Grain conditions were about the same in respect to acres. I perhaps had a few more acres of hay. Considerable of the place I summer-fallowed each year.

Soon after I had my spring work caught up in pretty fair shape, President Steele asked me if I could arrange things to go with him to Tilden, on the opposite side of the river from Blackfoot and about thirty miles on farther south from there, making practically a 60-mile drive for us. President Steele and I made the trip with a team and an old white top buggy. We were accompanied by Mrs. Bennett, President of the Relief Society, and Mrs. Brunt, one of her counselors. We drove as far as Moreland, just opposite Blackfoot on the Snake, the first day, and there we held an evening meeting. The next day we went on down to Tilden where we stayed two nights and one day. We could not hold meetings the first night, but on the following day we held our meeting, also one in the evening. The purpose of our visit was to select and appoint a Bishop for the Ward and in connection with Mrs. Bennett and Mrs. Brunt to organize a Relief Society. I am unable to recall the name of the man whom we appointed Bishop, but we surprised him so completely that he was quite shaken up for a time, but before we left him he accepted the position and promised to give as much attention as he could toward fulfilling the position. As soon as we completed our work in Tilden, we started on our return trip home. We reached Blackfoot that evening and held an evening meeting. The next day we went on our way home, arriving there after an absence of about a week. This, I believe, was the longest trip we ever made while I was in the Stake Presidency.

Conditions on the ranch were good all this summer. About this time there was a united effort made on the part of citizens around Idaho Falls, as well as some other influences of the state which was brought to bear on it, to advertise and boom the state. There was considerable vacant ground around Idaho Falls, that by this time improvements had placed under water, and it was with a view to securing settlers and purchasers for this property that the boom was begun. There seemed to be no trouble in finding people who were interested in the land. This land lay west of Idaho Falls in what is now known as New Sweden.


At this time I was undoubtedly the largest individual farmer in the country and was enjoying good success in my labors on the ranch, and there were very few days passed throughout this summer when we didn't have visitors ranging in number from one to a dozen. I surely had some excellent crops, and I was fortunate in harvesting them in first class condition. The real estate dealers and others interested in selling the ground nearly always brought the prospective buyers out to the ranch to demonstrate to them the crops that the land would produce. I had one patch of wheat that was exceptionally free from weeds and that was as pretty and level as possibly could be. These people, who undoubtedly had never seen grain grown under irrigation before, were certainly surprised at what they saw, and those who were present at the time this same patch of wheat was threshed saw what they had believed to be impossible before, and that was wheat that yielded sixty bushels per acre. Another thing they seemed to marvel about was my hay. Many of them in examining the hay in the stacks would run their hands into the stack and bring out bunches of hay that had cured very pretty and green, and almost without fail, they would put part of it away in one of their pockets to show some friend.

The thing that interested them perhaps more than anything else was the system of irrigation. Their ideas of the way irrigation was accomplished were not in accordance with the facts as they found them, and they certainly were much surprised with what they saw. The land was laid off in six-acre pieces, being 1/4 mile long and six rods wide, and could be watered from one end to the other without any cross ditches. From the ranch they were usually taken to Hank Keifer's ranch, about two miles east of me on Willow Creek, to view his orchard which consisted mostly of apples and was an excellent orchard, and usually when these people completed their visits around, they were very favorably impressed with what they saw.

Perhaps my grain crop this year was the largest I had produced up to this time. I had a little in excess of 9,000 bushels of grain and perhaps a little larger harvest of hay than usual. I sent a few hundred dollars to Mr. Lowe again this fall.

The remaining months of the year 1896 and the early winter months of 1897 passed uneventfully. When spring opened, as soon as it was possible, we started to prepare to plant the crops, and by about the first of May everything was pretty well along. This year in the month of May on the 26th day, Rhoda was married to Roy L. Stockham. The ceremony was performed by Peter Nelson at Grant, Idaho.

In February of this year we held a quarterly conference in Rigby. President Steele and Mulliner and myself were all over there. I cannot recall who was in attendance at the conference from Salt Lake, but I am sure that some of the leaders were up for we always had a representative visit us on these occasions. The next quarterly conference was held in May, followed three months later by one in August and one later in November. I am not positive about the wards the last three were held in.

In the early fall months of this year a letter was received from Mrs. Seymour Fackerell at Gray's Lake. Gray's Lake was located in the extreme eastern part of the Stake, and located near there were perhaps twenty families of Latter Day Saints, and some of them, in fact most of them, were good church members. The people of this community were very much interested in securing some kind of church organization, particularly a Sunday School. Mrs. Fackerell perhaps expressed the sentiment of the community in her letter which was written to the Stake Presidency. She briefly explained the situation up there and sought some aid particularly for the young people of the country. Her letter was received quite late in the fall, and as a result when we finally located two men to send up there as home missionaries, it was really early winter.

We sent Martin Harris of Lewisville and an old man from Blackfoot whose name I cannot recall. It so happened that these two men had been up there but a very short time until winter set in, and the first snowfall made it practically impossible for them to get out. So they spent the winter there, and their efforts resulted in doing much good. When conditions opened up and they could get out, they made their report to President Steele. After a consideration of the conditions and recommendations of these two men, President Steele detailed Mr. Mulliner and me to go to Gray's Lake. President Steele was not feeling very well at this time. George Muir of Gray's Lake had been pointed out by Harris and his companion as a man worthy of consideration for the Bishop of the Ward. Our trip was to be made to ascertain if Mr. Muir would take the position. He agreed, and our business completed, we returned home and reported to President Steele.

Another thing Mulliner and I did while in Gray's Lake, which was apart of our instructions, was to organize a Sunday School. I cannot now recall whom we chose for superintendent, but Mrs. Fackerell was chosen secretary. Next to the trip to Tilden, this was one of the longest trips there was to be made on church business in our Stake. The trips usually took three or four days according to the number of meetings we held, and the trips totaled about 100 miles each time. During the time I labored in the Stake Presidency, I made a total of six trips to Gray's Lake, and I have made one up there since. The purpose of the second trip I made up to Gray's Lake, which I was detailed to make by President Steele, was simply a visit to the people to find out their condition and wants. President Steele suggested that I choose someone to make the trip with me, so I chose Heber Andrus. We were gone three days on this second trip.

A year or so following the trip with Mr. Andrus, I was detailed by President Steele to go again to Gray's Lake. This time I chose T. V. Lee of Iona to make the trip with me, our purpose being to hold a ward conference and pay the ward a visit.

The first trip I made after Mr. Mulliner and I were there was with Emil Bockman, a resident at this time of Lewisville. There were quite a number of people made this trip. During the winter Martin Harris had spent in Gray's Lake, he promised the people of the ward that he would some day in the near future return to them with a man who really knew more about the Bible and who could quote scripture in larger quantities than anyone else they had ever heard. It was partly in response to this promise that Mr. Bockman was taken. He was the best man I ever knew in quoting passages of scripture. Our meetings up there on this trip were very successful and were enjoyed very much. Mrs. Bennett, President of the Relief Society, was along with us. We held meetings on two different days. Upon completion of our meetings, we returned home the next day and completed the trip without incident worthy of mention.

The next trip made to Gray's Lake I went in company with President Steele and quite a few others among whom was Mrs. Bennett. We held a ward conference; the meetings were held on two different days. This was my third trip and was President Steel's first.

I always felt all right about being called upon to go to Gray's Lake for I always enjoyed my trips there. The people were always very kind to us, and there were many excellent people up there. Our meetings were well attended. George Muir was Bishop of the Ward, he having been chosen some time previously.


When our meetings were completed and we were making preparations to return home, President Steele was engaged in a conversation with Mr. Fackerell about the roads. The fact that I had already made two trips and that there were several others in the party who were quite familiar with the roads didn't account for much with President Steele. He sought information from Mr. Fackerell to his own satisfaction, and when he was satisfied about the roads, we started for home. The instructions given President Steele were somewhat misunderstood or were inaccurate, for when we arrived at a certain place in the road, we were to make a detour to shorten our journey. This detour later became known as "President Steel's Cut-off." Our suggestions to President Steele that the course he was taking was the wrong one were ignored, and he insisted that we take the road as he mapped it out for us, so we did. President Steele is just sufficiently Scotch to make it necessary for him to see for himself, so while he was doing this we lost about two hours travel over a good road toward home; meantime, we were bouncing around over unbroken country unsuccessfully trying to dodge lava rocks. When we finally came back into the good road, President Steele was very quiet. Some members of our party had not fared very well on our detour. However, everyone was able to proceed on our way home where we arrived all okay but very tired and somewhat later than we should have been.

A year or so later President Steele and I, with a number of others, went to Gray's Lake again. Among the other members of our party was Charles Crabtree, Bishop of Idaho Falls. There was nothing in particular occurred this trip, which was President Steele's second. We held a ward conference and found the ward to be in excellent shape, and as soon as we could we returned home.

The seventh and last trip that I made to Gray's Lake was after President Steele had been released, and Heber Austin had been chosen President of the Stake. These seven trips were made over a span of time covering several years, but I have accounted for them in this way because I am unable to give proper dates and thus cannot give them in their proper places. Upon President Steele's release, I was no longer a member of the Stake Presidency but had been ordained a Patriarch and set apart to labor in Bingham Stake.

When President Austin decided to pay a visit to Gray's Lake, which was his first on church business, I was asked by him to accompany him which I very gladly did. Upon our arrival there we held a ward conference which was very well attended, and we enjoyed ourselves very much. I found as soon as the people of the ward knew that I was a Patriarch that there was quite a demand for blessings, and I found I could not do all that work in the time I had originally planned to be there. There happened to be in Gray's Lake at this time a man from Lehi, Utah, who was attending to some business there, and when he found out I wanted to stay a few days longer, he very kindly offered me a ride out with him, which he said would be in about three or four days. I decided to remain in Gray's Lake to give some blessings, so when President Austin departed for home at the end of the conference, I remained in Gray's Lake. I enjoyed my visits among the people very much and gave quite a number of blessings. I believe I stayed there three days and then returned home.


The following are accounts of trips made to Swan Valley and are given here without respect to proper dates. The first one of these trips was the first time I had been in Swan Valley since the time we were up there surveying the valley some years previous. I went in company with President Steele, this being his first trip. Our business up there, in connection to finding out conditions existing there, was to complete the organization of the ward. Robert Oakden, a former resident of Menan, was chosen to be Bishop of the Ward. He had been ordained and set apart sometime previously. At this time in Swan Valley there was some anticipation of trouble with some Indians of the neighborhood. The situation looked serious enough to deem it necessary to have a few soldiers stationed nearby. They were camped on Mr. Oakden's place. President Steele and I made our trip up there during the time this scare was on. However, there was nothing came of the rumored trouble with the Indians, but for quite a long time the people of Sawn Valley maintained guards both night and day. After completing our business up there, we returned home without incident.

The second trip I made up there was with President and Mrs. Steele and Mrs. Bennett. These trips were made about one year later in each case, the purpose of each being to pay visits to the people of the ward, and where we could, to offer advice and give information to those who sought it. Mrs. Bennett's work up there consisted in completing the Relief Society organization in the ward. It was customary with us every time we went to Swan Valley to take our fishing tackle with us, and what time we could spare we spent fishing in Snake River. On this particular trip we had very good luck in catching fish.

I don't believe that I ever made a trip to Swan Valley on our church affairs when I was not given a very fine string of trout by Charles Wheat, a man living near Calamity Point. In fact he nearly always had some trout for me any time he knew of my presence around. While he was not in sympathy with our religious beliefs, he was always very friendly with us.

We always regretted having to return home so quickly on these occasions, but usually after a day or two we went home. This trip was completed without incident.

The next trip I made to Swan Valley I made with Heber Andrus. President Steele was unable to go on this trip, and when he asked me to go, I in turn asked Andrus to go with me. Our business was to hold a ward conference, the purpose of which, as is usually the case, was to find out conditions of the ward and find out if the people of the ward would sustain their officials and give them their support in the duties they were called upon to perform. The trip was completed without particular incident.

The next trip I made was not in interest of the Church but was a trip made almost exclusively in interest of politics. At this time Frank was running for assessor and collector, and I was running for Senator. Our political ambitions were misdirected, and all our efforts in campaigning came to naught. We were affiliated with the wrong party. Everything in the line of politics in Idaho at that time was Republican. I have been given sufficient evidence, at least for my own conviction, that some of the persons with whom I was associated in our religious affairs used their influence against me in this campaign, and nothing was spared until my defeat had been assured.

During the time that elapsed since Frank and I made our trip to Swan Valley in interest of politics, a bridge was built across the river at the upper end of Conant Valley. This was the first time in all the trips I had made up there that a bridge was available for use.


Previous to this time Congress had passed a law prohibiting any church from owning real estate in excess of $50,000.00. this law was enacted striking directly at the L. D. S. Church, who at this time owned many times that much property. All this property was seized by the government but was later returned after about $1,000,000.00 worth of the property had been disposed of to defray expenses. This law becoming inactive against the L. D. S. Church made some readjustments necessary, and the Church had sent L. John Nuttall up from Salt Lake to take care of the business. Our trip to Swan Valley was in connection with Mr. Nuttall. Harriet, Elizabeth, Minnie, and I, and Nuttall, who was also accompanied by his daughter, made the trip along with some few others, including President Steele. Mr. Nuttall's business was to organize the Relief Society so that they could legally hold property. We spent several days fishing and enjoying ourselves, and I received my customary string of fish from Mr. Wheat.

The next trip was made to hold a ward conference in Swan Valley, which was well attended and proved quite satisfactory. We spent one night with Tom Caldwell and one with Mr. John Barrus. We enjoyed fish from Mr. Wheat, and also a short fishing trip for ourselves.

With the opening of the year 1908, Church Authorities decided to divide Bingham Stake. This had been previously considered, but the Stake was not divided until February 8th, 1908. Soon after this the question arose about Swan Valley, and in the end it was decided to allow them to choose for themselves as to which Stake they wanted to associate themselves with. President Steele, not caring to go, appointed me, and I agreed under the condition I was to be furnished a driver to care for the horses. Oscare Steele made the trip with me. Don Walker, who had been chosen President of Rigby Stake, and President Steele had agreed on a date for the meeting. Upon our arrival there I took charge of the meeting, and when the voting was done to decide the question, the people voted almost unanimously to join the new Stake. With the conclusion of my work on this trip, my ecclesiastical works ended in so much as Swan Valley was concerned.

In November of this year 1908, President Steele, for business reasons, decided to ask to be released from his religious duties as President of the Stake. He did not want to resign but wanted to be released. However, his reasons, mostly business ones, seemed quite sufficient to the Church Authorities in Salt Lake for they decided to accept his resignation. In November, at a quarterly conference held in Iona, the change was made. Heber J. Grant, Hyram M. Smith, and F. M. Lyman were the apostles up from Salt Lake to do the work. Of course with the release of President Steele from office, I no longer was a member of the Stake Presidency.

About two weeks after our release from the Presidency of the Stake, we were given a farewell party at Iona. The result of this party was an open expression from the people of the Stake in appreciation of our efforts. President Steele and I were presented a very fine loving cup each, a token to remind us of the associations of the past. President Stanger was chosen by the new President of the Stake as his first counselor. Refreshments were served at the party, and everyone seemingly had a very good time. I still have my cup in my home, and it is a source of satisfaction to me, whenever I see it, because of the pleasant memories it recalls.


At the time of appointment of the new President of the Stake, I came in touch with my old friend, F. M. Lyman. I thought with my release from the Stake Presidency that my public services were to end. I could see no further work for me, but before long Mr. Lyman approached me and made known to me his mission up to Iona. He seemed to take no active part in the conference. Our release had been affected on the Saturday session of the conference. At noon on Sunday while we were over to President Steele's getting our lunch, Mr. Lyman, upon completion of the meal, cornered me. I did not know what his purpose was or perhaps he would have had more trouble cornering me. He came to the point without any hesitation and told me that his purpose up there was to make a Patriarch of me. This so completely took me by surprise that I didn't know just what to say or do. However, the first thing I did was to tell Mr. Lyman that I did not want the position.

My observations of the past concerning patriarchs were somewhat out of line to the course that I had planned for myself to follow. Quite a number of the cases that came under my personal observation were cases where it seemed to me that the individual had outlived his usefulness in the active features of the Church and that the patriarchal feature was a means of letting them down easy. For a time the more I thought about the proposition the more convinced I became that I would not accept. I could have successfully evaded Grant and Smith, but Mr. Lyman evidently had his mind all made up and seemed quite sure that he would convince me eventually. I was a long time giving in. I told Mr. Lyman that if they had no further work for me in the public offices of the Church that they could lay me away on a shelf, and I would behave myself there. I did not want to be pushed off into obscurity as it seemed to me this method was.

I had given much of my time to public service of the Church and had always been sincere, and to my best ability I had given the best efforts of which I was capable, and I thought I would much rather retire from active service with what satisfaction I could gather from the past than to become a patriarch as I had it pictured then. I believe that President Steele used his influence to have me selected to that position. However, I would have saved time if I had given in in the first place for Mr. Lyman proved again to me that he was a sticker. He pictured to me the position that fortunately I enjoyed in the Stake with the people, reminding me of my many friends and the confidences which we enjoyed mutually. He agreed with me that I was at least partially correct in regard to some Patriarchs of the Church, but he also convinced me that there was a very real need for Patriarchs in the Church, and even though I was to be out of active participation in church government in the Stake, I was being called upon by the Lord to assume this new office and asked by Him to give my best efforts toward the lines of my new duties. Finally I agreed to his proposition, and before Mr. Lyman departed for Salt Lake, I was ordained a Patriarch and set apart to perform the duties thereof in Bingham Stake. Mr. Lyman ordained me.

After Mr. Lyman's departure for Salt Lake, I became more or less indifferent to these patriarchal duties. I felt that I was perhaps not just exactly what I should be to perform them. I was afraid that I would do something that would not be just right, and I lacked confidence in myself to proceed with the work. I had been a Patriarch about six months before I ever made an effort toward giving the first blessing. Mr. Lyman in Salt Lake had concerned himself to find out about my progress and activities. He found that I was just about the same as no Patriarch at all, so at the end of the six month period he came up to our Stake again, and upon this visit he interested me sufficiently to make a start. I gave the first blessing to my wife and then went on through the rest of the family. since I have become more familiar with my duties, I have given approximately 1100 blessings, and I have enjoyed my duties considerably.

ACCOUNT OF ROBERT JR.'S DEATH AS REFERRED TO EARLIER

When we left Manti, Robert, my oldest son, remained in Manti where he had married Lydia Forbush, and in the years following there were five children born to them: Three sons, Robert, George, and William, and two daughters, Jane, and Lydia. Robert was one of those exceptionally lucky men who I don't believe had an enemy on earth. He always was fair and square and an excellent worker and well liked everywhere he was known. So far as I have ever been able to find out, Robert and his family affairs, as well as his financial, were always in pretty fair shape, and they prospered somewhat and enjoyed life. Robert was an engineer; his activities, however, always were confined to stationary steam outfits, and in addition to this, he was a very good sawyer.

He worked for a number of different men; most of the time, however, he worked for John Lowry and Amassa Marium, Jr. For several seasons, Robert worked first for one of them and then the other, never being continually in the employ of either man.

During the eight years after our departure from Manti, I had not seen Robert once. However, with the opening of the year 1891, Robert went to work for Amassa Marium at his saw mill in Mayfield Canyon about 12 miles south of Manti. Everything with Robert, I believe, went along very nicely all during this year until sometime about the middle of August. At the mill he had charge of the engine and the saw, at least to the extent that he controlled the amount of power used. On the day of his misfortune, during the month of August, he had been bothered somewhat by the saw heating. He had just completed sawing a large log when his attention was called again to the saw. He had turned off nearly all the steam, allowing the saw to run slowly in "lazy-gate."

Absolutely contrary to his usually cautious custom when he went to ascertain the condition of the saw, as he was standing in a stooped-over position, he reached to the opposite side of the saw to find out if it were hot. While he was in this position, the board that he was standing on, which spanned the little stream of water used to carry away the sawdust and which he had used many times before the same, broke out and allowed him to fall face forward toward the saw. The fall was so unexpected, and Robert was in such a condition that he could not recover himself, so that when he fell the blade of the saw pierced his right shoulder and almost severed his right arm completely from his body; the only thing that prevented cutting the arm completely was the fact that as he fell forward his old greasy felt hat fell into the saw too. The hat, due to the fact that the saw was running slow, caught in the teeth of the saw and lodged in the guide, stalling the saw.


At the time of the accident the closest doctor was at Manti, but neither of these were surgeons and were simply "quacks" of the rankest kind. As soon as the accident occurred, parties were sent after a Dr. Olsen at Ephraim, about seven miles farther than Manti. Dr. Olsen was a very efficient surgeon, and things would have turned out very possibly alright had he had charge of the case, but the parties who were sent for help, in the excitement or indifference, did not go for Dr. Olsen but went only to Manti and secured these two "quacks" there. I don't know why they did as they did; it might have been pure ignorance of the proper thing to do, or their indifference, or possibly they thought there was absolutely no chance for his recovery. However, I believe that they are without question responsible for Robert's death. They never made an effort to properly dress the wound or to relieve the pain that Robert suffered. They did not even remove the old jumper in which he was working, never washed the wound or dressed it except to wrap it up over everything, clothes and all. As soon as possible I was notified at my home northeast of Idaho Falls, and in the course of a few days, Jim went down to Robert to help and be with him.

The doctors, upon completion of their first efforts, returned to Manti, and for five days they never showed up to care for Robert in any way. Even on later visits they made no effort to wash and properly dress the wound, and when they came back the second time, the wound was infected and portions of the dead flesh had somewhat decayed, actually giving off an obnoxious odor. Mr. Marium had tendered every effort he could but had misplaced his confidence in the doctors, and things had reached a very serious condition before it was realized.

At the time the accident occurred, it was deemed wise to leave Robert up in the mountains because of cooler conditions, but after a month things were so serious they had to move him to Manti to his home. Then after a week or two, things getting seemingly worse all the time, Jim telegraphed for me to come down at once because there had to be a change made in doctors. I went immediately to Manti, and after seeing the conditions, I dismissed the two quacks immediately and telegraphed to Ephraim for Dr. Olsen. He came over immediately and took charge of the case. He cared for Robert in a thorough manner and in a short time relieved him of much of the pain he was suffering. At this time Robert was literally a mass of bed sores all over his back, and the infection from his shoulder had spread throughout his entire system, and while we had not given up hope, it seemed more and more all the time that our efforts were useless. The lack of proper care in the first place had brought about these terrible conditions.

I was perhaps in Manti a week or ten days when I had to return home, leaving Robert in the care of Dr. Olsen, but had been home perhaps nearly two months when I received a telegram from Jim that something more had to be done for Robert. Dr. Olsen had given his best, and Robert's condition grew continually worse. Dr. Olsen advised that he believed the best thing to do was to amputate the arm and advised having the work done in Salt Lake City. When this decision was reached, Jim telegraphed for me, and upon my arrival in Salt Lake I found Robert in the Holy Cross hospital. The L.D.S. did not have a hospital in Salt Lake then, but the Relief Society did have and I was informed that they refused to allow Robert to be brought there on account of church standing. However a Rev. Martin in Manti used his influence to secure his admission to the Holy Cross. Dr. Pinkerton was the chief surgeon there at this time, and almost immediately upon seeing Robert, he decided to amputate the arm.

From the time Robert was hurt until he was brought to the hospital, about five months elapsed as I recall it now. No one knows the suffering he was forced to go through as his troubles and pains increased continuously until his death.

Some two weeks after his operation, he died of a hemorrhage in his bed one night.


A couple of days before his death, I received a telegram from Manti to come there as quickly as I could for Robert's wife, Lydia, was not expected to live. Lydia had been confined and given birth to a baby boy, who was later named William. Dr. Olsen had given very strict orders, when Robert was moved to Salt Lake, not to allow Lydia to be confined in this place where Robert had been, on account of the presence of blood poison throughout the rooms. This advice was not followed, and as a result Lydia fell subject to this terrible infection. When I arrived there, Lydia's condition was so serious as to seem almost hopeless. However, every effort possible was made to relieve her of her suffering. She gradually grew weaker and weaker as the poison did its deadly work in her body. The climax came in her life on February 8, 1892, about two weeks after the baby was born. She died about 11 p.m. on this date. The baby was cared for by one of Lydia's sisters.

Things in Salt Lake had taken a change for the worse, and at 1 A.M. on February 9th, 1892, just about two hours after Lydia's death, the hemorrhage that proved fatal to Robert occurred, and both passed over the Rubicon to their reward within a very short time of one another.

The morning of the 9th, I went to the telegraph office to send word to Salt Lake of Lydia's death. I gave my message to the operator and was preparing to leave when he told me to wait a minute as something was coming over the wire for me, and before I left I got the word of Robert's death, and asking for information as to what to do with the body.

Here I wish to mention the kindness shown to us in our troubles by George A. Lowe and his wife, who, ever since Robert's confinement to the Salt Lake hospital, had shown him many kindnesses and had done much to make things more comfortable and convenient for him. As soon as he heard of Robert's death, he went straight to the hospital and told them to have the body properly cared for and to present the bill of expense to him. I found, upon my arrival in Salt Lake, that the body was all ready to be shipped. It was decided to take the body to Manti and arrange for a double funeral there. I did not own a lot in the cemetery there, but through the kindness of Mrs. Marion Jolly, I was allowed a portion of her lot for burial purposes.

As soon as the news spread over Manti of the double death, friends of Robert and his wife took up a collection of money to defray expenses of the funeral, and upon my arrival in Manti with the body, I was given $100.00 in gold and silver for expenses.

Robert and his family were all liked very well in Manti, and a spirit of real friendship and sympathy was manifested as a result. I purchased a tomb stone with proper dates and fitting inscriptions and placed it upon a single grave, which held the bodies of the two, Robert and Lydia, Man and Wife, united in death as in life, and thus ended one of the saddest experiences that I have ever come in contact with in my life.

With the birth of William there were now five children in the family. The baby I left in Manti with Lydia's sister Clarissa, as I did Lydia, one of the children. The other three I took home with me. Jane was taken by Alice Boomer to raise, while George and Robert Jr., except for short spells, lived with us.



To continue on with R. L. Bybee's history, let it be noted here and now, 1989, to let readers know this--to assemble a reasonably accurate and factual history of Robert Lee Bybee after he moved from "The Ranch" on Willow Creek, has not been an easy task! The only histories written of him during the ensuing years are documented records of the various L.D.S. Wards to which he belonged. Pertinent information has been taken from these histories and is noted wherever used.

Also reports, stories, records, and histories of family members have been an accurate and reliable source of information. Please note here also, dates are not certain. Therefore, the word "approximate" will be used. The writer believes we can accept this wonderful ancestor's history as being as near correct as human judgment of the information gleaned can establish it.

Included in Bingham Stake at that time period (1894-1908) were eighteen wards and three branches with a membership of five thousand people. (William Raymond, Historian, "Menan History.") One can well imagine time spent in traveling to visit these far flung wards.

One more interesting incident happened to Robert Lee Bybee that he did not write in his own history, but it certainly bears repeating. On February 3, 1908, Rigby Stake was organized with Dan C. Walker as Stake President. During his term of office, the Bybee Ward was established. The ward was centrally located between Rigby and Lewisville. Robert Lee Bybee, a Counselor in the Bingham Stake, came to organize the Ward. The membership decided to name the new ward "Bybee" in his honor.

Having lived among these people, one can understand the high regard, esteem, and love they felt for this good and dedicated man. The Bybee Ward was dissolved in January of 1936. There is a Daughter of the Utah Pioneers memorial marker located in Rigby, Idaho honoring this pioneer ward. (Source -"History of Menan and Area")

As near as can be established, the first home they moved to after leaving "The Ranch" was a four room frame house located next to the Milo L.D.S. Church building. That house still exists today in 1989. The move was approximately in the year 1910. Through events and dates of other family members, this near date was determined. After moving to Milo, his activity in farming was practiced on a very small scale.

There was always the fruit orchard which grew apples, plums, pears, and sour cherries, berry bushes of different varieties (especially raspberries), and a large well-tended garden that produced quality vegetables.

A favorite horse named "Bess", a cow, some chickens, and a few pigs comprised the animal population. All produce from the garden and fruit trees not used for the table in the summer was carefully canned, dried, pickled, or preserved. Meat was usually smoked or salted. There was plenty of cheese, butter, cream, and milk not from the "corner grocery" but from nature's own source.

R. L. Bybee moved from Milo to Ucon in approximately 1916, where he continued this pattern of living as long as he was physically able to do so.


The years he lived his life in Ucon, Idaho, approximately 1916-1925, were the beginning of his declining years, and yet they were productive years also.

He was still active in his church calling as a Patriarch. This required some traveling within the Stake, although many people came to his home seeking a blessing. Always a compassionate and loving man, he understood people's problems and took the time to try to offer solutions. Within this capacity, he had the ability to make and keep many friends.

Intelligent, well-informed, and quick witted, Robert Lee Bybee was always in popular demand as a public speaker. Whether it be in church, community, or state level, he spoke with eloquence and clarity. He was also a much sought after speaker at funerals. His words of comfort and reassurance seemed to lighten the burden and bring peace to the oppressed.

Through his extensive knowledge of the restored gospel and his powerful and sincere testimony of its truths, he was able on many occasions to bring the "light and truth" of the gospel into the lives of many people. He had a decided influence for good among people for he not only taught the Gospel of Jesus Christ, he lived it.

Many happy "family times" were had while living at Ucon. Among the most unforgettable was the occasion of R. L. Bybee's birthday, May 4th!! What a great day for the "gathering of the clan." Enthusiastic plans were made, well in advance, and favorite family recipes were put into use by the many good cooks in the Bybee family. Grandmother Harriet headed the list.

When the day arrived, horses and buggies brought the larger part of the family. There were a few horseless carriages also. Warm and loving greetings were very much in evidence. It was a time for exchanging the family news, making much "a-do" about new babies, and general socializing among the adults.

Music, fun games, and of course, the delicious family dinner were enjoyed by all. There was a "first table," for adults and the children had a long wait for the "second table." But the highlight of the day, especially for the grandchildren, was when Granddaddy danced the "Highland Fling." His expertise and skill in performing this special dance made this day a fun and happy time to remember. The one birthday that is remembered by this writer was when the Ucon Relief Society Sisters baked him a very large cake. It probably had about 80 candles on it. What an impressive sight it was to see all of those candles lit!

Frank Bybee, a son, was the "camera man" of the family, and so there exists an excellent family picture taken on that occasion. Granddaddy is seen holding the cake, and he is surrounded by family members and friends.

It was always a tired but happy group of people that left for their perspective homes at the end of the day, and always they were anticipating the same occasion another year.


The year of 1926 accounted for a change in Robert Lee Bybee's life style for that year he and Harriet moved to Idaho Falls, Idaho. ("Ucon History," courtesy of Thomas Andrus). They located at 1095 Canal Avenue. About one year later, they moved across the street and north to 1125 Canal. This comfortable five room house which still stands (1989) provided pleasant living quarters for Robert and Harriet for the next two years.

During this time he was active in his church calling as Patriarch. In that same year, 1925, Bingham Stake's name was changed to Idaho Falls Stake, but he was still within the area of his original calling as a Stake Patriarch.

Family members visited together in his home, but never in the large numbers that congregated at previous gatherings. Mostly because they were scattered into different areas. As far as can be determined, he lived in Idaho Falls about two years.

Early in the year of 1928 they moved to Rigby, Idaho, where they lived with their son Leslie Bybee until the time of his death on October 4, 1929.

His funeral was held in Idaho Falls, Idaho, on October 8, 1929. The large L.D.S. Stake Tabernacle on "E" Street where it was held was filled to capacity with family members and his many friends. The funeral service was conducted by the Idaho Falls Stake President, Fred A. Caine.

Eminent speakers from both church and state officials honored him as being a dedicated leader in the development, growth, and progress of the Snake River Valley. The many beautiful floral arrangements, cards, and letters were all expressions of love that brought comfort to the bereaved family of Robert Lee Bybee.

His passing marked almost a century of righteous and profitable living. His descendants can abide by his example for what he left behind they can all build on...leaving the world, as he did, a better place to live.

Robert Lee Bybee is buried in the Rose Hill Cemetery in Idaho Falls, Idaho.

Memories of him are kept alive in the written pages of his personal history and in other records. The most treasured memories are kept and preserved in the hearts of his family. Remember, God gave us memories so we can have roses in December.

Donna Hancey Hillman (granddaughter) 1989


ENTERPRISES OF ROBERT LEE BYBEE

Robert Lee Bybee was gifted and endowed with the necessary qualifications of leadership. Whether it be in community, church, or State affairs, he stood for and obtained the reputation of being a just and upright man in all his dealings with his fellowmen.

R. L. Bybee was a spiritually dedicated churchman. Many hours of his time were spent in administering to the wants and needs of others.

In 1890 Idaho became a State, and he was elected to the State Senate on the Fusion ticket to represent his district. It was written of him, "There is no other man in Bingham County who occupies a more enviable position in industrial, social, and political circles than Robert Lee Bybee." (Source "Prominant Men of Idaho")

While living on his ranch, he took great pride in raising quality farm animals. Granddaddy's "Champion Blue Ribbon Pig" stands out in my mind. For years we had a picture of Granddaddy scratching this prize pig's back as he stood beside the barn.

I remember he cared a great deal for horses. He usually drove a well-matched team for carriage purposes. In time, they dwindled down to a one horse buggy with "Old Bess" as the faithful and dependable mare who took granddaddy wherever he needed to go.

R. L. Bybee was involved with a group of organized men whose goal it was to achieve and produce a workable irrigation system for the Snake River Valley. I do not know how this was accomplished; but among the many canals built by this enterprising group, I remember best are the Burgess, Harrison, Farmer's Friend, The Idaho, and Willow Creek Canals.

FRUIT TREES

The "Pioneer Spirit" gave Robert Lee Bybee a driving ambition to improve and develop better living conditions for his family. This interest extended to every community in which he lived. It was while living in Menan, Idaho, that he planted the first fruit trees in the area in approximately 1884-1886. Fifty apple and plum trees were planted in his own orchard. He also transplanted and cultivated apple trees along ditch and canal banks. Today, 1989, scraggly, unproductive, old trees bear mute evidence of this one time "fruitful" industry. Many people of Menan benefitted from his farsighted venture and affectionately called him "The Johnny Appleseed of Menan."



This article, Progressive men of Bannock, Bear Lake, Bingham, Fremont and Oneida Counties, Idaho,, was written and published in 1904 by ________ Co., Chicago, Ill. just seven years after R. L. Bybee arrived in Idaho, and it seems to be a proper place to include it in this "continuing" history.


ROBERT LEE BYBEE HISTORY

Commanding uniform confidence and esteem, there is no man in Bingham County who occupies a more enviable position in industrial, social and political circles than Robert Lee Bybee, not alone on account of the exceptional success which he has achieved, but for the honorable, straightforward business policy he has ever followed. He possesses untiring energy, is quick of perception, forms his plans readily and is determined in their execution, so that on this score his marked success in connection with industrial, political, and mercantile enterprises of wide scope and importance may be taken as a natural sequel; but above these are the integrity of character and fidelity of purpose which have gained for him the respect of all with whom he has come in contact during the long years of his residence in Idaho, of which he may be justly designated as a pioneer.

Senator Bybee descends from early Colonial ancestors who were residents in Virginia at and before the stirring phases of the Revolutionary war, with which they were prominently connected in both civil and military affairs; his own birth, however, occurred in Clay County, Indiana, on May 4, 1838, being a son of Byram and Betsy (Lane) Bybee, the father being a native of Barren County, Ky., where he attained manhood, married and had children. In 1847 he joined the Mormon Church and removed to Missouri, whence, in 1851, he crossed the plains to Utah, settling in Weber county, where he died in 1864.

John Bybee, who was a native of Virginia, emigrated to Kentucky in his early manhood, while his grandfather, Buford Bybee, ever resided in Virginia. The mother of Senator Bybee was a native of Tennessee, although her marriage to Mr. Bybee occurred in Kentucky. She accompanied her husband on the long, wearisome journey across the plains to Utah, where she died at Smithfield, on May 7, 1867, at the age of sixty six years. Of her thirteen children, nine attained maturity. She was the daughter of David Lane, who was a native of Tennessee. Senator Bybee has but slight recollection of the state of his birth, for at the age of five years he accompanied the family to Kentucky and from there he removed to Illinois, later, to Missouri, and in 1851 he accompanied his parents to Utah; the country at that early pioneer period being extremely sparsely settled, the first company of Mormons locating on the shores of the Salt Lake in 1847, only four years before the arrival of his father's family.

It was an unprepossessing and unpromising country that presented itself to the Bybee family when they located on Weber River, seven miles distant from the site of the present prosperous city of Ogden. The country was wild and the land covered with bunch grass, the only forest trees being the willows that bordered the streams. The rich grass however furnished nutritious food for the cattle, and stock raising and primitive farming were the occupations of these early settlers. Such were the conditions of life on the paternal ranch where Senator Bybee was diligently employed until his marriage to Jane Miller on March 19, 1857.


Making Utah the scene of his individual efforts, Mr. Bybee there continued to abide until 1883, when he moved to Idaho; previous to this event, however, his second marriage occurred to Harriet Raymond, and incidentally we will remark that at the time of Senator Bybee's first marriage the mail from Salt Lake to Independence, Mo., was furnished by pack horses that made monthly trips, and Senator Bybee at that time made the trip, starting for the East in April and returning in August, the journey occupying forty days, owing to the accumulated snow on the mountains, but the return was made in only twenty days.

In 1858, Senator Bybee was a member of a company of 150 men which went from Ogden, Utah, to the vicinity of Salmon City, in Lemhi County, Idaho, to bring back to Utah a number of families of Mormon settlers, who had been attacked by Indians and many of their number killed. They broke up the settlement and brought the survivors to Utah, and at that time there was not a house in the entire Snake River Valley except the government station of Fort Hall, which was located near the present site of Pocatello; and the first wagon that went down the Portneuf Canyon was part of this expedition. In 1861 Senator Bybee made the first trip made to Carson City, Nevada, with an ox team, his lading being eggs and salt, following the trail made by the Forty-niners on their route to California, and during his stay in Carson City the first overland coach left that place for the East.

In 1883 Senator Bybee made his residence in Idaho, locating his home at Menan, remaining there four years, taking up new land and being engaged in ranching; at the termination of that period removing to Leorin, his present home, where he has a finely located ranch of 640 acres, improved, irrigated, and furnished with a capacious residence of modern design and structure, suitable outbuildings, barns, corrals, etc., for his extensive agricultural operations, which consist of the raising of grain, alfalfa, horses, cattle, and sheep of superior breeds, and he also is paying special attention to the raising of fruit.

In politics Senator Bybee has ever been a stalwart advocate of Democracy, and an active worker in the cause of his party, being considered by the people an upright man of sterling character, whose aim in life is to do well and thoroughly whatever his conscience indicates is right. In the advocacy of measures in the interest of the people, he has been ever earnest and persistent, and is always found arrayed in the support of all legislation serving the legitimate interest of the citizens. His services have not lacked popular recognition, as he was nominated and elected on the Fusion ticket in 1890 to represent his district in the state senate. He is a man of strong individuality, taking an intelligent interest in the questions and interest of the day, fortifying his convictions by careful study and investigation, at all times willing and able to give a reason for his belief and action in clear, concise, and effective language. His religious faith is that of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.

The first wife of Senator Bybee died on June 27, 1870, at the age of twenty-nine years, she being the mother of five children, Robert L., deceased, Francis M., James A., Mary A. and Elizabeth. The second marriage has resulted in fourteen children, whose names in order of birth are as follows: William, deceased, David, Harriet, Clarinda, Alonzo, deceased, Rhoda, Walter, Minnie, Jesse M., deceased, Ida, Stanley, Leslie, Venla, deceased, and Harold.

We can in no better manner conclude this sketch than to use the words of another: "Senator Bybee has never utilized his political capacity for dress parade only. Everyone knows where to find Robert Lee Bybee." He is a man of superior presence, kindly yet dignified and courteous to all. Socially, financially and morally, he stands high among the people of the state and enjoys the esteem and friendship of a wide circle of business and personal associates.


Fifty three years after the death of Robert Lee Bybee, he is still remembered by many people who knew him.

A beautiful tribute was paid to him by Delbert V. Groberg in his published book, "The Idaho Falls Temple." The following quotes are taken from that book.

"As I recall the stories of the trials and challenges that this man related to me, I could vision in my mind this faithful man did not sit and wait for miracles to happen, but through hard work and dedication to his goals, he made them happen!" (He was speaking of the development of the Snake River Valley.)

In another quote from the same book, D. V. Groberg states, "My grandmother Elizabeth Brunt on one occasion when she introduced me to Robert Lee Bybee said, "Delbert, I want you to meet and remember Patriarch Robert Lee Bybee. You may never again have the opportunity in this life to meet someone who was with the Prophet Joseph Smith in Nauvoo."

"She was right, I never have, and I'm grateful now for her extra effort." (The "Idaho Falls Temple" was published in 1982, and the author and compiler is Delbert V. Groberg, who served as one of the Idaho Falls Temple Presidents.)


Uncle Robert Lee Bybee was also a genealogist, his letter will follow after a brief explanation.

I will enclose a copy of the letter written in 1927 by Robert L. Bybee. His niece Robena H. Greenwell copied it word for word just like he wrote it so I wish to include it in this book, because he has a few family dates a little different than his relatives have sent to me. I imagine his dates are correct as he is giving o his own parents and brothers and sisters.

One thing I notice is the name Rhoda Bird (Bybee) Bair, as has always been on family records I've received, but he has her name "Rhoda Byram (Bybee) Bair." I think he has it correct as his father's grandmother's maiden name is "Mary Byram" she was Mary Byram and married William Kelley.

My grandfather, Byram Bybee's parents are John Bybee and Betsy Kelley. His grandparents on his mother's line are William Kelley and Mary Byram.

His letter follows, copied by his granddaughter Robena H. Greenwell, address is: Box 157, Rt. 1, Ogden, Utah. The letters sent to me by Pearl (Bybee) Rollins.

June 1st, 1927
My Dear Niece Robena,

The book I keep my individual family records in just reached me this morning, hence, the delay in answering.


l. My father Byram Bybee was born 25 February 1799 in Barren Co. Ky. He married Betsy Lane (my mother) about 1819. He died 27 June 1864 at Graftan, Caine Co. Utah.

2. Betsy Lane, (my mother) was born in the State of Tennessee, 24 June 1801. This is all I know of her early life. She died in Smithfield, Cache County, Utah. She died on the 7 July 1867. My parents had 9 children (that is they raised 9 children.)

3. Polly Chapman Bybee born 28 October 1820, she was born in Barren Co. Ky. She married Levi Hammon the 10 September 1839 in the state of Indiana. They were endowed at the Salt Lake City Temple, I think about 1855. She died at Willford, Fremont Co., Idaho, 7 August 1903 (I may be a little at error in date) but it is as I have it.

4. Rhoda Byram Bybee, born 19 November 1823 in Barren Co.Ky. She married David Bair. She died 17 December 1908, she never joined the Mormon Church, my sister joined the Methodist Church and died a faithful member.

5. Elizabeth Jane Bybee, born January 23, 1825. She married Daniel Smith in the City of Nauvoo, Ill. 4 July 1844. They were afterward endowed in the Salt Lake City Temple, (I have not the date) She died in Lewiston, Utah. (I have not the date.)

6. Luann Bird Bybee, born in Ky. 3 January 1827, she married E. S. Mufstathir, have not the date. She died at Floris, Iowa, 5 November 1883. She never came west with the Mormons.

7. John Mccann Bybee was born 17 February 1829. He married Polly Smith 17 October 1850. He died 21 February 1909, at Uintah Utah. My brother John M. Bybee was a member of the Mormon Battalion; He and his wife were endowed in the Salt Lake Temple about 1855.

8. David Boman Bybee was born 17 September 1832 in Ky. He married Adelia Higley, died February 1895 at Hooper Utah.

9. Lucene Bird Bybee, born 7 February 1831 in Ky. She married Henry Beckstead 4 December 1849, endowed in the Salt Lake City Temple about 1855. Died 26 February 1915. Lucene was born before David, her name should have been before David's.

10. Jonathan Marion Bybee, born 28 July 1836 in Kentucky, died August 1836.

11. Robert Lee Bybee, born 4 May 1838 in Clay Co. Indiana. Bap. by Alfred Bybee 1848, ordained a Deacon by Father Byram Bybee 1854. Ordained an Elder by Sprague in the Old Endowment House in Salt Lake City, 20 March 1857. Ordained a High Priest by F. M. Lyman 17 August 1884 at Rexburg, Idaho. Married Jane Miller in the Old Endowment House in Salt Lake City, 26 March 1857. Received my first Patriarchal Blessing by Isaac Morley in 1856. 2nd blessing by John Smith 1876. My 3rd blessing by Chas Hide. My 4th by Father Hinkley.

I make no record of my death for I still live now in my 90th year.


12. Byram Bybee Jr. born 4 May 1841 Clay Co. Indiana. He married Jane Geneva Robinson 14 July 1865. Endowed 1866, died 7 July 1905.

Please excuse mistakes in writing and spelling, if any serious mistakes let me know and I'll correct them.

With best wishes for you and family,
I am your dear old Uncle Rob.

R. L. Bybee
Ethel Bybee Criddle, a dedicated Bybee historian and genealogist, recorded in her history this interesting bit of information. Robert Lee Bybee (Uncle Rob as she called him) told her how he received his given name Robert Lee. He related to her how General Robert E. Lee was a frequent visitor in the Bybee Homes. Some members of the family had received the name Lee as a second name, but when Byram Lee Bybee and Betsy Ann Bybee's fourth son was born, they, in honor of the General, named him Robert Lee Bybee. This information was given to Donna Hillman by Vera Criddle Yorgensen (granddaughter of David Bowman Bybee, a brother of R. L. Bybee) and by Jay Bybee (son of Ray Bybee). (1989)






I still have pleasant memories of Grandpa Bybee. It seems like long, long ago. I remember him living on a ranch along Willow Creek just off the highway approximately 12 miles east of Idaho Falls towards Ririe. I remember his kindness for everyone. Although, he attended church, the important factor was he had a built in church in his heart that functioned all the time.

Lee Bybee (son of Stan Bybee)
1989



MEMORIES OF THE RANCH Approximate date 1905-1910
by Guinevere Hancey (Gwinie as he fondly called her.) 1989

Grandpa Bybee's irrigated ranch was located about 7 or 8 miles east of Idaho Falls and was situated on the Willow Creek. My father, Arthur C. Hancey worked for R. L. Bybee, and while in his employ he courted and married his daughter Minnie Bybee. They began their life together living in a log house just west of the main house.

My first memories of the ranch were of the large orchard. There were apple, plum, and a few pear trees all of which he planted and cultivated himself.


There always was a large garden that produced a large variety of vegetables. There was a section of fine raspberry, currant, and gooseberry bushes. All these food bearing plants and trees were put to good use. Besides feeding a large family, there were sometimes as many as twenty men that had to be fed who were employed on the ranch.

Summer and fall were spent in canning fruits, vegetables, and meats that were stored in the large cellar for winter use. Jams and jellies, pickles and relishes, as only Grandmother Bybee could make were stored there and guarded over by her. This cellar was also used to store cream, milk, butter and cheese. Carrots, parsnips, and turnips were buried in the floor of the cellar. Here they kept fresh for winter use.

Hay, wheat, sugar beets, and potatoes were grown and cultivated on the ranch. In fact, it is attributed to R. L. Bybee that he grew the first potatoes in Idaho for commercial use. He planted twelve acres of "Russets." (Information source The Post Register)

A large ice house was built and used for storing ice to be used during the summer months. Large blocks of ice were sawed from the Willow Creek and kept packed in sawdust and straw.

Besides the practical and day to day labor to sustain life, I remember the shade trees, the flowers, and the well kept lawn that surrounded the house. I think that the favorite flower was the sweet peas that grew in such a profusion of colors. Hollyhocks being a sturdy, colorful plant was always prevalent.

I would like to recall here that Granddaddy used Japanese labor on the Ranch. I recall seeing them take a large basket of rice out to where the sugar beets were grown. They would set it at the end of the long row, and they would just eat small amounts during the day. This way they never left the field until sundown.

I believe many of his grandchildren benefitted from his talent as a colorful and descriptive story teller. I would be totally captivated and listen as long as he could tell them. Many a pleasant hour was spent in his memorable and unmistakably delightful company.



AS I REMEMBER MY GRANDFATHER ON MY MOTHER'S SIDE OF THE FAMILY
by Denzil L. Hancey (son of Minnie Bybee Hancey) 1989

My first recollection of Robert Lee Bybee was on what is known as the Anderson Ranch on Willow Creek about 12 miles northeast of Idaho Falls, Idaho. It was at the time my father Arthur C. Hancey farmed a part of the ranch. We lived in what we called the Mansion-of-Aching-Hearts. I remember him as a tall slender man, friendly and what you would call a very handsome man.

My next recollection of him was when he lived in Milo. It is a small community northeast of Idaho Falls. It was called Milo Ward as it was a Ward of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. I do not recall just what he did for a living there. I do recall that he gave my father two horses, a pony named Prince and a work horse named Bess.

In the latter years of his life, he lived in Ucon, Idaho. I remember it was a real joy to visit him there. He had a small place but always a garden and fruit trees. Berries were always in abundance. Grandfather would always take us with him and say to us now don't let Grandmother see us. We would then go into the garden or berry patch or orchard and pick and eat whatever was in season, fresh fruit such as apples and pears. We would help ourselves until Grandmother would come out with a switch and chase us. We would manage to out run her and hide somewhere. Grandfather would always be the peacemaker between us and her. In the winter season and fall they always had a well stocked cellar.

It was always an event to go to his place on his birthday. There all of his family and grandchildren would assemble. There was always lots of fun for everyone. Grandfather was always the center of things. There was always a picture taking session. Believe me, it was a thing to get everyone in the same picture.

I remember one event he told us about. As he was active in civil affairs he become very friendly with the Indians. They liked him as they felt he could be trusted. There were some problems came up with the Lemhi Indians. Grandfather was called to go out to see if he couldn't get them settled down. When the Indians heard he was coming, they prepared a great pow-wow and feast. When they got ready to eat, the Indian Chief got up and apologized that he was sorry that the dog they were preparing for the feast got sick and died. They then had to kill a fat steer instead. Grandfather gratefully accepted their apology.

His later life he lived in Idaho Falls, Idaho. I do not recall just what he did there. I do remember visiting him and Grandmother.

He was active in politics, but I remember him best for his activity in church. I recall he was a Bishop, a Stake President, and a Stake Patriarch. He was a fine gentleman, and I am glad he was my Grandfather.



MEMORIES OF ROBERT LEE BYBEE
Power of the Priesthood
by Donna Hancey Hillman 1989

My most vivid memory of my Grandfather happened when I was about eight years of age. It was approximately 1918, and we were living in Milo, Idaho, at the time. My youngest sister Wanda was critically ill with pneumonia. The nurse who was helping to attend to her had told my parents the end was very near and to prepare for it.

My parents, who were not content to give up so easily, had summoned Mother's father, Robert Lee Bybee, to give her a priesthood blessing. As soon as he arrived he went straight to her bedside. He immediately requested some consecrated oil, and he and my father laid their hands upon her head. Granddaddy pronounced the blessing.


I can still see his face, white and full of emotion, in the lamplight as he was pleading for my sister's life. It seemed like a very long time before another sound was heard in the room other than the firm, strong voice of Granddaddy in prayer.

I finally heard the nurse whisper to Mother, "She has stopped breathing."

"No," Granddaddy replied, "She is sleeping."

Whatever strength it cost him that night physically, he had to be helped to his feet and be placed in a chair.

We were all asked to leave the room except my parents. I glanced back at them, and they were kneeling beside her bed, the light from the lamp shining like a halo o'er them. They wept together in gratitude for having their child spared through the power of faith and the priesthood.



I remember well the day that Granddaddy gave my Patriarchal Blessing to me. It was in the spring of the year, and school had let out for the summer. As I hurried home from there, I was filled with anticipation for I knew that Granddaddy was at our home.

The occasion was a very special one because he had come there for the express reason to give my Patriarchal Blessing to me.

I do not believe anyone had a more beautiful setting than I for the place chosen was out in our yard. The apple and plum trees were in blossom, and the air was pungent with their sweet aroma.

Family members gathered around as Granddaddy put his hands upon my head to pronounce this very special and sacred blessing.
I will always love him for making that day one of the most joyous experiences of my life.





ROBERT LEE BYBEE, AS I REMEMBER HIM
by Wanda Hancey Christensen 1989
(Daughter of Minnie Bybee Hancey)

I often times think how blessed I am that I can claim Robert Lee Bybee as my Grandparent. I truly feel he was my friend! Always cheerful, patient, and loving, surely in my childish eyes, he was "heaven sent." Granddaddy, as we affectionately call him, will never be forgotten by me! I'm sure I am not alone in these sentiments for he cared for us all.


Granddaddy was a great story teller. I remember listening with rapt attention as he told how as a small boy his mother had taken him to see the bodies of Joseph and Hyrum Smith as they lay in state after they were assassinated. I am convinced he was vividly impressed on this occasion.

It was during the years when he served as Patriarch of Bingham Stake that my mother, Minnie Bybee Hancey, was his recorder. She transcribed most of his blessings. It is recorded that he gave l,135 Patriarchal blessings. (Information source "Milo History.")

It was a memorable occasion when I was permitted to stay in the room while he was giving a blessing. "Only if you are very quiet," he reminded me, "and you will have to leave the room if you aren't." Needless to say, I was on my very best behavior.

When I went to visit my grandparents, I was sometimes permitted to play with the dominoes game, and nothing pleased me more than to look at fascinating pictures of far away places as seen through a viewer. This device magnified the pictures and made them look lifelike.

Granddaddy had a way of making me feel really special, he would say, "You are my favorite granddaughter, and I will tell you why, you like "germade mush!" It was always served with real cream, it was truly delicious.

I have wonderful memories of picking fruit, gathering produce from his well-tended and productive garden, and collecting eggs from the hen house. Going to the "General Store" at Ucon with Granddaddy was indeed a momentous occasion. Just riding there beside him in the one horse buggy, well, it made me feel proud! I would sit up straight and just be happy to be there. There was always a treat of some kind. Candycorn and lemon drops were some his and my favorites.

Granddaddy was 74 years old when I was born, and through the years, I have learned what a caring and loving person he truly was, and I as his granddaughter cannot imagine "heaven" without him. The approximate dates I remember my Grandfather are from 1917 until the time of his death in 1929.




Death Summons Valley Pioneer
Robert L. Bybee, 91, Victim of Pneumonia;
Was Prominent in State Politics


Robert Lee Bybee, 91, at one time prominent in Idaho political circles, passed away at a local hospital Friday night, a victim of pneumonia. He had been in the hospital only a few days. Mr. Bybee was born in Clay County, Indiana, May 4, 1838. His early boyhood was spent in Kentucky, Illinois, Missouri and Utah. In 1885 the family settled at Weber river, seven miles from Ogden, Utah, where the family took up ranching. In 1857 he was married to Jane Miller. Before moving to Idaho in 1883, he was married to Harriet Raymond, who now survives him. In 1858 Mr. Bybee accompanied an expedition of 150 men from Ogden to Salmon City, Idaho, for the purpose of bringing back to Utah a number of families who had been attacked by Indians and many of them killed and wounded. The settlement was broken up and the people taken to Utah at the time when Fort Hall was the only settlement in the Snake river valley. Mr. Bybee settled in Menan upon moving to Idaho. His home at the time of his death was in Rigby. He was senator from Bingham county in 1901, elected on a fusion democratic ticket, and played a prominent part in the political life of the state.

He is survived by 11 children, 61 grandchildren, 50 great grandchildren and two great-great grandchildren. The children surviving are Frank Bybee and Mrs. A. H. Boomer of Idaho Falls, James Bybee of Boise, Mrs. C. W. Poole of Rexburg, Mrs. Jabez Nowlin of Claresholm, Canada, Ray Bybee and Mrs. Ida Campbell of Anaconda, Mont.; Mrs. Arthur Hancey of Osgood, Leslie Bybee of Rigby and Harold Bybee of Pocatello.

The body was taken Friday to Rigby under the direction of the Flamm-Eckersall undertaking company of that place. The body will be returned here Monday morning, where it will lay in state at the Leslie Poole home on F Street until time of services Monday afternoon at 1 o=clock at the L.D. S. Tabernacle.

The Life of Robert Lee Bybee
Son of Byram Bybee and Betsy Lane

The first to the Bybee people that I have any record off, left England early in the 16th century and settled in the state of Virginia, and the natural migration of the families led them into the surrounding states, and on May 4, 1838; I was born on the banks of the Eel River in Clay County, Indiana, the son of a family of 10, and my first experience in life was on the farm. The land, we were killing was not open for entry, but was held as a vote “squatters right." The house was of logs, a dirt roof and without a floor, built on the bank of the river. Father was not healthy, and mother was taking responsibilities, generally, and as I view the happenings of the immediate future, we were near the stage waiting for the cue to enter and play our part. This cue was furnished by the humble Mormon missionaries, and the entire family, with one exception, placed themselves under its influence, and in 1842, the family moved to Nauvoo, Illinois, and immediately we felt the heavy hand of the oppressor as he waged war his war without mercy on the people.

During my three years residents in and around Nauvoo, I received two years schooling, the balance of the time we were moving from place to place either driven by mob, or in fear of them. Joseph Smith, the Prophet was a military man in no small degree, and it was his interest in the youth of Nauvoo that prompted him to ask the parents of the community to allow their sons to subject themselves to the conditions and discipline of military training. It was touring one of the sermons he preached appealing for the support of the parents and their sons, that he said in effect, if they would allow their sons to come to him and subject themselves to this training and discipline, he would promise them that they would never be killed by the bullet of an enemy. In our own family, this was readily accepted and as a result, I received some of the early experiences of the wonderful teachings of the Prophet Joseph, and this is more vivid in my mind than many of the things that were, seemingly, of greater importance.

There were only two of my brother's old enough to take part in the organization. The companies were formed of different age groups; my brother David and myself were the fortunate ones. I recall very distinctly, the uniforms we used. They consisted of practically anything that would cover our nakedness. The only thing in the line of a uniform was a cap. It consisted of two stripes of pasteboard fastened and so arranged so that it would slip over the head, with blue yarn tassels on both ends, and one on top. The difference in the uniforms of the two companies was, in the red trimmings on the caps of the older company. I've regretted, and do now regret that I did not use every care I knew to preserve this headpiece. I now recall just what happened to that cap. My mother's love for the cap was equal with my own, and it had its place in the bottom of mother's wooden chest.

I was about 16 or 17 years of age and living in Uintah, Utah when I was prevailed upon by Malan Chase, a neighbor of ours, who had aspirations toward the stage, and always wanted the cap, and felt more successful when he had it on, to trade it to him for an old slate. A good slate in those days was considered quite a valuable piece of property, they were being not tablets or blackboards in use in the homes are in the schoolrooms.

Myself and my younger brother Byram, spent much of our time during this period watching the progress of the work on the temple as the men raised the large stones to their places on the top of the high walls with the crude implements at their command. The old block and tackle rendering the mechanical advantage. I recall the men after the stone was ready to hoist, they would sing, in time with their movements,

"Rolling, a bolling the ship is a rolling, Ho! Ho! Ho!
Rolling, a bolling the ship is a rolling, Ho! Ho! Ho!”

Following the last Ho! They united their efforts and up went the stone.

Another form of amusement that we enjoyed very much, was to watch the progress of the steamboats on the Mississippi River. A little distance below our home in Nauvoo, a projection of rock, in the channel of the river produced a rapid, above which the larger vessels could not go. There were some side-wheelers, a boat built with the power wheels on either side that could pass up over the Rapids. There were also some stern wheel boats. I think one or two of them could pass over also, and one the "Warsaw", we were especially interested in, because it not only carried the mail either up or down the river from Nauvoo, but it always appealed to us because of the ease with which it did come and go. While again, the name of the vessel reminded us of a community by that name whose people were embittered against the states.

There was very little work in Nauvoo that winter. The work on the temple was all donated. Aside from this there was a Cooper institution making barrels and cakes for the transportation of whiskeys, etc. There was some employment offered by this company and getting "hoop poles" which were used to hold the status of the barrels and cakes in place. These "hoop poles" were made from the second growth of Hickory, perhaps in their second season, and very tough and pliable.

He was during the late spring and early summer of this year, 1844 that the activities ever enemies made it necessary for us to locate a home elsewhere.

While the exodus of the Saints was not undertaken at this time, it was nevertheless a paramount subject for discussion and the route and the direction had received considerable attention. With those helps in mind, and the pressure of our economic problems, it was a relief to start on the western trek. The activities of our enemies around us and the effect of driving the Saints into the city of Nauvoo where they remained as a body until the enactment of the terrible tragedy of June 27, 1844.

When I review this period of my life from my advanced age, I can recall the clearest and most impressive fashion of my boyhood memories the person and personality of the Prophet Joseph Smith. I remember very distinctly hearing in case the people on Sunday in the beautiful grove in the eastern part of the city. My father was sick at home, but mother took weak children and help to impress the lessons taught there, on our memories. I remember the excitement that prevailed among the Saints when the news of the assassination reached Nauvoo. My mother took us to see the bodies, my father still ill at home. I'm thankful I saw and heard these men in life, and that I was permitted to view their remains. Their teachings in their manner of living have been ideal to me and after seeing and hearing the many trials of their brief lives, and the manner of suffering, it has made my cross easy to bear. I can recall how beautiful he appeared at the head of the parades and drills of the Nauvoo Legion, seated on his beautiful bay mount, in the uniform he war which was as neat as in new pin. I remember him as he would call on visit our company when we were training. The prophet always spoke to us, urging us to always be good, clean boys. The last time I recall seeing the prophet a live was on the one of the parades of the Legion.

It seems to me now that the remaining months of 1844 and the early spring of 1845, my life was somewhat uneventful, unless it was the fact that we labored under a false impression in regard to the preparations necessary for our trip west. There was a general impression that there was a scarcity of fuel for use in crossing the planes, and we were told to cook and prepare as much food as we could before starting across. So we parched all the corn we could spare for the trip. We found out in plenty of time that this bit of information was not well founded, that with care of there was plenty of fuel, so the practice of preparing food was discontinued.

If I remember correctly the first move of our migration was made about this time. The general move of the Saints was not yet a reality, but when we cross the Mississippi River in May 1845, we always considered it the first of the moves we were to make with the Rocky Mountains as our goal. I remember that the leaves were just coming out on the trees, and the plants just coming in flower, the birds were returning from the south and their cheerful songs rang out merrily through the woodland.

When our preparations were completed we all assembled on the east bank of the Mississippi and waited our turn for the ferryboat. This was a large flat-bottomed boat with room enough on it for two teams and two wagons at the same time. It was a very sturdy affair, surely not easy to sink, and not at all likely to capsize. No cables were used in handling it, ores in sets of one, two or three pairs were with each boat and manipulated by manpower. A man at the stern of the boat with the rudder would guide it to the port intended. At this point the river was 1 mile wide, and to offset the current of the stream the boat was toed up some distance above the proposed landing on the other side. Needless to say it did not have the speed of our rocky mountain streams.

Levi Hammon, who married my sister Polly, and who joined us at Nauvoo in 1843, was with us here and the boat would accommodate both our outfits at once, so we were loaded on and the crossing made without accident. We landed at Montrose, Iowa, almost opposite Nauvoo. At this point the river forms the boundary between the present states of Illinois and Iowa. My father often remarked about the cloudy future of the Saints, and anticipated the mobbings and sufferings of them, and it was these things that urged us on to the west, even ahead of the main body of the Saints.

While we were preparing to cross my father was in contact with one Dr. Todd who owned a large tract of land in Iowa, near Montrose, he wanted it fenced.

The fence was known as the "worm-fence", the rails in other materials for the fans were to be gathered from the land in question, and it was with the intention of doing this work that we settled on the place. Father and Levi Hammon had contracted the work, so that we made the trip to the property from Montrose together, and made our home together, such as it was. We didn't have a house to move into so we arranged the best we could and that was none too good. There were many things that served to make things hard for us, the presence of snakes and insects made it impossible to sleep on the ground so we cut steaks long enough to stand about 3 feet above the ground when in place, with crosspieces on these we could place the wagon boxes on them and maintain sleeping quarters. In the new arrangement Levi and his family lived in a tent nearby, protected as well as could be done. To my knowledge father was never able to do any strenuous labor, so in this case all the heavy work fell on David who was 15 and John who was 17.

Doctor Todd furnished our axes, and a crosscut saw, and two or three iron wedges. The wooden wedges or gluts we made our-selves. The rail in the fences were to be 12 feet long and made of the wood easiest to obtain. The boys preferred walnut. It split easily and straight and made a nice uniform rail. David was an excellent worker, and his work was to start splitting the trees after they had been sawed into sections by John and Levi. Like most any work there is an art to splitting rails, and the boys mastered that art, the placing of the wedges and of the gluts at proper distance, according to the size of the log, making even rail splitting interesting. The piece of land we were fencing was a small portion of the entire tract.. It was one half-mile square, which meant we had two miles of fence to build. Our supplies, particularly corn and pork, were furnished by Dr. Todd as part pay for our work. I do not know the particulars of the contract but when we completed the work just before September, after paying for our summer’s provisions, father left there with a good wagon and a good young yoke of oxen.

Dr. Todd was certainly a fine friend to our family, and I believe that father could have made his home with him there, but father's aims and desires were to go west with the Saints, and nothing was permitted to interfere with the plans. I enjoyed the stay at Dr. Todds, Byram and myself were free to roam the woods, going and coming when we would. About the only duty we had was to carry water for mother from a nearby spring. I remember on one occasion I took a couple of hours to get a turn of water and as father went to his work he found me and told me to tell Mother to punish me. I returned to camp but hoping father would forget it, I said nothing. When father returned about the first thing he asked me was if I told mother, then he administered the whipping. I liked this arrangement – two from father is better than one from mother. She has a process that commanded respect, and no efforts on her part were misdirected.

When Byram and I were alone, our greatest pastime was hunting quail nests. It not only afforded us great fun, but the eggs could be used by mother in her cooking. Sometimes we went with father in the woods to hunt squirrels, there were a great many of them there, principally of two kinds, the gray and the fox squirrel, either was very fine meat. Father owned a small bore Kentucky rifle and prided himself in his marksmanship, often dropping the clever squirrel from the top of the highest tree where he thought himself hid. The squirrel meant more to our family than meat. My mother had very poor feet and only leather pelt of the very softest kind was used in the making of her shoes. The squirrel pelt when properly tanned made good, tough, endurable leather, and her shoes were always made of them by father. The ash hopper was made about two feet long and two and one half feet deep and in shape like the letter “V”, open at the bottom, and a trough to catch the liquid. In this hopper we place the ashes and when the time came to make soap, we would moisten the ashes and as the water passed through them and into the trough at the bottom it became charged with a strong solution of lye, and this was used in making the household soap. Besides this we used the ashes for tanning the different hides that we used for leather. We would bury the squirrel pelt about three or four inches deep in the ashes, keeping them damp. In about three or four days, or until the hair would slip, then after removing the hair it was thoroughly washed and placed in some soft soap. After 3 or 4 days it was again washed, then worked by hand near a fire until it was entirely dry. It was then very soft and pliable.

Another thing that happened in our lives worthy of note, maybe more so then than now, was one of mother's Johnny-cakes. After we crossed the Mississippi into Iowa we were rarely ever out of corn meal, our supply of white flour increased also. Mother was an expert on the well-known corn Dodger. But the times mother made Johnny-bread everyone would sit up and take notice. The ingredients used to make both the dodger and the cake were practically the same, but the method was quite different. The corn meal and the salt and the water was mixed as for the dodger, but the big thing happened when the cracklings were added. The cracklings are the portion left when the fat of the hog has been rendered. Johnny cake days were certainly rare days to us then. They usually came during the winter holidays and usually represented grand occasions, and were out of the ordinary for us. I believe in my boyhood days I never enjoyed any bread and cake better than these.

It was quite a trick to cook these cakes, for they were not cooked like the dodgers. Our cooking implements were of the very simplest. The dodger was cooked in the Dutch oven, but the Johnny cake was cooked before the open fire. We had no dripping pans, so we used an oak board about 1 and ½ inch thick, 15 inches wide and 18 inches long, with sides of wood to hold the cake on the board. It was then placed before the fire to cook, at an angle of course, and then the cake was cooked on one side it was turned over so the other side would cook. Except that we were fulfilling an ambition of my father's life in moving westward, it was with real regret that we moved from Dr. Todd's place. Our plans for the move West were constantly spoken of, and revised and kept up to the minute.

We went from Dr. Todd's place to Daniel Smith's place somewhere in the vicinity of Kainsville, Iowa. We moved slowly so we could take advantage of all the work we could get so we could get all the money and property we could. I do not recall a great deal that happened on the way to Kainsville, but I know that we reached there a mighty little in advance of winter. We were fortunate here in that we could move into a house, and that near where Daniel lived. Daniel had moved west from Nauvoo about one year ahead of us, and had gone to the place near Kainsville some fifteen miles North of the town as fast as he could. He and his family were industrious and when we joined them they were very comfortable. I am not sure as to who owned the house we moved into, but I am inclined to think it was one built and abandoned by some pioneer in his westward flight. We were very comfortable here and enjoyed the winter very much.

When Daniel first came to Kainsville he located on the first stream north of the town, then known as Little Pigeon, and some 8 or 10 miles farther north was Big Pigeon. He located in the district on account of the supply of wild game, making it easy to secure his meat. Wild bees were plentiful also. When we reached his home he had many gallons of wild honey.

It is interesting at this point to note an observation by Levi Edgar Young in “The Founding of Utah” - "This was the age of new American inventions, when the McCormick reaper, the plow, threshing-machine and the sewing machine were changing the entire industrial history of America ---Always on the frontier the Mormons had learned inventiveness and resourcefulness; … They had felled trees and reclaimed thousands of acres of land …They had entered on that period of industrial and social life … and the church and school were the centers of social and religious activities! The thought we were living in this wonderful time, and doing our bit in the great program of affairs, and eventually to found the greatest commonwealth of all time, has been a source of no small degree of satisfaction to me, and was so to my father whose vision of the west was in keeping with the wonderful things that have taken place.

We moved from Kainsville where we had spent the winter, early spring of 1846, up onto the headwaters of Little Pigeon where there was a large beautiful spring. Conditions were more favorable here where we located and father, with the help of Levi Hammon, Daniel Smith and the boys built a house. We arrived here early enough in the spring to plow and plant four or five acres of corn and garden.

Levi Hammon, who had been with us continually since 1843 at Nauvoo, did not move with us to the headwaters of the Little Pigeon, but where we had spent the winter, near Daniel Smith.

When our work was taken care of in the spring, the corn and garden planted, and everything as well arranged as possible, Levi Hammon, with his family, my father and my brother David, went down to Missouri with their wagons and teams to get work. Our home life was quite uneventful during father’s absence. We cared for the corn and garden as best we could, Byram and my self did about as we pleased most of the time. Levi and his family, my father and brother David spent the winter of 1846-47 in Missouri, where they were working.

After our corn was harvested, and the vegetables were gathered we moved from this location about one half mile down the creek, nearer to the home of Daniel Smith, and it proved to be our farewell to the place. Just before the corn was ready to gather, we discovered the tracks of an Indian in the field. Mother was not surprised at the news for she had heard him in the night, but said nothing about it. It was because of this that we moved nearer to Daniel Smith’s home.

At this time the name of Robert Lane, is introduced into my Father’s record, as the cousin of my father, and was about the age of father, and was with him on the Little Pigeon, and was with him when they discovered the tracks of the Indian in the cornfield. Where he came from, where his people were, how he came to be there is never mentioned.

The Indians in this locality were known as the Omahas, and while they were not particularly unfriendly, they would steal anything that was loose. If the Indian had appeared in the daytime, we would have likely have taken it as a matter of course, though our neighbors were from a mile to five miles from us.

About a quarter of a mile above our new home, on the banks of the creek was located a log house, used as a community center, for Church gatherings, dances and socials. The music for these entertainments was furnished by my brother-in-law Daniel Smith, who was a first class “fiddler” if not a violinist. School was held there five days a week. I never did attend school there, though, for I had no shoes and whenever I left the house I had to wrap my feet in rags, and other clothing was not too plentiful.

Perhaps the most cherished piece of property we owned at this time was a cow. I do not know where we got her, or how, but she was the center of our livelihood. Her food would have been a problem for us, had it not been for Daniel Smith. He allowed us to gather fodder from his cornfield, which was located across the creek and about a half-mile below us.

The creek at this place was about 5 feet deep, and just below the house we had a bridge, and under this bridge and in the bank of the stream we had dug us a cellar, and mother’s stone jar was a part of the fixtures. In the early spring a freshet of unusual size overtook us and the contents of the cellar disappeared in the flood. Mother was quite sad of the loss of it all, but especially that of the stone jar. At this time Robert Lane established himself in the family circle, and esteem of my mother by carrying the stone jar home from its landing some distance below, unharmed.


In spite of the inconvenience mother managed to keep a few chickens in the yard. There were so many enemies of the breed that it took “eternal vigilance” to save even a part of them for our own use. In this connection we had our troubles with a sly red fox. He visited us so often that something had to be done, so mother told Robert Lane that if he would capture the sly old fellow, she would give him a chicken dinner. Robert set himself to the task in a business like way; mother was only to furnish a piece of broiled meat. The plan was well laid and we had promise of success before we retired the first night. Three logs were laid side by side, close together. The middle one was raised and a figure (4) was placed between the outer logs and the bait of broiled meat fastened to it, with the hope that the fox would try for the meat, and in so doing he would disturb the mechanism of the figure 4 and the log would drop to the ground between the other two logs and Mr. Fox would do well if he avoided serious injury. There was about one foot of snow on the ground at the time. In the early part of the night we heard the log fall, and there to our joy we found Mr. Fox, dead beneath the log. The pelt was removed as best we could and we tried our luck at preserving it.

Some time before the pelt was sold, for the part I played in the performance, I was promised a book, something I had never possessed. When the time came to sell the pelt, Daniel Smith took it to Kainseville, Iowa and sold it, and when he returned he had with him a “Parker's Second Reader" for me, the first book I ever owned. I was as proud as my capacity would permit, and in a few months I had memorized everything in it. Some of the writings I recall today after a lapse of seventy years. Some beautiful thoughts were expressed.

With father away in Missouri, and no man in our home to guard us and offer his guiding influence, and mother taxed to the limit at all times, it seemed this was sufficient, but along with all our cares in making a living, and trying earnestly to save enough to get us across the plains and with the body of the Saints in the Salt Lake Valley, some difficulties arose between our own United States and our neighbor, Mexico, on the South, and war was declared, already there had been a few skirmished fought in Texas. There was a large track of land in the West that belonged to Mexico and the United States wanted it. It embraced territory now included in several of our Western States. This was in 1846. Though the Saints never did receive the protection they were entitled to from our Government, they were not in the least bitter toward the Union. Even at this time they were asking aid from President James K. Poke in moving themselves to the West. The plan of the Saints at Washington was to hold the Western country for the United States, in return for what help was given.

In the month of June 1846, an officer of the United States Army came to Iowa. He was representing the Government and was there to enlist 500 men from among the Mormon people to help secure the land in question with Mexico. This was entirely new and unexpected condition of affairs. Instead of receiving aid from the Government the Saints were called upon to furnish aid to the Government.

Among the Saints this was received with some misgivings. They feared it was a conspiracy to usher in their utter destruction. They had never received any protection from Washington, but had learned to expect nothing, and everything. There was no question in the mind of President Young, however and he promised the men as soon as they could be recruited. He felt that it was a test of the loyalty of the Saints to their country.

The Battalion was organized at Council Bluffs, Iowa, the Church leaders offering all the aid possible in recruiting. This work was completed in 3 days. The following from the "Founding of Utah" by Levi Edgar Young presents a vivid picture of some of the sacrifices that were made:

"Imagine the feeling of the Pioneers when they received word that the fathers and sons must enlist to go to war! The mothers of the young wept to think of the sacrifice; the young wives were brokenhearted. They did not say a word or do a thing to discourage the men. In fact, they were willing that the men should give all for their country, and they determined to place their Faith in God and suffer, and be strong. It was a time of bitter trial for the Saints and when the time came to part, the sorrow at leaving their families was almost more than the men could stand. The soldiers were poorly clad, and could they have foreseen the long journey, over desert wastes and mountain passes, we sometimes wonder if they could have met their trials. But their courage was equal to the task before them, and the men set out unafraid."

The word of this movement reached us where we were living sometime in the month of June. My brother John was then in his 18 eighteenth year and as making preparations to join the battalion, needless to say it was against the wishes of our mother, especially since father was from home and had been for nearly a year. His departure was certainly a sad affair for us, especially for mother, and I'll never forget it as long as I live.

Late in the spring of 1847 we moved again to a building nearer to Daniel Smith's home. Father was still in Missouri and we depended a lot on the kindness of Daniel, and indeed we were never disappointed, and when father returned in the fall, I think October of 1847, we were delighted, and we were sure Daniel was relieved. He was very fortunate in his work in Missouri, especially when we remember the attitude of the people in Missouri toward the Mormon people. He had an additional team of oxen, a good supply of provisions and clothing for winter.

About September of 1847 my brother John returned to us from San Diego, California where the Mormon Battalion had been disbanded. The winter of 1847-1848 found us well with the exception of my father, whose health was not good.

After the assassination of the Prophet Joseph Smith, and Brigham Young had been chosen to lead the people, active preparations was carried on for the westward movement of the Saints. We were out of communication with the main body of the Saints, but we hear often from them and endeavored to keep in touch with the changing situation, but thru it all the Saints were admonished to prepare for a home in a new and undeveloped section of our great commonwealth. Nauvoo was practically deserted in 1846. Nearly every home was engaged in making something helpful for the journey west, from wagons for transportation, to food and clothing for their bodies.

The fortunes of the Saints varied considerably during the winter of 1846-47 as they wended their way across the present state of Iowa, then only a haunt of many Indian tribes. The whole territory was filled with trails, but no roads, but the one that the Saints were to blaze was to be used for many years to come. The extreme cold of the winter caused much suffering. By the concentration of their efforts they established Winter Quarters on the west bank of the Missouri River. This location served its purpose well; for it was at this point that all the organized companies of Saints were effected for the westward migration.

Father's life long ambition to go west with the Saints failed to materialize in the year of 1847, mainly because of ill health, but after the Saints left it was always foremost in his mind to follow them to their retreat, while our conditions, generally were improving, father was fearful to undertake the trip with the equipment he had.

At this time Heber C. Kimball was one of the leading members of the Church, and was a friend of Daniel Smith. He called him his Nimrod, and was at this time was making preparations to go West with the Saints, and in his arrangements he wanted the use of two yoke of oxen and a driver to help him as far West as the upper crossing of the Sweetwater River, somewhere in the present state of Wyoming where the old Mormon Trail leaves the Sweetwater to cross the Rocky Mountains. Daniel was in Kainsville shopping when he chanced to meet Heber C. on the street and he at once asked Daniel to go for he knew he had the equipment. He told him it would be impossible for him to make the trip but that father had the necessary Oxen and wagon, and time to do the work, but advised Heber C. that father was sick in bed at the time. He asked Daniel to see Father on his return home and tell him he wanted him to come and see him at Kainsville, and this in spite of Father's illness. Reluctantly father made the trip on one of Daniel's best saddle horses named Jim. Father was prevailed upon to make the trip and when he returned home he sat about at once to make the necessary arrangements. I think he left us some time in the month of May to join Mr. Kimball in Kainsville, and about July 1, 1848 they crossed the Missouri River for Winter Quarters where Mr. Kimball’s family were waiting.

Father returned to us about the middle of September and I recall the stories of the many wonderful things he saw, especially the ones relating to the countless number of buffalo that were roaming the country along the Mormon Trail. About this time they were returning north from their winter range in the South, the buffalo being a migratory animal. They ranged, in summer as far as the Dakotas of today. Another item that impressed father was seeing the great, high tips of the Rocky Mountain peaks, above the clouds.

We spent the winter of 1849-50 on Mr. Palmer's property, but due to some misunderstanding, the nature of which I do not know, we moved from there about 3 miles up the Missouri River on the property of Mr. Henry Catlit. Levi Hammon moved with us. We were engaged in burning charcoal, just as we were on the Palmer property. We made this move sometime in April in the spring of 1850 so we had the time, and did, plant some corn and garden.

Another accomplishment of Levi Hammon was that he could construct a wagon in all its parts, except it to be to “iron” it, he was a first class wheelwright and much of his time, and all his spare time was spent in building a wagon for himself and on for father. The experience of those who had made the trip to the west had taught them that the wagons were not strong enough, and were not built to withstand the rough roads and the excessive heat, and dry sands of the plains. These Levi endeavored to overcome, and in our experience of the following year we found he had succeeded very well indeed. The wagons were completed by fall and taken to St. Joseph and there they were “ironed” and made ready for the trail. We were at last creating a favorable condition for our departure to the Rocky Mountains. The ironwork on the wagons at St. Joseph was done by one Mr. Litz and paid for in charcoal by Father and Levi, and while Mr. Litz was doing that work Levi was working as a carpenter for and with Mr. Litz in St. Joseph.

On the Catlet place, I had my "first" and only experience with “tobacker” as a chew. A neighbor of ours, whose name I have completely forgotten had a boy I recall as Jack, and he had mastered the art of chewing the weed. Byram and my self were with him about all the spare time we had, and watched him, as he would spit here and there and we finally asked him if he were chewing tobacker. He said he was and wanted to know if we wanted to learn. I took it up and took a life sized chew and what I did not spit out I would swallow. I had not been told what to do with it and what happened to me is all history, for it has happened to too many boys before and since then. We were in the woods gathering berries, especially mulberries, raspberries, strawberries and blackberries which were plentiful near our home. Things were not rosy very long. The trees started cutting up capers, and I became so dizzy I couldn’t navigate. I called to the others that something was wrong with me, I wanted water and finally got it, but that did not improve conditions at all, so we started for home, Jack on one side of me and Byram on the other. Within about one hundred yards of the house we happened on to David, burning a pit of charcoal. Here I fell on the ground and waited the outcome. As soon as David saw me he called to mother that I was poisoned, which brought her to me at once. Jack had his wits about him too, for he left for home without any ceremony, and well he did, for mother discovered the trouble at once. As a result I spent the next two weeks in bed, and very sick at that, really poisoned.

Before Father left Heber C. Kimball at the upper crossing of the Sweetwater, they had an understanding about the time, as near as they could calculate, when we should start West. Heber C’s advice to father was to return to Kainsville, Iowa and take his family to Missouri where he thought we could prepare our-selves in about two years for the trip. As stated, father did move us to Missouri, but just before we left Daniel Smith's place we were joined by Lee Bybee, my father’s uncle and his three sons, Alfred, Absolom, and Lee Jr. and their families for they were all married. Here also lived Alexander Beckstead, the father of Henry Beckstead, who married my sister Lucene. This gathering was made in anticipation of the move West. We intended to travel together, and when we left them at Kainsville, Iowa, to go to Missouri they received the impression that we would return for them to start the move in 1850. It was in our minds that we would start when we were able, tentatively in 1851, and when we were satisfied that we could make it by then, Father and I started for Kainsville to make sure we understood each other correctly, and to see if they would be ready by then also. Father had a scheme to help raise a little more money also, so we started out. This was suggested by one Mr. Burns, a neighbor who lived near us; that we take a supply of bacon which we had on hand and sell it to the families going west, both Mormons and the gold seekers off to California, as we might contact them enroute to Kainsville. Mr. Burnes propossed to pay father a wage for his service. It seemed a lot of bacon, but not a load, but when we reached Kainsville we had only a small supply left.

When we were about to Kainsville, and traveling along the river, paralleled but some distance from it, father saw quite a number of wagons, and decided it was a good prospect to dispose of his bacon, so we went over to them. To our complete surprise it was our people from the Little Pigeon, above Kainsville. They were ready to start west and were waiting for us to come from Missouri to go with them. It was of course out of the question for them to wait for us, so after a careful discussion of the whole situation, they decided to go ahead without us, and they did. When we reached Kainsville we found my brother John there at Daniel Smith’s and preparing to go West with Lee and his people.

My father and I stayed long enough at Kainsville to see our people safely across the river, then started for home. This trip was made in the month of June and our return to our people, on the Catlet place, was about July 1st.

At one of our camps on the way home, Father was approached by a stranger who evidently lived near and asked father if he would sell him a yoke of oxen. Father thought a few minutes and then decided to sell for $35.00 and the offer was accepted. I guess the reason I remember it so well was from the fact that the entire amount was paid in fifty-cent pieces. Everything was ok, when we reached home, but the folks were disappointed because our people had gone west without them and the trip could not be made with them, this was especially true of mother, who thought things were so unsettled that it was best to stick together. Then Lucene and Elizabeth and John had gone on and this had quite a lot to do with mother’s feelings.

About the time of our return one of Mr. Catlet's slaves, a negro boy about 16 years old, put on a show that we enjoyed a lot even if it did cause Dick some inconvenience. He was working in the cornfield with a horse that knew the meaning of the dinner bell as well as Dick did, and it he wanted to go to the house with his horse he must show considerable speed. So Dick unhooked the horse, climbed on, and was off for the barn. The corral, or barnyard, was guarded by a set of bars, the top one of which had been left up for some cause. Dick's failed to notice the bar for he made no effort to free himself from the horse, and the horse was on a high trot and the bar caught Dick about midsection and pulled him to the ground. Mr. Catlet saw the whole affair and asked Dick why he didn’t get off, or fall off, and Dick said, "How the Debil could Ah fall off, when all Ah could do was to hang on."

It was in September when we burned our last coal pit. Levi was spending his entire time on the wagons, Dave was working most of the time for Mr. Burns, while the rest of us were caring for the details and also for the stock, all we thought of was to get ready for the spring move. We were saving everything we could find that promised to be of any help, and saving every penny. Talk about pinching pennies, we were surely good at it, and it was well that we were.

Then we moved on Mr. Catlet's place we camped near a grove of sugar maple trees. For some reason these trees had never been tapped. Father asked about them and was given permission to tap them, and asked to do them as little harm as possible. The month of March is the best month for this work, and we took advantage of this opportunity during March of 1851 so when we left we had a nice quantity of sugar and several gallons of syrup. I recall the race we had every morning with Mr. Catlet's pigs to be the first to the syrup that dripped out during the night. Mother discontinued her butter business, it did not pay to go to the market for it alone, and the travel on the highways seemed to be at a standstill.

It was always a family custom in the fall of the year to gather a plentiful supply of nuts for winter. They grew in abundance in the woods near us, and the pleasure was not entirely when we ate them in winter, but was great fun to go as a family into the woods and gather them. There were black walnuts, butternuts, and hazel nuts; no winter was complete without them. Associated with these pleasant evenings cracking nuts, I recall a very large negro slave belonging to one of our neighbors, his master was very kind and good to him, but the slave liked Father very much and spent as much time with him as he possibly could, nearly every evening he was there to help with the nuts. He was always asking father to take him west when he went, but Father told him we could not, for he was the property of another man, and it would be stealing to take him. He then proposed that he run away a few days a head of us and join us at Kainsville, Iowa, but father refused to have any thing to do with the matter. (as he belonged to someone else) We never saw him again after we left the Catlet place.
While we were living on Mr. Catlet's place, in fact soon after we reached there, one of Polly’s little girls contracted some ailment, some fever, and passed away and we buried her there, I can not recall her name.

Everything moved nicely with us our preparations to move west, and the excitement increased as the time approached to leave. Some three or four days before the start we were all taken to St. Joseph, Missouri to take a last look at the city, and to purchase supplies for the trip. In looking back to the time I can see Father in one of his stunts. The money we had saved was all put together in a meal bag large enough for several times as much money. We had no paper money at all, and with a few exceptions for the gold we had, our entire fortune of over $200.00 was in silver. We had been advised by the Church Authorities to bring sufficient flour to last at least six months after we reached Salt Lake Valley, so all our cash was put into provisions except for the fare on the ferry and other incidentals, as we could estimate them. I remember Father as he sauntered in the Riddle Store and the Bedeford, carrying the sack containing the money over his right shoulder. He tossed it to the floor and at the same time telling them it was his last trip to St. Joseph for provisions, and it was. I remember very little about the prices of the goods there, except sugar, which was sold for eighteen pounds for a dollar, ordinary brown sugar, for this was long before the appearance of the beautiful white sugar of today.

After completing our trading we returned to the Catlet place. The arranging of our load and all details occupied the last three or four days on the place. Finally the day arrived for the start, and one beautiful morning early in June 1851 we took to the trail. Levi Hammon did not leave here for a week or ten days later, owing to some uncompleted business between him and Mr. Litz. Levi was supposed to meet us in Winter Quarters as soon as he had cared for his affairs.

We took things easy, traveling short hours and caring for the stock, on which so much depended. We spent enough time so when we reached the Ferry we did not have long to wait for Levi. Immediately on his arrival we made arrangements to cross the River on the Ferry. We made the trip first, and Levi followed us, and we went into camp at Winter Quarters for about a week while the arrangements were completed for our place in the train with which we were to travel.

I wish to say a something about the organization of the train, and some of the conditions that obtained during the trip. There were one hundred wagons, formed into the companies, of 50 wagons each. These two companies were under the control of a captain, a captain was also placed over each of the 50 wagon trains, and they were responsible to the head captain. Each 50 wagon trains were divided again into five divisions each, and a captain placed over each of them, responsible to the captain of fifty. In every division of ten, there was also appointed a man as its hunter, whose duty it was to supply his company with meat. My brother David was the hunter for our company. It was also enjoined on every able bodied man to take his turn doing guard duty at night.

The departure of the two companies was so arranged so they would be about two weeks apart. This lapse of time was to safe guard the feed for the cattle. It could not always be depended upon on account of the roaming herds of buffalo, when they passed over the fee, often there was none left. In order to avoid dissatisfaction in the companies as far as possible, the wagons changed positions every day, and it was my lot to be in the lead but once as we crossed. This order stood good for the five companies in each division also, the leading company falling to the rear of the organization each day. When we made camp for the night the leading wagon would turn in a half circle to the right and be followed in turn up to the 25th wagon and including it. The 26th wagon would take a course from the same point, only to the left and when his half circle was made the circle was complete. Each driver would stop his wagon with his left front wheel close to the right rear wheel of his pal ahead, thus forming a corral into which our stock was placed at night if it was thought necessary, and we were placed at an advantage in case of an attack by an enemy.

The man selected as captain of our company was one Alfred Cordon, and it was our lot to leave Winter Quarters first, and in advance of the other company about 10 days. I cannot recall the captain of our “ten.”

We broke camp at Winter Quarters about July 1st 1851. Our trip was a very quiet one in comparison with some of those who made the trip before us. Outside of the daily duties connected with traveling we had but little excitement. We had men out on guard at night around the camp, as well as two or three men with the horses and cattle, so in spending our evenings around our camps in whatever capacity we chose, we felt quite secure, and really enjoyed ourselves very much, singing and dancing and always hopeful of a better future.

Every company had its "fiddler" and when the work was done for the day we would clear a piece of land and have a dance. I did not fiddle at these dances, though later I did became a "fiddler."

Our company never tried for long pulls each day, ten to fifteen miles being satisfactory. We never traveled on Sunday, except where the feed for the stock was scarce. Before we left St. Joseph, Father sold all the young stock to Mr. Burns, our neighbor, as we were advised not to try to make the trip with them, as they would not stand the strain and would be lost or have to be carried in the wagons. But Mother insisted on the cows, so we had six cows with us. Mother made what butter we needed as we went, by placing the cream in the “stone jar” and when we camped again the action over the rough roads had churned it to butter and we not only had this butter, but the butter milk also. My brother Byram and I had a spat one day at lunch and he threw all the buttermilk there was, on me and I was a mess. We have laughed about it a lot since we became men.

An interesting part of the routine was our "post office" as we called them. They served us only in one way, in that they informed those who followed only. Very frequently we found information of the company ahead of us. Nearly anywhere along the way we could find the bleached bones of the buffalo, and upon these we would write our message, as to date, location, conditions etc., then the bone was placed in some conspicuous place to be found by the man behind.

At times when we were crossing, we were forced to stop and made way for the buffalo, for in their travels and in search of food, they always follow their leader if it is in any way possible. Some of their earlier companies made the serious mistake of taking the right of way from the buffalo. It usually resulted in a stampede among the company stock, as well as among the working cattle. So when we encountered them we stopped while they went by. Now and then along the Platte River were they were drinking, we sometimes waited for three or four hours.

If I remember correctly, it was two or three days travel east of Fort Laramie, that we passed a column of rock extending into the air about 25 or 30 feet, called "Chimney Rock." It was on the south side of the river, perhaps 2 or 3 miles from the road, which was on the North Bank. We were all quite curious about it as we passed for we had been able to see it for considerable distance, it was the only outcropping of rock in this locality and this made it all the more interesting.

Covering the distance from Winter Quarters to Fort Laramie, we saw but one white man, outside of our own men. This was the man in charge of the ferry at Loop's Fork. We swam our cattle across the stream. Neither did we pass, or meet, a single company or outfit in this distance.

When we reached Fort Laramie, we saw many Indians living in their tepees near the fort. The majority of them were of the Sioux Tribe, and a mighty fine race of people, large in stature, and brave as any man. There was no way to scare a Sioux.

The trail we were following, Fort Laramie was about half way between Winter Quarters and Salt Lake City. We spent no more time here than was necessary and took to the road to complete our journey. The needs of the journey had been so well thought out, that it was unnecessary to purchase any supplies at the fort and we left there, as I remember it, about the middle of August.

From Fort Laramie we traveled up the North Platte River about a week. We crossed the North Platte the north bank about this time. As I remember, the next water that we reached of any importance was the Sweetwater. In the distance between the North Platte and the Sweetwater we saw the place where the Old Oregon Trail left the Old Mormon Trail, its general direction was northwest. Not all the people in our company were Mormons. They had joined us for protection in travel, and expected to part with us when we reached the Oregon Trail at this point. Here about 8 or 10 wagons left us and took the Oregon Trail to the Northwestern part of the Oregon Territory.

We reached the Sweetwater in the due course of events, all O.K. It was, at this time, well toward the latter part of August. We traveled up the Sweetwater River to a point called the South Pass, where we were to start over the Rocky Mountains. I remember one of the first natural wonders we came to. It was called the Devil's Gate, and it was on the Sweetwater River. With all the pioneers who passed through this section of the land, the Devil's Gate was the most conspicuous landmark. Many scenes were recalled, and memories refreshed by a mere reference to this place. The water of the river ran through this gate, which was, approximately, 100 feet high. We were approaching the Rocky Mountains and traveling nearly straight west, possibly a little to the north. The mountain, which the Gate was in, was somewhat smaller than the main range, and was a spur running out into the plains in an almost eastward direction. The walls of this Gate were almost perpendicular, and were of solid rock. The next remarkable exhibit was that of Alkali Lake. This was not only a curiosity to us, but one of concern as well. This lake did not seem to be fed by a stream from the surface, and in the latter part of the summer, the water disappeared entirely. The lake covered perhaps 25 or 30 acres. We noticed indications of alkali as we entered this district, and at the lake we found the headquarters.

There was so much alkali in the water, and the feed for the stock was of the same variety, that it was necessary to feed and water our stock with care. Many of the cattle that had fared quite well up to this point, died of the effects of the feed and water. In and around the central part of this locality we noticed the ever-increasing signs of the misfortunes that befell some of the pioneers who had blazed the trail for us. We found piles of wagon irons, and always in the immediate vicinity we found the bones of the livestock, victims of the feed and water. Indeed from here to the end of the alkali district we saw evidence of misfortune.

During the season of the year when the water was gone from the lake, it was the custom of the settlers to return and haul quantities of the substance, known to them as salaratus, to be used largely as we use common baking soda to day. When it was dry it could be scooped up with the hands and wagon boxes loaded with it, if desired.

A large mass of rock, known as Independent Rock was the next curio to claim our attention, located farther up the Sweetwater. It was likely three hundred feet high, and covered, maybe four acres of ground. Its position, out in the open valley, away from any similar formation, and miles from the mountains, made it all the more attractive. We were camped near it and we boys took some of the old wagon tires from the wrecks of the pioneers, and climbed Independent Rock, and rolled them down. Out of 8 or 10 that we turned loose only two reached the bottom, and they were so badly bent that they would hardly roll.

It was now about September 1st as we reached the Upper Crossing of the Sweetwater River, and the last crossing of the stream before we started across the Rocky Mountains, and it was estimated that we were two-thirds of the way to the Salt Lake Valley. The roads leading over the mountains were rough, and our progress slow. The strain on the wagons was taking its toll, though the crossing was made without incident. When we were over the Mountain Pass, the first stream of water I can remember that we reached was called Big Sandy, though we must have traveled down other streams before we reached it. Good fee for the stock and plenty of good water were reached without difficulty now. After a few days travel on the Big Sandy, we reached Green River, which we forded. We traveled in a southeasterly direction and the next place we reached was Fort Bridger, and we camped there one night. We entertained this thought now that the crossing of the plains was almost accomplished, and we were up early and on the road each day, for we felt each day was now an important time, and we longed for a view of the valley of the Great Salt Lake.

Soon after we left Fort Bridger we met Henry Beckstead, who, acting on our understanding of the previous year, to leave in 1851, was on his way East to meet us. We were just breaking camp for the day’s pull when Henry happened along. He was driving a span of good horses, and his main object, aside from knowing all was well with us, was to care for Mother, and shorten her time on the road. He took her and Byram, my brother, with him in his wagon and went on ahead into the valley, and we did not see them again until we reached Beckstead's home on the Weber River, near Ogden.

Our company, up to the time we reached Independent Rock had submitted gracefully to the discipline of the officers over us, but dissension and dissatisfaction had appeared and was quite manifest from the Rock on. The main cause for the “split” was that the non-Mormons that were with us wanted to travel on Sundays and Captain Cordon would not consent to it. His instructions were to travel on Sunday, only in case of absolute necessity. By the time we reached Echo Canyon, the next land mark of our trail, our company was pretty well scattered, some ahead of us and others in the rear, as for Father and his people, we were all together and with Captain Cordon. We entered Echo Canyon in the early part of the day, and were obliged to make one camp in the canyon, and I remember the night very well on account of our little dog "Clip." He was more or less just a common dog, but a very smart little fellow. He was entirely black, and while he might not have been able to whip his weight in wild cats, he was not afraid to try, and would tackle anything once. The walls of the canyon near the camp were just right to produce an echo to the best advantage, and Clip, either for amusement or anguish spent all the night barking at himself in echo. The next day’s travel took us through the canyon onto the Weber River. We were greatly interested in Echo Canyon, it was strange to us. One feature was that the cliffs of the canyon were practically all on the North side of the canyon. Some of them tower 3 or 4 hundred feet above the bed of the canyon, almost perpendicularly, and extend almost east and west. To the south the hills are smaller and run out to open country. As we went down the Weber River, the mountains were much larger. Our first camp after we left Echo Canyon was on the Weber River on the north bank, nearly opposite the mouth of East Canyon Creek, which I think was the name it was known at that time.

The river here was not very large so we had no difficulty in fording, the next morning after breaking camp; our way led up East Canyon Creek. The road in places was quite steep and rocky, in other places it was sliding, and our progress was slow. The mountain we were climbing was known to the pioneers as Big Mountain, and is known by that name today. The last of our wagons reached the Summit of Big Mountain about one or two o'clock in the afternoon and we went down the west side of the mountain before we had dinner. By this time the daylight was spent and we camped there for the night, with but one mountain between us and the Great Salt Lake Valley, it was known and is known today as Little Mountain, and we were on a stream between there.

Early next morning we were on our way over Little Mountain which we scaled without any trouble, and at the foot of which we emerged into Immigration Canyon, and followed it a short distance, and then in a northwesterly direction we finally reach the Salt Lake Valley and Salt Lake City.
From a point on Big Mountain I had seen the Southern end of the valley but could not see the city, now as we left Immigration Canyon, in Oct. 1851, I saw for my first time Salt Lake City itself. We drove into the city and stopped in the road in front of several residences. Father had helped Heber C. Kimball on his way West as far as the upper crossing of the Sweetwater and had received an invitation to call when he could get to the city. He had no difficulty in locating Heber C. at his home and straightway went into a conference with him, the result of which was; He advised Father to go directly to East Weber, a settlement on the Weber River about 17 miles south of Ogden. He was to take a surveyor with him from Salt Lake City and locate on the best piece of land he could locate. He also told Father there were some men there doing all they could to hold large tracts of land, but to not be discouraged but stand for his rights. Heber C. asked him if he remembered that he told him to go to Missouri with his family and prepare himself for the trip West and come as soon as he could. Father replied that he certainly did. Then Heber C. told him because of his faithfulness in this matter, his life had been lengthened approximately 15 years.

Father could not get the surveyor but we went on up there any way. It was our intention to spend the winter of 1851-52 with our people who had preceded us into the Valley. Here we found Henry Beckstead, who married my sister Lucene, my brother John who was married now, having married one of Daniel Smith's daughters, by his first wife. Joseph Hardy, Abiah Wadsworth, Gordon Beckstead, Daniel Smith, and others from the East. Daniel Smith married my sister Elizabeth.

Here we spent a very enjoyable winter with Henry Beckstead, and in the spring we rented a small farm from Gordon Beckstead near East Weber. The wheat was planted when we rented it, and we received the privilege of renting because Gordon wanted to spend the summer with his father in South Jordan. There were about 15 families to make use of this limited supply of water, so our yield was light, and for our share we received one half the total. We spent the winter of 1852-1853 in Gordon Beckstead's house, and outside of our social and religious activities, the winter was uneventful.

In the spring we moved over to South Weber (1853) about 2 miles down the river on the opposite side of the stream from the East Weber settlement and on eighty acres of land. About this time Mr. Fox, the territorial surveyor came down and surveyed the South Weber District. The tracts were laid off in eighty-acre plots. During the summer we plowed and planted about twenty acres of crop, principally wheat. We also planted some corn and potatoes. During our spare moments we built us a log house of one room, and from the timber found on the banks of the river, on our land.

In the spring of 1853, Abiah Wadsworth, Henry Beckstead, and Nelson Arave, built a small sawmill in East Weber, using the water of the river for power. The saw was of the upright type; the blade was in a frame and moved up and down. It was not very efficient, as we know efficiency today; in fact one neighbor remarked he would be pleased to live until they could saw enough lumber for his casket. It was slow but quite successful. We got some boards and slabs to complete our house with.
We spent the winter of 1853-54 on Father's homestead. Here we spent the usual quiet life, and a happy comfortable winter. In the spring of 1854 we planted we planted about forty acres of wheat, oats, and corn in addition to our garden.

Some 15 or 20 families of this settlement met and decided that inasmuch as we were in need of water and there was plenty in the Weber River, it would be best to build a canal and get the use of the water. We went about a mile above our home to take the water the channel, and when canal was completed, it had a splendid fall and was about 5 or 6 miles long, and carried about two thousand inches of water, and was about half completed this year. A number of families had by this time settled on the river below us, and wanted to use this same canal, they were not ready for water but working on the ditch in their spare moments. The canal was completed to us in plenty of time for the first irrigation of 1855.

It was in the summer of 1854 that the grasshoppers were so bad. They came from the northeast, it was said from the Dakotas. They were countless in numbers, at times it seemed they dimmed the sun. They would come flying across the country and all at once as if by command or understanding they would all light at once and proceed with their destruction. Almost invariably when they lit they would stay until the following morning, then fly on to the southwest, they seemed never to return, but the next ones would again come from the northeast. I have seen the north shore of Great Salt Lake covered six or seven inches deep with dead hoppers. They made a short work of grain fields, and those that were missed were very fortunate. In spite of the havoc wrought there was wheat enough for food and for seed the next year. As for us, we suffered but slight damage.

There was a school in the East Weber settlement during the winter of 1854-55 and David was living with Henry Beckstead and attended the school, but we had no school in South Weber so Byram and I did not get to go. There was no text books other than some histories of the United States but the Church works were used for the three winters following.

I was now 16 years of age, and quite able to read because of the help of my Father and Mother, and up to this time they had taught me faithfully. As soon as it was possible for the Saints to do so they had secured a provincial form of government from the United States and the country throughout the valley had been organized into counties, precincts, etc. This action placed us in Davis County and Father was appointed a Justice of the Peace, and had been sent the Constitution of the United States, as well as all the laws enacted by the Territorial Legislature. These books and the Deseret News were what I had for my winters reading. During this, the fall of 1854, word was received from the Authorities of the Church that the activities of the Indians, through this territory, were becoming more and more unfriendly, and they advised that the people organize and form in communities where they could build forts for their protection, and it was suggested that the people of South Weber go over to East Weber and join the people there. The people of East Weber didn’t want to go to South Weber, and South Weber did not want to go to East Weber, so they fortified each community as best they could. East Weber built a series of houses square, surrounded by a large mud wall. It was always Father’s contention that the advise of the Church Authorities should be considered in every instance, and this alone led him to go to East Weber, then again, Daniel Smith at East Weber had been after Father to trade farms with him in South Weber, so all in all the trade was made, in the winter of 1854-55, but we spent the winter on our farm and in the spring of 1855 we moved to East Weber and into the house of Daniel Smith, which had been moved from the farm to the Fort. The Fort at South Weber was built like the one at East Weber, except the mud wall was not built.

Our new home at the fort was about one mile from the farm, where we planted about 25 acres of corn and wheat. We always lived in the fort, and never on the land for which we traded, until as such time as peaceful conditions were restored. We lived in the Fort, but as a result of this common defense idea, the land around the Fort was divided into small pieces or divisions, or lots and when we finally moved from the fort, it was on one of these lots. This group of lots became commonly known as the town site.

Alfalfa was unknown to us at this time, and the problem for everyone alike was to raise enough feed to take care of the livestock. However, between where we lived and Great Salt Lake where the Weber River emptied, there was a large area of land, unclaimed, and it was covered with a very heavy growth of grass, where we wintered our stock unmolested.

With the locality, and in particular with some springs of fresh water, we associate the name of W. H. Hooper. Mr. Hooper was the owner of a portion of this grass land and was recognized by the Church as an honest, trustworthy man. He was also the owner of a good number of cattle. It was customary for the Saints, at least some of them, to pay their tithing in kind. This placed a large number of cattle in the care of the Church every year, and it was here with Captain Hooper as he was known among his associates, that the Church kept its livestock. The nearest market for the cattle at this time was Sacramento, California, and each year, commencing in June, they were driven to the market, and Captain Hooper was always in charge of the Church stock along with his own, and for that matter any settler could send his animals to market. There were Church members, non-church members and apostates among those who were seeking a market, and also a passage to California. This variety of men were all included in his company to the coast.

Hooper Springs, as this particular part of the range was called, was on the South side of the river and when the start was made it was necessary to cross the stream, and the company included about 15 or 20 wagons. This was Captain Hooper’s company for June of 1855.

The Weber River, as is characteristic of the streams into the Great Salt Lake, was comparatively short, and the high water season lasted about one month, and included the month of June. It was a wicked stream at this time of the year, and as there were no bridges the outfits were obliged to ford, and the cattle had to swim. It therefore called for judgment and skill, based on experience, when this duty was to be performed. At this time, it was found not safe to try to ford the river below East Weber, so in following the advice, Captain Hooper with the cattle, and the wagons eventually reached this place. Captain Hooper called on father and asked his advise about crossing the stream. Father told him it was a very dangerous undertaking, for the bed of the stream was filled with large rocks but they decided to try it. Some two or three of the heavier wagons, drawn by heavier oxen successfully completed the task. It was a real thrill to watch the faithful animals match their skill against the relentless surge of the stream. Following this splendid display of courage and success, we were astonished when the owner of a light wagon, and a light team of horses presented himself on the bank. His wagon contained all he had on earth, his wife, his three children, including a babe in arms, and his household belongings. Captain Hooper objected at once, strenuously, and their comrades cautioned him, but to no avail. As soon as the oxen reached the heavy current they were swept away in the path of the wicked waters, and when they reached greater depth the wagon box left was floated clear of the wagon and down stream. I was standing at a point on the river where I could see well and watched the entire crossing. The mother was now alone in the wagon box with her children, and I remember only too well the cries of distress of that woman as she passed by me as I stood on the bank. Just below me, and in a treacherous current, the box was completely capsized and with all they had, the four were emptied into the water, but in some manner the Mother and the current righted the box and when we could see her again she had her child in her arms but the other two had been carried away and we were never again to see them. Her cries were the most mournful and terror stricken I have ever heard. She still kept her head, for a little later, when the box was dashed against some driftwood, she succeeded in getting onto the wood, from which she was taken later by rescue parties. The Oxen crossed and pulled the wagon to safety.

In cases of this character there is nearly always someone impressed, either by sentiment, sense of duty, or courage and confidence in their ability to help, that steps forward and endears himself to the helpless on-lookers in some act of heroism. Indeed, it may nothing more than the noble spirit that prompts a man to offer his life for a friend. In this connection, we introduce Rodney Badger, a deputy sheriff traveling with the company. When the woman was set adrift in the wagon box, he was thrilled by her cries and hurriedly removed his boots and jumped at once into the treacherous stream and made for the woman. He was reported as a very fine swimmer but was helpless against the river’s current, I saw him disappear twice in the water and I think it was the last time he was ever seen. We were greatly touched by this incident.

During the summer of 1855 the grasshoppers were very bad again, though the damage to our crops was slight. The days we were not needed on the farm we spent working on a road we were building through Weber Canyon, a distance of about six miles. This road would join Salt Lake Valley with Upper Weber Valley. Here, too, we spent as much time as possible gathering wild raspberries, which were so plentiful here. We did not do too well with the road, because of the rocky formation.

We harvested our crops alright this fall, but the process was necessarily slow, on account of the methods in vogue. Our grain was cut with a cradle, an implement with a handle and blade somewhat like the present-day scythe, another fixture was attached in an upright position, behind the blade, in such a manner that it caught the grain as it fell from the blade. It had five fingers with small sticks placed between them to keep the grain from falling through. When the stroke in the swath was completed, the left hand was released from the handle of the scythe, and while the cradle was yet in motion it gathered the grain, and while the right hand returned the cradle to position for the next stroke, the left had dropped the grain in a pile, all heads the same way, where it was bound in a bundle by the help following. The binder was made by taking a small bunch of grain and after making the heads even it was divided and held snugly with the left hand near the heads and the right hand wrapped half of the straw around the other half, and after crossing the strands, placed it around the grain on the ground, held one end of the straw lightly in the left hand by the thumb, and drew the other end as tightly as necessary and twisted the two ends together and bending the tie, tucked it beneath the band where it would dry and remain intact while the bundle underwent the necessary handling, stacking etc.

Our threshing was done by what was known as a “chaff piler.” It was not unlike the completed or improved machines of today. It had a cylinder with teeth attached that passed between and close to a similar arrangement of teeth in a stationary frame beneath the cylinder, known as a concave. By whirling the cylinder rapidly the grain was beaten from the heads and by the same operation carried through the cylinder to the rear, where a man stood with a hand rake and moved it back. From here another rake moved it back again, and even again if necessary, until the grain became too high to work over, the operator would call: "Cave Up" which meant to move the grain to one side so they could run again. Chaff and wheat were now in one pile, and the straw in another. The grain was left in the field and a fanning mill used to separate the chaff from the grain. We then moved the grain to our granary on the town site. This splendid servant was developed in what was known as the Sessions Settlement near Salt Lake City. In caring for the grain after harvest my brother John and I were hauling the bundles for stacking them. As we were loading, in the after part of the day, John called out to me on the wagon to lookout, at about the same time I caught sight of a snake which John said was a rattler. I left the wagon faster than the snake came on, and we unloaded nearly all our load before we found him and disposed of him.

I was looking forward to the winter of 1855-56 with the greatest of hopes, for it was to be my first and only chance I had to attend school since I had attended in the City of Nauvoo when I was six years old. My teacher's name was David Osborn. I found there had been but one change in textbooks and that was the addition of the old "Blue Back Speller" by Webster.

After the harvest of 1855 was completed it was discovered that some localities had a surplus of wheat while others were in need. The situation was canvassed by the Church, and those with plenty were to anticipate their wants for the winter and for seed the next year, and then pass the surplus on to those less fortunate. After Father had made this calculation he had about two hundred bushels left. He was asked by the Authorities if he would be willingly to give this wheat outright for those in need, and he said he would, which he did and I know my self that he never received a penny for that grain. It demonstrates the feeling of good will, and unselfishness that was part of the Mormon pioneers. The wheat we kept for our use was all we had any legitimate use for, a tribute to father’s judgment. Before winter we moved our grain to the gristmill at the south of Ogden Canyon, owned by Loran Farr.

In drawing the flour from the mill, it seemed to Mother that it was going to run us short and she became more careful. It was not what we used ourselves entirely, but some of our neighbors were without and constantly asked for just one more mixing. Mother thought we should refuse, but Father thought it was a duty to share as long as he had it. It was often a subject for discussion, but when the summer was past, and the harvest ended, we had never scraped the bottom of the flour box.

After school was dismissed in the spring of 1856 I helped put the crops in. We planted about ten acres more of wheat, about 35 acres in all. I also spent a day now and then on the road through Weber Canyon. There was an abundance of water for the crops, and we raised the best harvest we had up to this time. The “hoppers” were not so bad and we had made another ditch on the north side of the river, so while no particular improvements were made in harvesting machinery, we kept the things we had gained, and completed a very pleasant and profitable year. I planned to go to school again, but was disappointed, but I will say, not discouraged.

At this time a firm named Gilbert & Garrish, leading in the mercantile business in Salt Lake City had contracted with certain parties to freight some of their goods from the Missouri River near where Omaha now stands, to Salt Lake City. The men were late starting west with their freight, and were caught in the snow east of Salt Lake City, on Bear River, a short distance west of old Fort Bridger. They did not seem to have the courage to carry on under such difficulties. They had deserted everything but their cattle, and came on to Salt Lake City. They left no one to guard the goods, and did nothing to protect them from the weather. The yokes of the cattle were thrown in the most convenient places, and the snow was about seven inches deep when the rescue party reached the wagons.

There was a prominent at this time, in connection with conditions of this nature, in Salt Lake City, named Judson L. Stoddard. Mr. Stoddard was a cattleman and was acquainted with the country east of Salt Lake City. Arrangements were made with him by the merchants to salvage their goods, and Mr. Stoddard asked for seventy oxen and eight drivers with wagons and boxes. I was recommended to him as a “bull-whacker” and he offered me a chance to go with him, which I accepted, and we left Salt Lake City Dec. 1st, 1856. We were about four days in reaching the wagons, camped by them for the night and commenced the return journey next day. We had some difficulty with some of the cattle in getting started but we reached the upper crossing of the Sweetwater at the foot of Big Mountain without any inconvenience. But here our difficulties began, the snow over the mountain was deeper and road conditions bad, so we were obliged to place eight yoke of oxen on each wagon to make any headway. Poor road construction up East Canyon Creek made our work dangerous. At one place the road was around a high point of rocks just over the creek. The road was filled with snow and ice and sloped to the outside. The first wagon up was driven by Larry Robinson, and as we looked the situation over we made sure we were in for trouble. I suggested that we cut a trench, or trail in the snow and ice on the upper side of the road, but the man in charge said to drive on, after some words with the boss. Larry drove on, he was just starting nicely around the point when the wagon slid completely off the road and turned upside down in the creek, which was frozen over. I was next in line, and told to drive carefully, but just as Larry did I refused to do this, and the boss threatened to report me to Mr. Stoddard. After all, we dug the trench, as another precaution, we tied a long rope to the rear of each wagon and the boys pulled to the upper side to keep the wagon in the trench and by this method all of the wagons reached the summit in “apple pie” order. This process was repeated without incident. When we had all four wagons over the point, we salvaged the goods from Robinson’s wagon and found room for them in the remaining wagons, and we then made the trip to Salt Lake City without delay. We delivered the first wagons to Gilbert and Garrish and after a night’s rest at the home of Father Chase, the father-in-law of Mr. Stoddard, we returned immediately for the other wagons. We had no difficulty in bringing the other wagons over the slopes of Big Mountain, and into the City.

On our way up East Canyon Creek we were preceded by some of the last hand-carters, and were followed by others. They had no handcarts at this time, they had been abandoned when the relief reached them, that they had been sent from Salt Lake City. We were preparing for the descent into the valley below when the last of these people reached the summit of Big Mountain. In all my boyhood days, and perhaps not since, have I beheld a sadder and more forlorn spectacle. It did not need a second look to see the mark of suffering on their faces. Their features were drawn and plainly showed the effects of their hunger. Their bodies were poorly clad and were barely clothed sufficiently to cover their nakedness, not to mention any warmth.

When we delivered our second set of wagons to the firm we received our money and started for our homes. I walked from Salt Lake City to Mr. Stoddard's home in Centerville, about 12 miles and stayed with them that night, the next day I walked 18 miles to East Weber and home.

At home we were obliged to practice the strictest economy. Up until now and for several years to come, Mother and my sisters had made all the clothing I had every worn, except under garments, the material for those was bought for the purpose of the store. We had a few sheep of our own and we always cared for the wool, washing, carding, and spinning it our selves. Mother and the girls making the clothes for each of us. If we wanted any color, other than the natural color of the wool, we had to buy dye, with the single exception of a brown color we obtained from the bark of a tree called Tag-Alder. If a family happened to have black sheep in his flock, it was possible to spin a grayish yarn. We were repeatedly warned by Mother, that if we wanted clothing we must do our part toward the purchase.

In our travels from place to place I had made an effort to learn all I could about the violin. I have mentioned that Daniel Smith was with us in Nauvoo, and that he played the violin very well. He married my sister Elizabeth and was a great friend and financial help to the family, and was with us all through the preparations and travels west and was still with us. During all this time he was helping me to an understanding of the violin. He played for parties on the way west, and after we reached there he was a real social help in the line. I had now reached a point where I could play for a party. After my return from the expedition with Mr. Stoddard in December, I entered school, that is after Christmas, and along with my school work I played for the community parties. I did not seem interested in the social part of it all, but I was interested in picking up some change. I recall one time I was asked to play for a wedding dance of one of the prominent girls of our community, and I felt quite honored. I had to walk five miles so by the time I reached there the ceremony was over and so was the supper. They insisted that I eat, however, and I did and then went directly to the dance hall and everything went according to plan and they enjoyed the evening. When I presented my bill as the close of the do, I asked for $l.50. The man who paid me said this was not enough, so he paid me $3.00 and was I pleased when I started for home five miles away. And I was surely proud when I handed the money to my Mother. It was the custom of the family to place all our earnings with mother. I had already giver her the money from the Judson Stoddard trip. I was still in school and Mr. Osborn was my teacher. There was not much change in our home life, in this instance, until the month of March, 1857. The school year was over and I was helping David clear a piece of land Father had given him. One evening when I returned home from work I found the family in a most curious frame of mind, and I was soon that way too, when mother handed me a letter from President Young. I opened it at once and was certainly surprised and thrilled. I then handed it to the family and let them read it. It was a notification that I had been selected by Judson L. Stoddard as a member of a party to go East with the mail. Some two or three years previous to this President Brigham Young had secured a contract from the United States Government to carry the mail from Salt Lake City to Independence, Missouri and return. President Young had selected Mr. Stoddard to take charge of the party, and Mr. Stoddard had selected eleven others to assist him. Among them I was chosen. I have been brave enough to think that my previous services for Mr. Stoddard were satisfactory, and that was a factor in this selection.

The contract provided that the mail would leave either end of the route the first of every month. The party I was with was to leave Salt Lake City April 1, 1857. I was also advised that I was to come to Salt Lake City and receive my endowments before I could go east. Some eight months previous to this time I had met and learned to care for a young lady named Jane Miller. In fact as we did come and go we had considered marriage. The events of the last few days and the possibilities connected with them, in doing and not doing, presented quite a serious situation to me. I had quite a time reaching the final decision. I wanted to make the trip, and in a way I considered my duty to do so, and I disliked very much the idea of leaving Jane behind. At this time I was also puzzled to know what to do about my endowments. I was not sure that I wanted them at all for there seemed a possibility that maybe I was not just fit for such a sacred ordinance, and I thought there might be some covenants to enter into that I would not care to enter. I consulted Father, and after due consideration and a night's rest, I decided to receive them. Now that was settled, I had to decide what to do with my fiancée! Father solved the problem for me when he suggested I marry her and leave her with them in East Weber while I was gone. With these arrangements in mind we made the trip to Salt Lake City, were married, and received our endowments. Levi Hammon made the trip with us, and drove Father's team and wagon. We left East Weber March 17, 1857. We went as far as Centerville the first day and spent the night with an old friend named Goldsbrough. We reached Salt Lake City the 18th of March just before noon and went to the home of Alexander Watson, who had married one of Jane's sisters, named Maggie. We stayed here until 19th. By this time I had made arrangements with Heber C. Kimball to perform the ceremony, at Father’s request, and he consented.

We were married in the old Endowment House March 20, 1857, by Heber C. Kimball, after which we started for home at once. On the way we stayed at Centerville with Mr. Goldsbrough the night of the 20th and reached home the 21st about noon.

While I was at Salt Lake City I visited Judson L. Stoddard and with the other arrangements we made, he was to call for me at East Weber on his way East about April 1st. It was almost impossible to pass over Big Mountain so early in the season on account of snow. The road was now was completed up through Weber Canyon and we were to go out that way. I was busy all the while helping Father and David on their places. I cannot describe my feelings as the day approached to leave. All my life up to this time, had been spent at home, always with my people. I had always been, so to speak, within seeing distance of the smoke from my home fires, and the prospects of leaving a home I had always loved, didn't brighten the future any. Not many ever lived who had a better mother than I did. I wasn't what she wished for many times, I’m sure.

I loved my father too; we never had any misunderstandings or disagreements. I hold his memory in sincere reverence. He was always honest and upright in his dealings and a gentleman always, with the strongest of home ties. As for mother, she was always interested in any thing that would be of a benefit to her family. She always did the right thing at the right time. I know I will always insist that I had as good a set of parents as ever lived. Everything considered, I was not too anxious for the first of April to come.

The party arrived on the Weber River in time to establish camp for the night. April 1, 1857. Mr. Stoddard came over to the house and invited me to join them next morning ready to leave for the east. Next morning when the time came to say goodbye, I made pretty good headway, even with my mother and my young wife, but when it came father, I simply broke down and had a good cry. When it was over, I mounted the mule I had been given to ride and joined the party. We had about sixty-five mules and horses; they were to be used as pack animals, in carrying the mail. There were more than we needed really, but we intended to establish several mail stations in localities best suited to our purpose.

Camp the first night was made at the lower end of the Upper Weber Canyon. In crossing the mountain between upper Weber Valley and Upper Weber Canyon we met with our first accident. W had with us, four young men from Salt Lake City to help us with the mail, and four passengers without responsibility of course. Two of the helpers were sons of President Young, and four of the mules and one of the wagons belonged to him. At first he refused to allow the mules to go with us, but consented and cautioned the boys as to their use. As we were passing over the mountain separating the upper valley and the canyon, without warning the wagon slid off the sloping dugway and turned completely over. In the fall the wagon tongue split, and the sharp end that remained in the hounds of the wagon struck one of the mules back of the front legs and passed out through the brisket to the front. We had quite a time to get the mule off from the splinter, but he was finally brought to camp. As a kind of protection a small piece of tobacco was placed in the wound. I never saw the mule again, and we left camp next morning without the wagon or mules. And the four helpers from the City all returned there too. The four passengers were now riding horses, which they rode to Fort Bridger.

At our camp at Fort Bridger I was introduced to the work of guard duty. It was the program to have two guards with the stock, and one at the camp. I was assigned to the horses, and George Grant, a lad about my age was to stand it with me. This was the beginning of a friendship that was very dear to me. We were much alike in our likes and dislikes, and also in reaction to our experiences.

The duty of the camp guard was of course, to watch the camp and protect it from marauders, to make the camp at night, and break camp in the morning and have all things ready for the road, which was to be between daylight and sunup. The stock guard was to keep the horses from wandering too far from camp, and have them in easy reach when wanted.

Our progress was slow. We encountered a great deal of snow and at this time of the year, the feed was poor. We were on the road about a week before we reached Fort Bridger. When we went East with Mr. Stoddard for the merchandise wagons, I recall we were four days getting to Fort Bridger with wagons and cattle, so we were really slow this time, with only horses and one wagon.

I was destined to learn a lot on this trip, and here at Fort Bridger I was taught how to pack and unpack a pack mule, and how to fasten the pack on properly with a rope, using the famous Diamond Hitch. Mr. Judson L. Stoddard and Mr. George Dalton assumed the responsibility of instructing us. They were also assisted by a Mexican, who was our camp cook. We spent three days at Fort Bridger, arranging things and purchasing equipment. Among other things we bought some harnesses for four mules and a three-inch Schuttler Wagon. The mail was placed in the wagon and seats arranged for our passengers also.

I do not remember the date we left the Fort, but we traveled slowly, eating three meals a day, such as they were, sometimes quite slim. Wild game was scarce along the trail but we were not suffering.

When we reached Green River and made the necessary adjustments to ford, the wagon with the mail and the passengers were sent in first. Every man in the company was armed as well as far as he could be, even to the passengers. One of them had an old percussion cap gun and had loaded it then placed it in the wagon at the head of the load, and put a cap on it and let the hammer rest on the cap, as the wagon went into the stream, the load shifted to one side and then replaced itself when it reached the bottom of the bank and landed on the hammer of the gun and it was discharged. I was following about three rods behind, but the angle of the gun directed the charge just over my head and I escaped injury. An investigation was made by Mr. Stoddard and measures taken to prevent a recurrence of such an incident.

Foremost among the instructions given Mr. Stoddard by President Young was that he should not fail to engage in prayer as a group, at least twice daily, and this we always did. We mad our way slowly until we reached the Big Sandy, and here I was to meet another feat for which I was not wholly prepared. Mr. Stoddard was making the practice of asking the men to lead in their turn in prayer. Some way I had not been asked, but this morning we were breaking camp on Big Sandy and he called on me. In our home we never failed to have family prayer but father had always been the spokesman and the experience had never come to me. I couldn’t refuse and I was so upset and nervous I could only speak with difficulty. Of all places, out in the wilds, before a group of men. We were kneeling in the sand, and my knees were trembling until they had about buried themselves—I wonder if the imprints are there yet. I didn’t suffer any ill effects for I ate a hearty breakfast and took care of my end of the work. In a few days we reached the South Pass, which was also the continental divide, and we were surprised that we could not see the Sweetwater River from the summit, but pressed on. When we were part way down the slope we discovered we were on a drift of snow about fifty feet deep and we made the crossing of the river before we fully realized the conditions. The snow was frozen so there was no difficulty at all. We traveled considerable distance before we saw the waters of the stream at all, and part of the time we were over the stream. We were now on the Old Immigration Trail and we were soon at the Devil’s Gate. Here we were obliged to spend a few days to give our horses a chance to recuperate, the feed had been poor for a week or more and they began to show the effects. There had been a mail station established at Devil’s Gate by the party ahead of us, and it was left in charge of a man who acted as Blacksmith, so that the rest we had our mules shod. This man put the shoes on sixteen head of mules in one day, which we thought was stepping right along. Our progress had been so slow and so much time consumed on the way, that while we were not suffering, we were feeling the need of supplies, and had to exercise the strictest economy for the next supply depot was at Fort Laramie, some five or six days travel from Devil’s Gate.

In due course we reached Fort Laramie and took on what supplies we needed to take us to Fort Kearney. From sports at Fort Laramie, we learned that the pioneers and other travelers were being harassed by the Indians along the route. Before leaving Fort Laramie, Mr. Stoddard applied for a detachment of soldiers to accompany us to Fort Kearney, and was given 16 well-equipped and well-armed soldiers with an officer to go with us. When we left Fort Laramie we were on the North side of the Platte River. We had covered about half the distance to Fort Kearney when someone of the party spied an object in the distance and it seemed to be coming toward us. There was a deep wash near and we were in there in a few minutes and ready to protect ourselves. We soon discovered that they were horsemen, and later that they were Indians, but we knew they were friendly because they had their squaws and children with them. They had been out hunting and were returning with their meat. Before they left our camp we bought some fresh buffalo meat, the first fresh meat we had since we left Salt Lake City.

After a few days travel we reached the upper end of Grand Island. We were to cross over the Platte at this place but we were too late in the day to risk a ford so we camped for the night. During the night, a very cold storm came up from the West. It was sleet and rain. With all the equipment we had, we did not have one tent. George Grant and I slept under the wagon, and water ran through our bed all night, and everyone suffered considerably. The men on night guard drove the stock near camp as the storm increased and the next morning we found six of the mules dead within a stones throw of camp. There was no wood on this side of the river so we had to get our camp ready and move to the other side before we could attempt to dry our clothing. We were crossing to the Island, first where there were plenty of wood and feed, but ill luck was with us yet. The North Platte River was known as having quicksand in its course, and for that reason was not a good risk in fording. The Mail wagon had crossed to the island alright and we were just getting started nicely where the water was about knee deep to the stock. Six of the mules were caught in the quicksand. After a struggle or two they would give up and would sink deeper without an effort, and we were in the trail the other stock traveled. In spite of all we could do, these six mules drowned in the crossing. It was so cold and stormy, and there was not much we could do, other than get what stock we had left and ourselves on some firm ground somewhere. We soon had a fire going and dried our clothing, and we remained on the island two days.

The first night on the island was my turn to stand guard with the stock, with George Grant. The storm had ceased, and we were within about 3 or 4 hundred yards from camp when just before midnight we heard an animal coming across the channel. We thought we could see an Indian on him. We hid ourselves and waited for him to reach the land, and when he did that, the mule brayed and we discovered one of our animals had strayed and was just returning. We made the rest of the crossing from Grand Island to the south side without difficulty and continued on to Fort Kearney. At Fort Kearney we lost our guard, but continued on the last lap of our journey. I visited the training grounds at the Fort and saw the recruits learning to ride. It was amusing to say the least. Mr. Stoddard told the officer he had just half enough men, he said each one needed a man to hold him on a horse.

Mr. Stoddard was with us only one day after we left Fort Kearney. He then took the mail, and the passengers, a driver and the Mexican Cook and went on ahead. Food for the stock was now plentiful and we took our time so our horses could regain their strength. They reached Independence, Missouri between May 10, and 15, and we in the latter part of May.

When we reached Independence, we found that Mr. Stoddard had located a camp about three miles southeast of Independence of the property of Mr. Saunders. There was plenty of grass for the stock, excellent water, and everything for an ideal camp.

In this particular time of the year, Independence and its surrounding country was one of the most beautiful localities I have ever seen, and I would not hesitate to say in the world. Spring had just returned, and everything was at its best. All the flowers were in bloom, and the shrubberies and wild fruit of the countryside, besides many orchards, that some pioneer had been forced to leave after he had planted it. Wild plumbs and crabapples in full flower everywhere. There are so many short streams in this locality, varying from two to five miles apart and their banks were lined with trees and wild foliage. Between these streams the rolling hills were as green as a well-kept lawn, and flowers were everywhere. Of all the beautiful places I have ever seen, I cannot recall one so beautiful as this.

From the manner in which we were received in Independence we seemed to feel that the bitterness of the Missouri period of Church History was gone. We found everybody agreeable and friendly, and when the trials and hardships of the last two months were recalled, you will remember how much we appreciated this feeling. As I recall that two months now, I cannot see how we endured such privations. The pack outfits and the equipment were inadequate, and our supplies insufficient. Then too, we were traveling at the worst time of the year; there was much snow to hinder us, and the feed for our stock, on which our lives depended, was poor quality and scarce. The Indians were a source of anxiety and worry; every river we crossed was full of danger, and lurking in their depths were perils and hazards constituting a constant danger to the lives of men and beasts alike. Many times, at the same moment, we were suffering the pangs of cold and hunger and no immediate chance for relief. I recall now, that just before we reached Fort Laramie our last five or six meals consisted of boiled corn, plain and simple, and we were thankful for it.

Sometime before we left Salt Lake City, a certain Supreme Court Judge of the Territory of Utah, had found it convenient to leave. He went to California, down the coast to the Isthmus of Panama, across the Isthmus and up the east coast to Washington. His attitude toward the Saints while he was in Utah was anything but friendly, and his visit to Washington was for the purpose of reporting to the President on conditions in Utah as pertaining to the Mormon people. His report was packed with cruel lies and misrepresentations calculated to arouse the Government against the Saints. He stated the people were in rebellion against the United States, and that all the public records had been burned. The President, without investigation, ordered an army of 2,500 men to Utah and take the necessary steps to restore peace and order. The army was to leave from Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, and we were now camped within 25 miles of that place.

Another thing that created a new sentiment against us, was the presence of Eph Hanks, whom rumor with the aid of local publication had associated with the murder of Captain Gunnison and his men south of Salt Lake City about 150 miles on the Sevier River. I think this happened in 1856. Advance rumors from the Judge and Mr. Hanks served to start another wave of bitterness. The Judge was more or less discreet but Hanks often doing things contrary to better judgment. When we reached Independence Hanks was living with a man of poor reputation, this made it uncomfortable for him when he heard of us he wanted to live with us, and Mr. Stoddard finally permitted him to do so. His conduct around the camp was most unbecoming. He would remove all his clothing and behave in the wildest Indian fashion. We could not impress upon him that his life was at stake aside from the embarrassment we suffered ourselves. Finally they hunted him to hang him, and for fear he might be held in disfavor if he was found in camp, Mr. Stoddard compelled him to leave, and that was the last I ever saw of him.

The first afternoon George Grant and myself spent roaming among the woods and flowers near Independence, we saw a great many interesting things, and spent the afternoon among them. At eventide we tried to return to camp but in spite of all we could do, we could not locate ourselves. Finally we came to a small opening in the trees were a man was working and asked him if he would please tell us where Mr. Saunders’ property was, and he said this is it and your camp is right there in that grove. It was about 700 feet away.

Next we visited the Temple lot. I had heard so much about the place where the Temple was to be built in which to receive the Master when he deems it proper to come and assume the reigns of Government, that I felt it would be a mistake to not visit this historic and sacred place at this time. It is located about two miles from the River in the western part of the town. It was east of the Court House about one half mile.

We had been encamped in Independence about two weeks when the feel of things suggested to Mr. Stoddard that we had better seek another campground. For several nights before we did move we had heard men prowling around in the woods near camp. They never bothered anything or anybody, but we feared they were looking for a chance to justify some violence.

Mr. Stoddard had been in pretty close touch with a friend of his in northern Independence, and often acted on his suggestions, and headed his warnings. He was an apostate from the Church, but held no enmity for Mr. Stoddard. Many times he warned us of the efforts of our enemies to get hold of Mr. Hanks, and it was at his suggestion that Mr. Stoddard sent Hans away. Mr. Stoddard told Hanks to take the Mexican cook and go to the stock and get a horse for each of them and a mule for a pack animal and go west into Kansas and cross the Caw River and wait there for us.

The morning we left Independence we were together in front of the courthouse and a group of bystanders either to cause some trouble or some embarrassment, laid claim to some of our mules. Mr. Stoddard refused to consider their demands and let it be known that we were unafraid. There was considerable argument but when we attempted to leave were not molested.

From Independence we went in a northwesterly direction toward Fort Leavenworth. We had to cross the Caw River, and we landed on an Indian Reservation, the Delaware tribe, and after some explanation we were permitted to camp on their ground. Travelers, as a rule were allowed to remain over night only, and we were to cut no more of the trees than were necessary to cook our food and keep warm. We gained these privileges when the Chief found we were waiting for mail to be taken west. We were now about 9 miles below Fort Leavenworth. At this camp we had excellent water and good feed for the stock. We found the Delawares were fond of whiskey, and almost everyday they would pass our camp on the way to the Fort for another supply.

As soon as we were located in camp Mr. Stoddard at once became interested in the preparations the army was making to go west. His dress was that of a typical mountaineer. He wore a small leather cap, and his face was covered with a heavy long beard. His jacket and trousers were made of buckskin, with three or four-inch tag-locks hanging on each sleeve, and as far down as his knees on his trousers. He wore good heavy shoes and leggings. Perhaps the most conspicuous part of his dress were the large Spanish spurs he wore. He was a character to always command attention and possessed the faculty of easily making friends. He had not made many trips to the Fort until he had made friends with the officers in charge of activities there. When they asked him where he was from he promptly answered that he was from California. He was asked many questions about his travels and experiences especially when he was in Utah. Always careful to keep his connections with Utah concealed, but in other matters answered correctly.

The officer was very much surprised to find that the Saints in Utah had not robbed, and plundered, and otherwise molested them. Mr. Stoddard told him that as far as he knew everything was alright in Utah. With this advantage, he soon became in possession of the whole campaign of the army and what their intentions were. He made these trips to the Fort every day and at night he would tell us the happenings of the day.

Other men were operating for the benefit of the Saints as well as Mr. Stoddard and one evening told the following incident. A man by the name of Williams was buying mules for the government to be used in the campaign against the Saints. He was not a member of the Church but was evidently friendly, if not friendly it was because of the fact that his father and mother and many of his friends were in Utah. He had early established a reputation for buying the best of mules. One day the commanding officer, in the presence of Mr. Stoddard asked how he secured such good mules. Mr. Williams told him in as few words as possible that he had many good friends in Utah, who were no doubt in need of more good stock, and in as much as they were going to get everything the army took out there, he wanted them to have the best.

In breaking the mules the boys had their problems and nearly every day an outfit out of control would come down past our camp, otherwise our camp life here was uneventful.

Here we maintained our guards, both night and day. And here also, our Mexican cook returned to camp. After about ten days in this camp, we were joined by a party from St. Louis consisting of A.O. Smoot and Mrs. Parley P. Pratt. They were to be our passengers West to Utah. At about this time also we were joined by a company of converts from Texas also headed for Utah. A man by the name of Box was in charge of the party. He was a very wealthy man. Mr. A.O. Smoot came east with the mail about two months earlier and had gone to St. Louis to attend to some business matters. It was there that he found Mrs. Pratt, and she made the trip with him to Independence to connect with the mail, and from there found our location and came to our camp. Meeting the Box party was purely incidental, but finding us so near ready to leave decided to travel with us. It was very fortunate for us that they did.

We had been joined by this party but a day or two, when a certain man came to Mr. Stoddard and demanded payment of a note he held against President young for $3,500.00 the idea seemed to prevail that this army preparing to enter Utah would practically annihilate the Saints, and they had better grab what they could. Mr. Stoddard knew nothing of this note and protested, but Mr. Smoot knew of the existence of the note, and after a few minutes council they decided that if possible at all they would pay the note. All our stock and provisions and wagons were not worth the amount. I am not positive but from my observation I really believe they intended to take all we had and leave us to it, had it not been for Mr. Box. After we had pooled all we had of value, we were still about $500.00 short of the amount. Among the possessions of Mr. Box was a negro woman who was his slave. She was a very splendid specimen of the race, and as a final gesture in the settlement she was offered for a settlement in full, and she was accepted. From this kindness on the part of Mr. Box, we were allowed to retain our belongings and go our way. As for the Box party, it developed that it would be impossible for them to travel with us, so they departed ahead of us, leaving about July 1st, we had also intended to leave with the mail on the 1st of July, but when Mr. Stoddard had made all the preparations and went to Independence for the mail he was told that the U.S. Government had cancelled its contract with Brigham young and refused to give him the mail.

Mr. Stoddard returned to camp and prepared to leave for home. I did not know at the time, neither do I know now, how five new Schuttler wagons came to be delivered to our camp for our use at this particular time. I am sure they were to be delivered in Utah, but who purchased them, and delivered them to us, I cannot recall.

We wee assigned our wagons and mules and we set about to fit the harness and break the mules to work in the time we had to spare. During this time up to the trip to Independence for the mail, Mr. Stoddard had been in touch with the developments at Fort Leavenworth, but when he relaxed and turned to his own work, the Army was ready, and departed to Utah.

At a conference of the entire personnel of the camp we decided to make ready and leave for Utah at once. We did not want the army to know our intentions, nor our activities and inasmuch as they were ahead of us we had to arrange to pass them by and reach Utah ahead of them.

The mail from Utah reached Independence July 1, and we were glad to call and sure enough we had mail from our loved ones and friends. We met the crew and exchanged greetings with them and news items also. From our friends by letter and from the mail crew we learned that the Saints were holding a celebration July 24, in Big Cottonwood Canyon.

We were ready now for the start and on July 3, 1857 we left for the Salt Lake Valley, and we felt sure we were carrying advanced information on the approach of the Army, and we were all filled with the keenest of interest and determined to report to President Young at the celebration July 24, concerning the approach of the Army.

The Young Express Company was organized for the express purpose of obtaining a mail contract from the Government for what other purpose I do not know. Mr. Stoddard had in his care a branding iron belonging to them with the letters YX and when we wee refused the mail and the contract was cancelled and the iron was of no use, so he said, and he entrusted me to take it and hide it where it never would be found, so I took it and placed it in a hole just below the source of the spring we were camped by, that I dug for the purpose, about two feet deep and let it stay there.

Among the new wagons we had there wee two or three that had iron axletrees. These fit very closely into the hub of the wheel. We were careless in greasing them and they became dry, and before the first day was over the wheels locked tight and would not turn. After a little care and a little wear they were perfectly satisfactory.

Mr. A.O. Smoot and Mrs. Parley P. Pratt were assigned to my wagon and they rode with me continuously until we reached Fort Laramie.

We were late in the day leaving Missouri for the West and were soon obliged to pitch camp. Perhaps it was our anxiety, but our progress seemed too slow, but we discovered that it was much faster than that of the Army, for before noon July 4 we sighted them a short distance ahead. We were careful not to contact them in any way, not even their outposts. By nightfall we had laid our plans to pass around them, so under cover of darkness we made the detour and came back to the road in the lead. We traveled all night July 4 and all day the 5th until night fall, and as we were looking for a place to camp we unexpectedly happened onto the Box Party and we camped with them and enjoyed a much needed rest, and a supper prepared by them. Here also we did not stand guard over our stock, the first time since we left Salt Lake City, and this because the guard from the Box Party did it for us. I had formed acquaintance with a young lady in this party and we were very good friends, so much that when supper was served she invited me to eat with her and her people, so I did, and was treated with respect.

Up until the time I left Salt Lake City for this trip I had never tasted tea or coffee; they were unknown in my father’s home. But on this I drank coffee with the rest of them, but sugar was scarce so I took mine almost without sugar. At this particular meal I was served coffee well sweetened, it was much too sweet, and although I used it for a number of years afterward, I never used sugar.

We were up and gone early the next morning, and with an exception or two, I never saw the members of the Box party again.

We traveled as fast as we could, consistently, spending just what time that was necessary at Fort Kearney, and in three days were on the South Platte River and forded over at once and then pitched camp. Here we found a Mr. Murdock headed east with the mail for June. In his party was a man named Porter Rockwell, he was a very sincere friend of the Prophet Joseph Smith and associated with him, and his activities in behalf of the Prophet made him a number one man as far as our enemies were concerned. Even at this late hour the people where we had been would like to get hold of him. Mr. Stoddard knew the conditions at Independence as to Mr. Rockwell and when he found out he was in the Murdock’s party, he tried to induce Rockwell to turn back with our company. Mr. Rockwell thought Mr. Stoddard was too talkative and treated lightly the warning of Mr. Stoddard. However, when Murdock broke camp next morning, Rockwell remained and returned to Utah with us.

I recall one morning that Mr. Smoot was walking along by the wagon, when he picked up a pocket knife, and when he found I had no knife he gave it to me. We were making very good time, about the only time we had lost was waiting an hour for a herd of buffalo to cross the trail. We knew better than to force them, or try to scare them, so we waited.

In a few days we were at Fort Laramie, but we could see that the progress we were making would not place the news in President Young’s hands by the 24th. We were positive we were the first ones to have any definite information of the movements of the Army, so we felt duty bound to get the word to Utah as soon as was physically possible. At Fort Laramie we decided to divide the party, giving the best of the equipment and animals to the leaders and send them on. The remainder of the party was to bring what was left and gather the stock at the various camps.

The leading party consisted of Judson L. Stoddard, A.O. Smoot, Porter Rockwell and Mrs. Parley P. Pratt. George Dalton, about the best hand with a four-mule team I ever saw, was taken along as teamster. And the Mexican cook was also with them. They left us at Fort Laramie July 12 or 13. We had no occasion to hurry so we enjoyed the regular campers life, reaching Salt Lake City August 9 or 10. As soon as I was released from the service, I went at once to Farmington, where I spent the night with Mr. Stoddard, and he furnished me with a horse and a saddle to finish my trip to East Weber.

It was understood among us that when this company was formed, that those who were called upon to carry the mail were to become shareholders in the company, in effect, depending upon the profits of the company for their remuneration.

Well, when we returned to Salt Lake City, we found we had no company, and there were no profits, and I do not know what became of the livestock. I do know, however that I never received a cent in money, and all I did receive was a suit of clothes, a hat and a pair of shoes for my four months of service. These were paid for out of company funds by Mr. Stoddard while we were in Missouri.

I was allowed but a few days at home, which I spent in helping to harvest the crops that were ready. President Young, on receiving the news of the advance of the Army commenced at once to make preparation to prevent the army from entering the valley. He called for volunteers, and nearly every man answered the call.

I left home about August 20 with the men from East Weber, for Echo Canyon where the main body of the men was forming. The camp there was under the command of Colonel C.W. West of Ogden, and we received the usual army discipline and training. Our drill Sergeant was Dan Campbell, who was a very efficient man. He was a quick-witted Irishman, and considerate of his men.

In the latter part of August I was allowed to return home on account of poor health. About two or three days after I left the camp for home, I received word of the accidental shooting of one of the volunteers from East Weber, named William Simmons. Most of the guns we had were muzzleloaders, and their destructive force was rather under estimated by the men, they entertained the idea that a rifle would not throw a ball over the cliff facing the camp in Echo Canyon. During the quiet of the afternoon Bill Simmons and Henry and Larry Robinson climbed the cliff. This was accomplished by starting some distance up the canyon and finally passing through a ravine to the rear, then to the top. From here they could see over the surrounding country, and they noticed a small group of the boys in camp cleaning their guns, and they called to them what they would give them a shot at if they wanted it. I do not recall the man’s name that did the shooting, but as soon as the gun was loaded, he fired at William Simmons, who gave the dare and was standing between the Robinson boys. The bullet landed in Simmons left temple, and he would have fallen over the face of the cliff, had it not been for his companions. Next day, Sunday, the body was wrapped in a wagon cover and taken to East Weber in a wagon. Here I saw the body the evening of the day it was brought home, a silent reminder of the uncertainties of life. We were on our way to the evening meeting when the body arrived. The first reaction of the people was that the army had arrived and there had been a battle, and excitement ran high until the facts were known.

I was curious to see the body, so I went to the wagon where it was and uncovered it until I could see the head and shoulders, and I saw the wound on the left temple. Within the next 24 hours I wished I had mastered my curiosity.

A few days before Mr. Simmons death, Colonel West, who was in charge of the camp, turned the command over to Colonel Jones of Salt Lake City, and he returned to Ogden. Bishop Osborn, of East Weber, had spent the Sunday that the body had arrived in Ogden, and had see Colonel West, and he asked the Bishop if he had someone that he could trust to take a message to Colonel Jones at Echo Canyon. The Bishop told him I was at home and would take the message. It had not been more than a few minutes since I saw Mr. Simmons’ body when the bishop asked me to take the message to Colonel Jones. I was furnished about the poorest horse and saddle any one ever rode. I did not go to Sacrament Meeting, but took my wife home and set out for Echo Canyon. There was no moon, the sky was clear and the stars glistened but with it all, it was dark and the walls of the canyon only served to intensify that darkness.

I was instructed to go to the upper end of Weber Valley and there make application to Ben Simonds, an old Delaware Indian, who was very friendly, for a fresh horse. I was forced to cross the Weber River the second time before I reached the Weber Valley. My horse was terrible; I used about twenty kinds of persuasion on him and couldn’t impress him with the idea that I was trying to hurry. I coaxed a little, then a lot, then whipped a little and then a lot, but the difference in speed was negligible. I had him on a full gallop but once, soon after I crossed the river in the valley. I was just congratulating myself on my speed when the old critter centered a badger hole with his right front foot and threw me farther than I could see in the dark. I have no idea how long I laid there, but when I became conscious of myself, I was lost as to which way was which. I finally placed myself and was ready to go, but I had no horse. I located him nearby and he acted as if he was waiting for me for sometime. I regained the saddle and was on my way.

Within the hour I was at Mr. Simonds’ home, and though I had to call them from their beds, they showed me every attention, and with the help of one of his men I was soon on my way. While they made ready the horse, the folks at the house fed me so I was in fact, ready to accept the chances of the night. From Ben’s place I went up through the Upper Weber Canyon. In all the experiences of my life I know there has never been any time so completely lonely as that night. If I had not seen Mr. Simmon’s body at East Weber, it might have been much the same as any other night. My new horse was not much improvement over the old, but I constantly tried for speed, but the time seemed to hold as if it hated to desert me. Of course I realized I was alone in the canyon, and the remembrance I had of Mr. Simmon’s body, and the loneliness of the night served to make me quite uneasy and nervous, and I expected the worst at every turn.

I was well along with my trip through the upper Weber Canyon, having just passed the Devil’s Slide, when in the distance ahead of me I noticed a faint light. Here again my imagination and the conditions of my mind caused me to wonder what was to happen next. Naturally, the first thought was of a detachment of soldiers out to prevent just such communications as I was bearing. I advanced slowly and with caution. From what I could see there was a camp there of a few persons and off the road to the left. The light was dim but from what I could see the road was clear beyond the camp. When I rode as close as I thought proper, I urged my horse to the best speed possible, and rode straight through their camp. As I reached the opposite side I heard someone say that it was someone riding through camp but made no effort to stop me. I was surely relieved when I was well on my way and made all the speed I could consistent with my “power plant,” for he was to last me all the way.

As I approached Colonel Jones’ tent I was met by a guard and after I explained my mission and that I was cautioned to deliver the message to no one but Colonel Jones personally, I was soon presented to the Colonel and delivered my message.

The day before I left East Weber to make this trip, a request had reached Colonel Jones, from Lot Smith, for fifty men, and the men had all been selected from the volunteers, and this morning there was a great hurry to get the men on their way. I asked the orderly where the men from East Weber were located, and I went to them at once and found my brother David, Gordon and Henry Beckstead, Joe Wadsworth, and Jim Laird and others from our community making ready to go to help Lot Smith, and when I found Colonel Jones had no further use for me I went with them.

I do not recall that anyone in particular had charge of this detachment. We traveled in a body as fast as consistent and that night we joined Lot Smith on Ham’s Fork. One reason that Lot wanted more men was to care for the cattle he had stampeded belonging to the soldiers, to round them up and take them to Salt Lake City.

The men assigned to care for the cattle were up and gone early the next morning. Our camp on Ham’s Fork was made on the trail of the Army and just below where they were camped. Orders to Lot Smith were to do nothing but impede the progress of the army, and his activities up to this time had done very much to take the joy out of their undertakings. Our purpose now was to follow the army and stampede their remaining animals at the first opportunity. We were close enough now to keep a good check on their movements. We always kept a vanguard in the field and from the surrounding cliffs and points or vantage we had men with field glasses to study their operations. During the day we could keep track of them by a column of dust, from their horses and wagons. As they moved up the canyon we followed. Provisions were never too plentiful, barley supporting us in our work. With our minds continually trained on the activities of the army, and our duties and desires in connection with them, we really craved a little excitement. So on the evening of the third day out we ventured a little closer to their camp. We knew we were too close to them, but did not have their exact location. In a certain place in the canyon near them, the road detoured from the stream and up a small hill. As we very carefully rounded the point of the hill we were surprised to find their camp at the foot of the hill below us, and we had encountered their guard, but instead of using their firearms, we could hear them running down the hill and through the loose rock. From the light of their fires we could see the camp before the alarm was sounded. We discovered that they made use of a night guard and kept their stock in their camp during the night. We had found no opportunity to get at the cattle so we followed our trail back to our camp of the night before, about a mile below.

In our council around the fire we decided that no movement should be undertaken next day until a reconnoitering party could be sent out to find in which direction they were ranging their stock. We were all lined up next morning while all in camp, and Mr. Smith talked to us. He said if there was a man in the company that had a dread of being in a tight place, or was afraid of a bullet, and perhaps death, he wanted him to drop out of the line then and there; he wanted no man to go home and report that he had arbitrarily sent them into danger. He said he wanted six men to remain in camp with the pack outfit, and be prepared at a moments notice to act under orders. And he called for volunteers. Not a movement was made so all Smith could do was to appoint his men.

I was assigned to the reconnoitering party and we prepared to leave at once. We did not follow the road, but climbed to the highlands. When we reached the locality where we were the night before, we went down the hill toward the creek and into the road. Just then one of our party called our attention to the braying of a mule. The soldiers were going down the stream, but we found ourselves between them and their camp. We found the mules were on top of the hill, and not with the men we had located on the stream. So we made a dash for the top of the hill to do our stuff. When we reached the top we found the mules all right but a man at the side of every mule and ready to battle. We were sure short sighted when we did not find out the number of men with the mules before we charged them. There was 96 of them, and everyone had a gun and standing on the opposite side of the mule from us.

Captain Marcey of the Army held a short conversation with Lot Smith, and when Smith returned to us we were all puzzled to know just what to do, but it was evident that we must do something and do it suddenly. So we made a good job of going down the hill to the camp of the night before. I am telling you we lost no time getting on the trail of the mules again. We now went up the mountain on the opposite side of the canyon. Perhaps if you could see the mountain you would say a man and a horse could not go up that way, but I know there were fifty-two of us who went up there, and made a nice quick trip of it too. When we reached the top we landed on a level plateau, and we went straight across it for about a mile when we reached the brink on the other side we went right down into the canyon. When we were about 300 yards down the slope, we heard a few sharp rifle reports. We were very much surprised indeed, and turning around we found the soldiers with their mules had overtaken us and were amusing themselves shooting at us.

They left the ridge on the north side of the canyon the same time we did, while we were going down to our camp and up the hill, they went down to the stream and crossing it crept to a ravine and flanked us all the way. They reached the top just as we started down on the other side, and rushing across they took us completely by surprise.

When we ere nearly across the plateau Lot Smith told us to uncap our guns for he thought we had seen the last of the soldiers for that day, so there was nothing left to do but hurry. As far as I am concerned the number of shots fired at us was not definite, but in my opinion there must have been sixty shots fired, and all of them fired by the soldiers. During the shooting and we were all doing what we could to increase the distance between us and the soldiers, the horse Jim Laird was riding centered a badger hole and spilled Jim and dazed him somewhat, but in a few moments he was coming at full speed. When this happened the soldiers shouted as if they were pleased. We later found it was because they thought they had shot Lot Smith. The horse he rode was quite like the one Jim was riding at the time and they were satisfied that they had shot him. As a matter of fact there was not a shot fired by the soldiers that took effect in man or beast. Mark Hall carried the only reminder, that of a bullet hole through the crown of his hat. He remembered when it happened, but thought at the time it was a twig from a tree.

As soon as this affair was over, that very day we started for Fort Bridger. Our provisions were low and we were suffering from the cold. We did not have one tent in the company and David and Joe Wadsworth and I bunked together, and we had only three small quilts. In fact when we started for Fort Bridger, we were without provisions, and nearly all we had on the previous day was beef. On the first day toward Bridger we were overtaken by six inches of snow and very cold weather. And that same storm also turned the soldiers back. They did not go any farther up Ham’s Fork, but in a week or ten days came to Fort Bridger for the winter.

Through all my experiences of the last few months, I had been without a coat on my back, and when I reached Fort Bridger I was exhausted, and very badly chilled. As soon as we reached there I took shelter in the blacksmith shop, and as I warmed a little I could see things, as I know they should not be. I was so hungry and weak I couldn’t stand, and so cold I was numb. When I warmed up good I became unconscious. I fell in a heap and was removed to a manger in a nearby barn, where I was revived through the kindness of some friends. My brother David had left the Fort with a party about the time we arrived, for Fort Supply, twelve miles south of Fort Bridger. The next day the remainder of our company went down there, I rode my horse. When we reached Fort Supply I was surely sick, and Lot Smith found a bed for me in one of the houses. There was quite a number of the boys sick and the room was pretty well taken when we arrived. I stayed here for two or three days and recuperated sufficiently to join the company that Lot Smith had decided to send home on account of ill health, about 75 men as I remember it.

A man by the name of Milo Andrus was in charge of the company. About two thirds of the men had horses and the balance was on foot. It was necessary to carry what provisions we had on the horses and on this account most of the men were obliged to walk. We progressed very well up to where the road crossed the Weber River to climb Big Mountain. It was the intention of Mr. Andrus to maintain as strictly as possible a Military Camp. Where guard duty was required it worked a hardship on the men able to do it and on the men unable to work. We were now 75 or 80 miles from the soldiers, and guard duty was not necessary at all, but we were forced to do guard duty anyway, taking the same precautions as if we were liable to be attacked at any moment. We proceeded as best we could, a weary and tired outfit. In a few days we reached the forks of the road, one leading over Big Mountain to Salt Lake City and the other down the Weber River to Ogden. Here we were confronted with a geographical situation, it was about 35 miles over the mountain to Salt Lake City and about the same distance to Ogden and its vicinity, and if the men going to Ogden went down the Weber they would reach home about the same time as the Salt Lake men going over the mountain. Under ordinary circumstances this was the thing to do, and it appeared even more important to us to do it on account of the weather conditions and our health as a company, but Mr. Andrus insisted that the company must proceed as a company to Salt Lake City and be disbanded there. He went so far as the threaten court martial for those who did not respect his command. We thought we had been imposed on anyway, so the men from East Weber and the vicinity of Ogden counseled and decided to go down the Weber and home, and we did and there was no further ado, after the man who took charge of us told Mr. Andrus that if he wished to enforce his court martial we could be found at our home.

We camped at the forks of the road that night and the next morning one company went over the mountain and the other down the Weber. The great home coming event and the event of the trip was the supper we received when we reached Mountain Green. It consisted of bread, butter, milk, and was a feast indeed when we thought of the meals we had been receiving in camp. This banquet was the outcome of the generosity of Mr. George Higby, a brother-in-law to my brother David. He was at Mountain Green feeding his stock some wild hay he had cured there. We camped here over night and reached home the next day after a months absence. The crops were practically harvested and about all we had to do was to gather our winter wood. I helped some, but my health was impaired, so I stayed close to home.

Home life at this time was quite uneventful for us. About the only entertainment we had was a dance occasionally, and the part I enjoyed most was that I earned a few cents. I was waiting and planning to enter school when the term opened well along in the winter. I was taught by William Winward. He had written my copy for penmanship practice in my copybook and in some manner he made the use of the name Jacob, but had commenced the name without a capital letter. I called this to his attention and he endeavored to maintain his action and referred to me as a smart Aleck, and said that I had better take the school. He finished the day but did not come again. That night he reported to Bishop Osborn that he was through. The same evening Bishop Osborn came to see me about taking the school, and the next time I went to school I was no longer the pupil, but the teacher, having scaled the heights in one evening. Needless to say, I encountered many obstacles. We had a swell neighbor, a refined and educated gentleman in the person of John Parson, and he owned an excellent library and was a great help to me in disposing of my difficulties as they presented themselves. The school term ended March 1, 1858. I got along very nicely, with varying degrees of success, of course.

The year 1855 was one of friendly relations with the Indians, and all around prosperity for the Saints. President Young seized the opportunity to forward the plans of the Church in colonizing the surrounding country. He called for the forming of a company to go to the Salmon River Country to establish a settlement there. This company consisted of 25 or 30 families. They located under favorable circumstances. Everybody was friendly, even the Indians, and the Saints prospered. I believe the Salmon River Indians were of the Bannocks, and up until this time had proved themselves worthy of our friendship. But things must change as all things human change and we introduce, at this time an old mountaineer, named Powell. For reason fancied or other wise he had formed a dislike for the Saints and used his influence to arouse the Indians against us. He engendered distrust by telling them we were there to take their land, kill their game and destroy their forests. He succeeded in arousing the Indians, especially the young warriors, and they attacked the people and drive their stock away. At the time of the first attack the stock was grazing near the Fort and they were surrounded and started away before the Saints noticed them. They rushed out at once to try to save them, but as they approached, the Indians fired on them and killed two men, a Mr. McBride and Mr. Miller. Three others were wounded, I do not recall the names of two of them, but a third was Thomas S. Smith, he was shot through the wrist, but not an Indian was injured in the whole affair. The Fort was located on the Lemhi Road, and was known as Fort Lemhi.

News of this unfortunate affair was carried to President young by a young Indian Brave named Arimo, in company with a settler or two from the Fort. This action prompted President Young to call for volunteers to go to the rescue of the saints. The number called was available at once. We were to have 15 baggage wagons, and plenty of provisions. We were equipped with the best we had and we were to travel as cavalry. There was a driver with every wagon and 150 cavalrymen. Including the officers, the company consisted of about 175 men. Colonel Cunningham of Salt Lake City was the officer in charge, and was assisted by Captains Layton and Belnap. Most of the men were from the vicinities of Daysville, Ogden, and Farmington. We commenced the trip about the middle of March. We went up through Brigham City and crossed over Bear River at Hamton’s Bridge. North through Malad Valley, over the divide Onto Marsh Creek, and followed that stream down to the Portneuf, and the Portneuf down nearly to the Snake River, over the ground where Pocatello now stands. There was nothing there then to indicate that such a place would ever exist. I am not positive, but I believe we were the first white men to ever take a wagon down the Portneuf River Canyon. There was simply no indication that a wagon had ever been there before. The trail was beset with difficulties and dangerous places. In one place it was necessary to lower the wagons over a small precipice. We decided on a place, removed the lead team, tied a rope to the axle of the wagon, the men holding the rope lowered the wagons, one after another, down the grade. This rope idea was more effective than a brake system under the conditions. But an absolute necessity at this time for the breaking system on our wagons of today was not a part of the equipment at this time.

We crossed the Snake River on the ice a short distance above the mouth of the Portneuf, and continued about straight north. We passed the Big Buttes, west of what is now Blackfoot, continued north and reached Birch Creek, up this stream to the divide between the Snake and Salmon Rivers. We crossed the divide and when the sun was about down we located camp on a small stream tributary to Salmon River. All of our officers were leading us down the stream when, without warning they came upon a camp of Indians. Without investigating they returned to us and told us to climb a small hill near us and on the top of it to arrange to defend ourselves, for we were in the midst of our enemies. We formed a corral, put our stock in it, and in a short time we were ready to do our bit. We had no supper that night and no breakfast the next morning for we were afraid to start a fire. It was a very cold bleak night and I am sure no one slept. The wind blew quite hard and we suffered without fires. Not only the cold and discomfort, but we would not be surprised to hear the “war whoop” of the Indians at any moment. But daybreak then the “scarlet shafts of sunrise” and still we were unmolested. A little later we discovered that the “wigwams” belonged to three old bucks and their squaws, the laugh was on the officers. We pulled camp, got back onto the road and went to Fort Lemhi, on the Lemhi River. We entered the Fort and slept inside, locked in, man and beast alike.

The people were pleased, beyond words, to see us. There had been many anxious hours in the lines, and this bunch of men offered them a feeling of security they had not enjoyed for some time.

While I was at the Fort I was entertained by an old friend of mine, William Smith, a brother of Lot Smith. The people in the Fort were very kind to us and did all they could for our comfort. Each family cared for as many as they could and the remainder did their own cooking I the Fort. We appeared more like a company of cavalry on this trip, and we were much better armed and supplied than on any expedition I had ever been on. We stacked arms and made a very good job of it, and our camp in the Fort looked like a pretty well trained company.

At the council, next morning, it was decided to locate the Indians and hold a conference with them. They were generally known to be about ten miles below us on the Lemhi River. There was, at this time, in the Fort, two Indians who were very friendly, and they were detailed to carry the message to the camp below. They did their part and returned as was expected with them, in due time.

About the middle of the afternoon of this day, a company of ten Indians entered the clearing outside of the Fort to the East. The Fort was built on the north, east and south, by logs set on end in the ground, and was about eight feet high. The wall on the west was made there to keep the stock within the Fort. The entrance was on the east side near the southeast corner. The Indians came across the clearing up to the fence or gates as fast as their horses would carry them and shouting as loudly as they could. The Fort gate was open and they came rushing into the inside, but there was a difference in their behavior when they saw the increased number of men and our display of guns. Then adding to their predicament, when they turned toward the gate it was closed. It was the intentions of the officers to hold the Indians until the next day after the conference as a matter of precaution. Our interpreter had some difficulty to get them to see that we meant them no harm. They were very shy and nervous. We divided our blankets with them to make beds for the night and fed them food like our own. With our beds all made and the men at leisure, some lying on the beds and others engaged in conversation, our colored friends seem quite at ease. But when the bugler sounded his first not of “Taps” they all jumped to their feet and were frightened, but at a total loss as to what to do to deliver themselves. From what we noticed during the night, we were sure they did not sleep at all, and when reveille was sounded next morning, it only served to increase their anxiety. One nimble youth decided the time was ripe to deliver himself, at least, and he made a rush for the North wall and succeeding in getting a hold on top of the post, and pulling himself on top, jumped to the ground outside and disappeared across the clearing in record time. I think there was not a white man in the crowd that could have kept pace with him as he cut across the country, his blankets flying in the breeze. The others made no effort to escape but were ill at ease.

I think it was about one o’clock p. m. that the company, with the officers and the Indians, started for the camp down on the Lemhi. The messengers that carried the message to the Indians were asked not to make known the presence of the extra men, and they did not know until they reached the Fort that we were there. Had it not been for the escape of the one Indian, we could have taken the camp on the Lemhi by complete surprise. But as it was, they were ready for us. But to our job, they were entirely friendly, and after a conference between our interpreters, the Indian Chief and his counselors, we found that the trouble had all been caused by those young braves, out of his control, and under the influence of the old mountaineer Powell. The Chief was very sorry over the affair, and when he was told we had come to take the settlers away with us, he tried in every way to get them to stay.

On our way to and from the Indian camp we saw very plainly what had happened to the best of the stock they had stole. We recovered a few of the poorer horses, and some of the cattle, the better ones had been driven away into the mountains by the braves who had stolen them. We returned to camp that day and commenced preparations to start for home. The settlers had considerable repairing to do on their wagons and harness, and their belongings to care for. They had quite a supply of wheat on had and it was decided to take it along, though it was very smutty and had to be washed before we could use it. The Squad of ten, to which I was assigned, was detailed to wash wheat, after which it was ground into mill shorts, bran, and everything together, and was for bread as we traveled.

It had long been known by the white people that an Indian had a mortal dread of a cannon. They were quite superstitious and the fear of a cannon headed the list. It was likely with this in mind that Mr. Collett, the company blacksmith decided to build a cannon, and he actually thought he could build one that would be serviceable. He applied himself to the task and the finished product was a very neat piece of work. It was about a two-inch bore and was made from the old wagon tires and scrap iron. The barrel was about three feet long. It was a solid cylinder on the side of which was a chamber arranged with a percussion lock for the firing of the gun. It was freely believed that it was this gun that discouraged the Indians from coming to the Fort after the trouble started. We had never shot it, and as we could not take it with us we decided to see whether it would shoot or not. As a company we were advised to conserve our supply of ammunition, especially powder, but after all we were permitted to give enough powder among us, for one round.

Before the gun was loaded, each of us was permitted to c*** and pull the trigger, so we could say we had “cocked a cannon.” The gun was then loaded and at the command of Colonel Cunningham, it was taken outside the Fort, placed against the wall and trained on a nearby hill. A string was tied to the trigger and brought through a crack in the wall.

Finally everything was ready and the string was pulled. The firing mechanism worked perfectly, but the charge of powder was too powerful for the strength of the chamber. A modest estimate of the number of pieces into which the gun was blown would be in excess of forty-nine thousand. It was fortunate indeed that we had taken the precaution to place the gun outside the Fort, otherwise someone would have been killed. The gun had been loaded with scrap iron and from what we could find out, the most of it was imbedded in the hillside.

We were about ten or twelve days at the Fort before we were prepared to start home. When the start was made a detachment of ten men was organized to go before us and reach Salt Lake City as soon as possible and let Pres. Young know of our coming. As a matter of fact they left one day ahead of the main body. They did not take a wagon with them, their bedding and supplies being carried on four or five pack animals. I can now recall the names of five of the men in this advance guard. They were, Bailey Lake, George Barber, John Blanchard, George Ill and Balda Watts. The others I do not remember. Their instructions were that if they encountered any Indians to not molest them. We did not see them again until we reached home, and then but nine of them, for misfortune overtook the one at Bannock Creek.

We followed about the same route back as the one we came north on, until we reached Snake River. I am not positive as to where we crossed the river, but it was below where Blackfoot now stands. This crossing was made on the ice also. Colonel Cunningham had, previously to this, been up in the neighborhood of Blackfoot and left a cache of flour. As soon as we crossed the Snake, a party of several men, a four-horse team and a wagon was sent for the flour. The main Company traveled on, and this group overtook us before we reached the Portneuf River and were perhaps four or five miles up Bannock Creek, when we met our advance guard coming back to us, quite excited, and in a hurry. They reported they had found the body of a white man a short distance up the creek. It was evident that it was the work of Indians. We corralled our wagons at once and formed camp. As soon as the safety of the women and children was insured, we went up the creek to investigate. At first we were afraid the entire vanguard had been killed. An old packsaddle here and there, and a saddle blanket, and if I remember correctly one gun. Evidently the Indians had shot from ambush. The body we had found was that of Bailey Lake, and he had been shot while crossing the creek. He was quite a large man, and had ridden his horse clear of the water before falling off.

The boys were taken by surprise, but had the presence of mind to retire to a wash through which the stream passed and conceal themselves until they could locate the Indians. A few shots were fired by our men, but as far as we could tell none of them took effect.

The Indians had stripped Mr. Lake’s body of all clothing, and removed his scalp, then turning him face downward had shot three arrows into his back. A scouting committee was sent out at once by our train, and after a careful search of the country surrounding us, they returned and reported no Indians were in the locality and the remaining nine of our Vanguard were alive and gone on their way.

Now we had to care for Mr. Lake’s body. None of us wanted to have it buried here. It was finally decided to distribute the blacksmith tools among the other wagons and take his body in it. We filled the wagon box with snow and packed it as best we could by tromping it down with our feet. Then a place for the body was cut in it, and the snow repacked around it. This was successful, for when we reached home the body was in a state of excellent preservation.

This was the first and only time I ever saw a person scalped, by an Indian or anyone else, and to me it is a very cold-blooded thing to do, and someone else can see the rest of it.

The following day we went on up Bannock Mountains and into Malad Valley. Here we found out that the nine men of our advance guard were O.K. and ahead of us. We reached Bear River, and crossed on Hamton’s Bridge, with no other than the usual routine.

As we re-entered the Territory of Utah, the first homes we encountered in Box Elder, was deserted but for a detail of men whose duty it was to care for things until the return of the Saints, or the destruction of the property, in case they were not permitted to return. Every place had been “strawed” so fire could be started at once. The people, before leaving had made caches of all food they could not take with them. The same conditions existed in Willard and Ogden. When we reached Ogden we disbanded and I left at once for East Weber, where I found that all my folks, except my wife, had joined the exodus. I spent a few days at home, and meanwhile the team and wagon David had sent back for my wife, myself and his Mother-in-law Mrs. Penrod, and we at once loaded our belongings and started to join the rest of our people. We overtook them about thirty-five miles South of Salt Lake City. It was while I was in Salt Lake City this time that I attended the meeting of the Army Officers and the Church Officials.

Before this time we had discovered why the settlements had been deserted and preparations made to destroy everything and anything of value. It had been the mind of President Young and his council, that the Army would force its way into the valley from Fort Bridger as soon as conditions were favorable in the spring. Anticipating this possibility the President ordered a general exodus of the people to the South. And the invaders were to find the country as barren and useless as it was when the Saints first settled there.

Just as these arrangements were completed, a certain one Thomas L. Caine, had obtained permission from the President of the United States to come to Utah to investigate conditions and straighten things out, peaceably if possible. President Young had ordered the move, but Mr. Caine wanted the people held until a better understanding could be had between the parties concerned. This, President Young would not consent to, so Mr. Caine asked for an escort to go to Fort Bridger and bring the officers of the army to Salt Lake City for a conference. Lot Smith and about fifteen other men formed the company and in the next few days they returned with the officers of the army, and I think Major Alexander was in charge, and Mr. Cummings, the new Governor of the territory, was with him. On their arrival a meeting was held in the little old tabernacle, in the South West corner of the Temple Block. It was an open meeting and the house was filled to overflowing. I attended this meeting.

In defense of the actions of President Brigham Young in the recent exodus, a review of the treatment the Church had received from its organization at the hands, or with the pleasure of the Government, was presented. It was explained that we were now acting in defiance of the United States Government, but it was thought that the Army sent out here was not a very friendly looking peace body, and it had been definitely decided that if we could not prevent the Army from entering Utah, we would destroy all our improvements, burn homes and barns, and leave the valley as near as barren waste as it was when we settled there.

At this meeting it was decided that the army could come into the valley, and that the suggestions of President Young should be followed explicitly. Under no conditions were they to stop in Salt Lake City, but were to cross the Jordan River, go up the river on the West side, through the narrows, which were about 18 miles south of the City, then round the south side of Utah Lake, and there on a small spring they were to make their camp, and it was to be known as Camp Floyd. The exodus of the Saints was not halted until every condition of the agreement had been fulfilled. As soon as the army was encamped at Camp Floyd, word was dispatched to the Saints that they could return to their homes. This word reached us while we were camped on the Provo River, about 35 miles south of Salt Lake City.

We camped here because, if we were permitted to return to our homes, we were far enough away, and not we had a good start. This word reached us about the 15th of July, and there was much rejoicing among us. When we reached our homes in East Weber we found our property in excellent shape. David and John had been left at home as members of the “burning detail” and they had cared for things very well. By the time of the affairs of the place and home had been put in shape, the volunteer grain was ready for harvest and we were blessed when we received one-hundred seventy-five bushel of excellent wheat.

With harvest over and preparations made for winter there was not much for me to do. Ever since I had been married I had been almost constantly in some public service, for which I had not received one “red cent” of money, as a result I had no money and had accumulated very little or no property. My wife and myself had no clothing but what we wore every day. I did not have a second shirt to my back. Something had to be done but our problem was, what should be done. There was no work, the only hope seemed to be to get someone to create a job for my special benefit. I decided to go see Mr. Judson L. Stoddard, he sometimes hired some help, and try to get a few days work. He told me he could hire all the men he could that would work for their board. These men were mostly camp “followers” who had come to Utah with the army, and you can imagine their circumstances.

Mr. Stoddard was sick in bed, and about all the work he had, undone was getting wood from the mountains for his winter use. He finally told me that if I wanted to get out his winter wood he would pay me $1.00 a day. So, as soon as I could go home and give my folks the line up I would be ready. When I told them the work I had to do and the hours I must work they were surely opposed to any such deal. Bit I was desperate, I needed the money and a dollar a day, if I did have to work 24 hours to get it, was much better than any prospect I had at home. I had often played for a dance for which I was to get a bushel of wheat, or potatoes, or something of that kind, but very little of it did I ever receive. I did not insist on being paid at the time, so the promises were never kept. While brown sugar was $100 a pound, and flour at Camp Floyd was $25.00 per sack, and other groceries in proportion, and the cheapest cloth $.60 a yard and upward, yet I was pleased to go to work for a $1.00 a day, hoping to provide myself and wife with at least clothing, for it was still the practice in our home to make our own clothing, and with Mother’s help it was a chance to help Jane, my wife, to a start.

I returned to Mr. Stoddard’s the following Monday morning and started work. This was about the 1st of October. The ranch was about one mile from the foot of the mountain. I was provided with a card. This card was simply the front gear of a large wagon. I was given two yoke of oxen. I got up at 4 o’clock each morning and ate a cold breakfast placed on the table the night before. Then I was off to the mountains. I climbed quite high on the mountain just back of the present location of Centerville. There was an abundance of dry wood there and I would get the wood out, load the large ends on the card and let the small ends drag on the ground. At the foot of the hill I would unload and go on to Mr. Stoddard’s house reaching there about 9 o’clock at night. With the exceptions of Sundays I worked twenty-six days and received $26.00 in gold and silver. I left for home at once and in a few days my wife and I went to Salt Lake City and purchased some of the things we needed most, and returned with a few dollars.

It was about this time that my wife and I decided to move out of the house of my father and live by ourselves. I remember that Mother gave us one plate, one fork and one spoon. Mrs. Robinson, with whom Jane used to live, gave us a duplicate of this, and we commenced life alone in this manner. Our cooking was done on an open fireplace. We had a very good straw bed, except for a tick and bedstead. I made a bedstead by using the walls and a leg at the outer corner. We had no bedsprings, the bottom of the bed was boards, and the straw was placed on them. We had no table so we ate our meals from a box in which we kept our clothing.

Soon after my return from Mr. Stoddard’s I was offered the job of teaching the school at Mountain Green, which I accepted. I had about 20 pupils, and spent a very pleasant winter. The proposition they offered me was not so good but the best in sight. It was what they called a “subscription school,” that is the parents of the pupils were to give me so much, some provisions, some money, while others gave what they could best afford. I got along fine with the school, and I had moved Jane up there with me and we lived in a house near the school. School ended about the middle of February and we moved back to East Weber. Here, on March 1, 1859 our home was blessed by the arrival of a baby girl, and we named her Betsy. She was all a child could be to anyone, but she was taken from us by death March 19, 1859. These were indeed sad dark hours for us, in which we were deprived of our first-born. Levi Hammon made us a coffin, and Mother washed and dressed the child and placed it in the casket. No services were held, and the body was taken directly to the cemetery. Ira N. Spaulding, John M. Bybee, David B. Bybee and myself acted as the pallbearers, and Ira Spaulding dedicated the grave, unto the Lord. We placed the earth over the coffin carefully and returned home.

The following summer I worked for Father on the farm in East Weber. We were all blessed with health this year and with an abundant crop. The summer and autumn went very rapidly and ere we realized it, winter was upon us again. We had many pleasant hours in our association together, but life was quite uneventful. Even the winter of 1859-1860 passed quietly and quickly, but with a prayer for Thanksgiving for the many blessings we enjoyed together. As spring gradually tapered into the early summer, we found ourselves with Father on the farm. Again this year we harvested splendid crops, and when the winter of 1860 arrived we were well prepared to receive it.

On the 14, of September 1860, our second child was born and was christened Robert Lee. He was given my name. The mother and child did very nicely, and the father was well pleased.

As soon as the harvest was taken care of we were off to the mountains for our winter wood. The wood that was best and easiest to get had been made use of, so we joined with Bishop Osborn and went up on Strawberry Creek in the lower end of Weber Valley. There the wood was of good quality and near the base of the hills. It was necessary to spend one night in making the trip. Our first trip, as we were returning with our loads, about where the road reaches the level land above East Weber, we were surprised to hear the Indians in the foot hills below us, firing their guns and shouting. They came directly to us and stopped us. Bishop Osborn was in the lead, and the leader of the Indians was called “Little Soldier.” He had thirteen in his band, and they were all under the influence of liquor, almost drunk. Little Soldier was not drinking. They were very hard to satisfy, and when they came to deal with Bishop Osborn they were almost cruel. Little Soldier said he did not keep his promise to them. And at one time we were all told to go, but Osborn must stay. I am sure that all that saved our lives at this time was the love they had for my Father. Father was always a friend to the Indians, and when he made them a promise he kept it faithfully, and was honest with them.

Little Soldier always called father “Toas Pompa,” which to them meant White Hair. He knew all of our family as well as nearly all of the settlers of East Weber, and on this occasion he came to me and put his arm around me, and proceeded to tell the rest what a good man “Toas Pompa” was, and what good boys he had, that when he promised an Indian a shirt, he got a shirt. Then he said when Osborn promise a shirt, we no get em.

We were all greatly relieved when they went on their way, but we were mindful, lest they change their minds and return to finish their job. On subsequent trips we were unmolested by them. They obtained their liquor from a man by the name of Park, who operated a “still.” Between East Weber and Salt Lake City there were two roads that were used most of the time. One was down through the open valley and was known as the Sand Ridge Road, and the other followed the foot of the mountain and was known as the Mountain Road. About two miles out on the Mountain Road a man by the name of Park lived and this was the man who made the “mule” and sold it to the Indians.

A few days after we finished hauling our winter wood, Father’s horses disappeared, and search as we would we could not find them. About two weeks after they disappeared, Little Soldier came to our home on one of his friendly calls, and Father told him about the horses. He promised to help Father find them, and sent two of his men to look for them. It was not long before they located two Indians and they had Father’s horses. They were taken to Little Soldier and he brought them and the two Indians to our home. After asking whether they belonged to Father or not, and found out they did, they were delivered to us and Little Soldier took his quirt and soundly whipped the offenders. Father interfered, but to no avail. He wanted us to see their punishment and when he had finished he simply said “Bad Injuns.” I did not teach school this winter and except for a few dances I played to, the fall and winter was uneventful.

The spring of 1861 was now with us. Father rented the farm by brother John which meant I was to look for something to do. There was nothing in East Weber by way of work. I had heard that Mr. Stoddard expected to do some extra work, so I went to see him. I found he intended to go to Carson City, Nevada with six wagons loaded with salt. He told me I could drive a team for him, in fact he had calculated to get me to go. This was April 15, 1861, and as there was work to do to prepare the equipment, I went to work at once. Each wagon was fitted with eight boxes, so arranged so as to use all the room in the wagon box. These were filled with salt. Mr. Stoddard was interested in the merchandise business at Farmington, and had accumulated 2,800 dozen of eggs, and proposed to take them to Carson City. In order to carry them, they were distributed in the salt in all six wagons. The possibility of the salt hardening in transit had not been discussed.

As a matter of being prepared, Mr. Stoddard wanted to take some extra ox bows, and as there was plenty of oak, suitable for them at East Weber, he sent us there to make them. He also told me to look out for some butter, and to get all I could find. I told him about Mother’s ability as a butter maker, and I was to get all she could prepare, and he would allow her trade in the store. The butter was put in a tub, and there was 50 pounds of it.

I returned to Farmington April 28, with 15 ox-bows and set about at once to complete arrangements for the start. We left Mr. Stoddard’s home May 1st, 1861 and five of the wagons traveled the Sand Ridge Road, while I went to East Weber along the Mountain Road. This arrangement was made to make it possible for me to get my bedding, the butter and the ox-bows. I joined the other wagons at Ogden. From Ogden on went North to Brigham City and crossed Bear River straight west of there. Our first camp was made a few miles north of Ogden. The second camp soon after we crossed Bear River. Our company consisted of 7 men. Herton Haight was our wagon boss and had charge of the company. I recall only three of the drivers, myself, Ed Pierce and a Mr. Cleveland. A man named William Carbine was a member of the party, but had his own cargo and outfit. We camped three or four days on Bear River because we heard the Indians were very bad on the Old Migration Trail. We were also told there were quite a number of people leaving Utah for California within the next few days, so we waited and joined them. We now had 36 wagons in our party and over 40 men. Nearly every wagon out side of our six had a family in it. The Company, as a whole, was very well armed with guns and ammunition.

One day as we were preparing to pull Camp, and before we were joined by the other company, Mr. Haight was approached by an Indian and after an exchange of a “little white” it was found out he wanted to travel with us, and Mr. Haight let him go. The new party objected, strongly, but Mr. Haight let him go anyway. He proved to be a very good hand to have along. He took his turn standing guard, carried wood and water, and never evaded an opportunity to be of service.

We were making good time and all was well, Mr. Haight had refused to act as Captain of the combined companies, so it fell to a man by the name of Mallory, of the second company. Mr. Mallory was a horseman of some repute. He proved to be a very good captain, and in most matters a fair-minded man. But in the affairs of the heart, like many of us, he was not so just. He had married a second wife, and they were the parents of a very clever little boy. When he decided to leave Utah she would not go with him, and he would not leave the child. I always thought he did wrong to ignore the pleadings of the Mother for her child.

Going westward we saw many interesting, natural formations. The first of interest was the City of Rocks. From a distance they appeared like a city of large and small buildings. The next of particular interest was the Valley of a Thousand Springs, a very pretty sight. We always had good water for camp use. The first water of importance that we reached was Raft River, Goose Creek in the order named. From here we traveled somewhat South of West until we reached the Humbolt River. We were obliged to cross the river here but the banks were too high and the water too deep, even in the time of a normal flow it would have been too deep, but now with the extra flow of high water it seemed almost useless to try to ford. Immediately below us the river entered a box canyon, while not extraordinary, yet the banks were such that a fording was impossible, above us the mountains reached the bank of the stream. But near where we first reached the river the water passed over a low ledge of rocks in the channel and just below the water was almost motionless, and from 10 to 30 feet deep, and the banks not high. We had in mind to build some kind of a bridge, but we had no practical way of doing so. We could see pine timber to the East of us, which we estimated to be about 10 miles away. When we met or saw Indians along our way it was usually considered that they were friendly. We had seen none on our travels thus far, so we thought it unwise to leave our wagons, or a part of them while we went 10 miles for timber, so we tried our resourcefulness in another way. The opposite bank was well above the water, but lower than the bank on our side, so we dug holes in the banks on either side and in these we placed our ox-yokes and secured them. Then we took our log chains and fastened them from yoke to yoke across the stream in four lines. Willows were plentiful so we cut them and bound them in bundles, using all the spare rope we had, then we placed them on the chains across the stream and bound them as close together as we could. With the weight of the willows, the chains were two feet above the water at the lowest point, so we swam some of our oxen across and rolled one of our harvest wagons to the bank and headed for the “bridge.” We then passed a chain across and fastened it to the wagon and a yoke of oxen pulled it to the opposite bank. We followed this procedure and took all 36 of our wagons across without mishap. The chains never did reach the water, and the families in the wagons were permitted to ride across. We dismantled our bridge, took our chains and yokes and traveled down the Humbolt River on its banks, and at times in the bed of the stream. After several days travel we reached the Sinks of the Humbolt. Here the river spread over quite a little territory and formed what was sometimes called Humbolt Lake, and to this there is no visible outlet, hence, the Sinks of the Humbolt.

From here it was necessary to cross the desert to the Carson River a distance of about 10 miles. The sand was quite course and the resistance great. So we spent a day at the Sinks resting our animals for the task. The heat of the day and the heat stored in the sand made it necessary for us to plan to conserve the strength of our stock. So we decided to start late in the afternoon and travel during the night. This we did and reached the Carson River at the break of dawn the following day. About two days travel East of the Sinks of the Humbolt we encountered the first Indian in our travels thus far. He rode into our camp early one morning carrying quite a supply of buckskin. He wanted to trade it for powder and bullets. We were just breaking camp, and as soon as Mallory heard what he wanted he made himself clear in a few words, to the effect that if any man in camp traded him powder and bullets he hoped that man was the first man the Indian killed. Needless to say the Indian was soon on his way.

When we first reached the Carson River the first town we saw was Ragtown, one blacksmith shop, one cabin and a small haystack. Here we rested our stock for a day. When we reached Ragtown the Indian that joined us on Bear River near Brigham City, disappeared. He did not make known his intentions to anyone. This seemed to be where he was headed, or that we were as close to his place as we were likely to get, so he just left us.

On our way up the Carson River we could see Virginia City at the foot of the mountains to our right. When we reached Carson City Mr. Haight located a Mr. Grant, a man he knew in Utah. Mr. Grant was interested in mining, and we sold our entire cargo to him except our eggs. We ranged our stock about two miles North of the city in Washoe Valley; the food was plentiful and good water. We were at Carson City about three weeks. Our greatest camp problem was to get someone to cook our meals, as no one wanted the job. Mr. Haight finally asked me to do it, so I was the cook at Carson City. During our stay we disposed of our eggs, or the most of them that was fit to use at all. After all our care in packing the eggs in salt, it proved to be a poor undertaking, in the swamps the salt absorbed the moisture and out on the desert the moisture evaporated leaving the salt hard. It was almost impossible to get the eggs out of the salt, and those we did get out were no good. We sold about 50 dozen of the two thousand eight hundred dozen we started with. We sold a few in Carson City, but our eggs soon lost their reputation and our market was gone. Mr. Grant and I started out for Virginia City to sell what we could of them there. We sold a few at Silver City and Gold Hill on the way up, and finished the job at Virginia City and returned to Carson City. As we passed through Silver City and Gold Hill coming back we were recognized as the egg men and while we were not bothered, we heard several sarcastic remarks about our eggs.

We were in Carson City on the Fourth of July, and taken all in all, it was a memorable occasion. At this time the news of the outbreak of the Civil War was reaching us. Most everyone felt it a duty to celebrate the Fourth, and it was a good day for horse racing, drinking and fighting. I sat in front of the saloon that evening and saw six fights just about as fast as they could be pulled off.

Another attraction at this celebration was the arrival of the first overland Stage, going East. In the crowd you could hear someone shout, Hurrah for Jeff Davis, then an answer in another part of the gang, Hurrah for Abe Lincoln, then the next was an exhibition of the manly art of self-defense.

A day or two after the Fourth I went with Mr. Grant to his farm to help him put up his hay. It was wild hay, and we were about a week at the job. Mr. Grant told me that during the previous winter hay reached a price of $150.00 per ton.

We are now all in Carson City, and as soon as we can dispose of what remains of our cargo and our outfits, we are to start for home. In the bargain we received four mules with harness and wagon and 25 Spanish Mares. The balance we paid in money. About the first of August we started to roundup our stock that we had sold, to deliver them. After about a week at task we found ourselves ready to start home. At Ragtown the “cook” problem showed up again, and Mr. Haight finally asked me to do it, and if I would I would be free from any other camp duty, so I became the cook.

When we left Carson City, the telegraph line from the West coast was operating and the construction crew was working east of Carson City. We followed their lines as far as Ragtown the first day and camped. Here we were rejoined by the Indian who had deserted us when we came down. His advent was as much without ceremony now as his departure had been, but he wanted to return to Utah with us, so we let him travel with us.

From Ragtown we took an entirely different route home. It was known as the Simpson Mail Route; the coaches of the Overland followed this route, and the telegraph company was following this line also. We were out of Ragtown about a day’s travel when we reached the end of construction at this time. It was at this time that the Pony Express was being run from St. Joseph, Missouri to Sacramento, California, to see how quick this fete could be performed. They too were following the Simpson Mail Route. The second night out on this route as we were making camp, the Pony Express rider rode into camp and to my surprise it was the little Mexican cook we had with us on our trip to Independence, Missouri. This was the first time I had seen him since our company was divided at Fort Laramie on our return trip. He was pleased to see me, but in a few minutes he was on his way again. I have not seen him since.

Our party now consisted of seven white men and the Indian. Two of our original party remained at Carson City, expecting to go on to California. We picked up a man in Carson City to take to Utah.

The wagon we had received from Mr. Grant was a very small and frail outfit, but we really did not expect to have any trouble reaching home, but it was too light for the load and the roads and as we were going down Egan Canyon the end of the right rear axle broke off. We were many miles from help, had but an axe ourselves, and pinion pine on the hillside. The situation seemed quite serious and after exchanging ideas for a spell, someone set out to get a piece of pie, while the others removed the broken end from the wagon’s skein. Then cutting the axle and the new timber to fit we were ready for the holes. I do not know who suggested it, but it was I who did the shooting. I took my pistol and got a short distance from the work and succeeded in shooting a hole through the timber. We finished the job by heating the bolt and burning the hole clear.

We put the wagon back together, but the best we hoped for was to get to some blacksmith shop and have the work done as it should have been done, but we built better than we knew, for without any other labor we reached home in fine shape.

Near the boundary line between Utah and Nevada we encountered a large marsh, at best it was 16 miles out of our way to go around it, and as this was the time of the year when the waters were pretty well drained from the soil, we decided to try for a crossing. We drove our loose stock into the swamp and they crossed nicely. We then ventured with our wagon and reached the other side in safety, about four hundred yards away.

Our first day’s travel then was over a long dry stretch of country, and we suffered considerable, and our stock even more, for water. Sometime in the late afternoon we reached water, some distance from the road and at the foot of the mountain. We had to climb the mountainside to reach the spring for water for the camp, then we drive the stock there and we forgot our troubles as far as water was concerned. Between here and Salt Lake City we camped but once, near the southern end of the lake. It was here our Indian friend left us, and I have never heard of him since.

The next day we reached Haight’s home about four or five miles northwest of Farmington. His home was known as Haight’s Grove throughout the district. I spent the night there and the next day I was given the special privilege of riding one of his race horses home, after a promise that I would not run her, and return her at a convenient time, well cared for. After three days at home I returned the animal, and took one of Father's to ride back.

After a few days rest after the cares of the trip, I took one of my brother David's yoke of oxen and started to gather wood for my use during the winter. After hauling three or four loads of wood I was taken quite ill with Typhoid fever. I remained in bed for six weeks. For the first time in my life, a doctor had been in my home. Mother was always our family doctor, and we thought she was a good one, too, but this was something new to her so they decided to send for a good old-fashioned doctor. Mc Entire of Ogden. After a visit from him and a round or two of his medicine, I began to improve. The disease settled in my right leg below the knee and resulted in varicose veins, which bothered me considerably in my future life. I was over in Ogden one day and asked the doctor how much I owed him and he said about two and one half bushels of wheat.

I was unable to do much the remainder of the season, and indeed during most of the winter, but the spring found me in a fair physical condition, and I made application to Mr. Judson Stoddard for work. He told me he had work for me as long as he hired men and I could go to work as soon as I wanted to. Mr. Stoddard owned a sawmill about three miles up Farmington Canyon and had contracted to supply lumber and shingles for a meeting house in Kaysville, and to individuals in Farmington. The mill itself was inefficient and did not pay well, but it was the purpose of Mr. Stoddard to fill these contracts.

Mr. Stoddard pointed out a house I could move my family into and furnished me a yoke of cattle to make the move with. This move was not entirely for the work I was to get, but to clear an atmosphere of ill content that sometimes surrounds relatives living in a huddle. I don not wish it understood that any unpleasantness existed between my parents and my family. We always got along without misunderstandings, sharing in fortunes and misfortunes as they were encountered which had blended our lives together beautifully with a mutual understanding. I was really very sorry to make this move, but it seemed to me to be the proper thing to do. Jane had entered my Mother's life as if she were her own daughter. She had always waited on mother and cared for her and worked for her as she might need, washing, scrubbing, etc., and this brought her near to Mother and at the same time promoted some jealousy on the part of the other in-laws. I had no sisters at home, nor where they could care for Mother. To clear the slate, I made the move to Farmington about May 1st. As soon we were comfortably settled I went to work. The following Monday I went up in the canyon with my wagon and oxen with supplies for a week. Saturday night I was to come home for the weekend. There were three other men there with me, George Chase, Dick Welsch, and Ed Pierce. Welsch was the sawyer, Pierce and Chase felled the trees and logged them and it was my work to get them to the mill.

By July 1st we had the work pretty well caught up. Mr. Stoddard sent me down to Farmington to prepare for cutting hay. I was joined here by John Sheridan, and as soon as we could prepare we started out on what proved to be a long job of haying. Our implements were the improved ones of this time, our arms were weak at first but gradually gained in strength. We moved with a "scythe" and "Snath," the scientific name for "Armstrong Mower."

At this time I was making good use of my violin and gathered in many a dollar with its use. In 1865 I taught school in Smithfield, with Mr. Charles Wright, and helped to organize an orchestra of four pieces. In 1870 I taught in Providence, in 1871 in Logan until December when I entered the employ of Mr. M.D. Hammond to care for an implement house in Logan. From Logan I went to Salt Lake City for Mr. George A. Lowe and in 1876 I was sent to Manti to represent Mr. Lowe there. I was successful there until I tried to rush matters. I had my job and bought in a general merchandise store. I advertised well and was in the best way, when D.&R.G. Railroad advertised for bids on some grading in Castle Valley. I took 12 miles of it, bought my implements from Mr. Lowed, and my provisions and horse feed wherever it was convenient. I completed the grade, or nearly so when winter set in and the company did not come to receive any of it, and I found out they had selected another route and did not intend to receive my work. I tried to force them and a few months later received less than half of my outlay and more obligations than you could shake a stick at. I thought I had some very good friends in Manti, and I did have some, but I had started down and everyone wanted a share. I sold my equipment on time and I guess the time isn't up yet. Everybody bought, and promised but never paid a cent.

I closed my books with Mr. Lowe and paid him all I could, including my home. I had become interested in the Snake River Valley country in Idaho through my friends and relatives, and in the spring of 1883, I mad a trip there and on my way home in May I stopped at Oxford and filed on the land. I left Manti with my household goods July 6, 1883 and reached my home in Idaho on the 31st of August of that year. I found myself on the frontier again and I had no solution for my financial affairs. I had seen the Valley from the west when I was with the expedition to the Lemhi but never thought I'd ever help to subdue its wonderful resources. I moved from Menan to the New Sweden District and spent the winter of 1887 in Idaho Falls, then Eagle Rock, and in the spring of 1888 I signed a contract to purchase a tract of 640 acres of land on Willow Creek which I completed, and I lived there until I retired from active life.

Much has been said of me and my operations on this piece of land, but I know that if I had the few thousands of dollars it cost me to square my obligations in Manti, which I made on the farm, I'd still hold my property.

(Robert Lee Bybee died of pneumonia in the L.D.S. Hospital at Idaho Falls Oct. 4, 1929, was buried in the Rose Hill Cemetery at Idaho Falls, Idaho)


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My Comment On The Story of Robert Lee Bybee

I wish to thank Mrs. Juanita B. Summers, granddaughter of Robert Lee Bybee for sending me this outstanding story of the life of Robert Lee Bybee Sr., written by himself. He is the son of Byram Bybee and Betsy Ann Lane.

This story acquaints us better with grandfather Byram Bybee than anything I have had the pleasure of reading. It depicts in detail the pioneer life. Their move to Nauvoo. Their Journey to the West across the plains, which shows they were the highest type of people in or through the trials they passed through. They were creative and I learned to survive by making the necessary things they needed.

To think of all the work attached to get their bread, butter and clothing, is beautifully told by him. In 1857 he quoted the price of a few things: "Brown sugar was $1.00 a pound and flour at Camp Floyd was $25.00 per sack and other groceries in proportion. In 1860 hay had reached the price of $150.00 per ton in Carson City.

Robert Lee Bybee when helping Mr. Grant in 1861 put up his hay, Mr. Grant quoted the above price of hay for the year 1860.

Can you imagine the price of necessary things, so when we read this "Masterpiece" of his, may we appreciate our heritage more than ever before.

When I read of how he loved and appreciated the first little book he ever owned, even memorized the entire book, he was a student indeed.

Robert Lee Bybee was always on the frontier, continually helping to subdue the wonderful resources of the golden west.

In the entire story of struggle and courage to keep going he never mentions his Church positions so I will quote some I found in the Book: "Pioneers And Prominent Men Of Utah" page 788.

"Robert Lee Bybee, born 4 May 1838, Clay Co. Indiana. M. Jane Miller.
Mail carrier between Salt Lake City and Independence, Mo. Went with Y. X. Ccompany 1857. Missionary Salmon River 1858. Went south during general move. Bishop of Manti south ward four years; president of Menan (Idaho) stake four years; president of Bannock stake two years; moved to Bingham county, Idaho, where he was first counselor to President J.E. Steele 13 years and superintendent Iona ward Sunday school for four years. Senator in Idaho legislature 1901. Ordained patriarch 1908."

I think we could shed a little tear at the closing of his life story. One thing if the time comes bringing destruction we can learn many valuable lessons of how to create and survive from his detailed story of their Pioneer life for he was a gifted writer. . . to cause one to feel what they passed through.

----- Elsie Geneva (Cook) Pace

Lucene Bird Bybee

Lucene Bird Bybee arrived as a body Feb. 7, 1831 in Barren Co. Ky., (Kane-tuck) she called it. She was the daughter of an old Southern family whose ancestors came from the Highlands of Scotland and settled in Virginia the early part of the 16th century.

The Bybees married into the Lanes, Kellys and the Lies. Lucene Bird Bybee was a second cousin to Robert E. Lee. They were a well bred lot, well educated, disliking anything vulgar. They were gentle very courteous and proud. She was a pretty dark complexioned girl witty and full of life. Her youth was spent in Kentucky. After the Civil War the old South they had known was gone. And the land was laid to waste so her folks moved up into Indiana to begin their lives anew. There they joined the L.D.S. Church in 1839 and moved into Illinois in 1842. They were driven from there in 1846 and started out West. They arrived in Salt Lake in the fall of 1849. They lived in Farmington then Ogden finally settled in Uintah 1860.

Lucene Bird Bybee married Doc Penrod in Uintah Jan. 4, 1862. He was the youngest of nine sons of Barbara Tope Penrod.

David Bybee was 29 years old when he got the contract with the County to build a bridge across the Weber river at the mouth of Weber Canyon, cement was not to be had. He made the abutments by laying on rocks then he built a road up the North side of the canyon following an old Indian trail. It was only wide enough for one wagon. This first bridge washed out one Spring when the water was unusually high. The Weber County road Commission decided to finance the building of another road up the South side of the canyon, in order to avoid the steep hills on the North side. They put the bridge across the river at Devils Gate.

David Bybee's mother-in-law who then was 72 years old spoke for the job of keeping the toll bridge. She was Barbara Tope Penrod, mother of Doc Penrod, 2nd husband of Lucene Bird Bybee. The purpose of this bridge and road up the canyon was for logging. David Bybee had a saw mill in the canyon which was on Jacob's creek. It is Thornleys Grove now.

Doc Penrod was working with David Bybee and they lived in Mountain Green in Weber Canyon in 1870. Annie Laurie and David, the twins of Lucene Bird Bybee and Doc Penrod, were seven years old when their grand mother Penrod gave up keeping the toll bridge because her health began to fail. She then moved up to Mountain Green and lived with her daughter Mary, until her death at the age of 77.

So between the thrifty industrious Bybees and the music loving Penrods the twins grew up. When they were two years old their companions in play were two cub bears. Annie Lauri was always afraid of bears, especially two legged ones, she used to say.


This fine history came from Frank D. Adams, son of Annie Laurie Penrod and Hyrum Adams.

The Life Sketch of Elizabeth Jane Bybee Smith
Copied from the book Utah Pioneer Biographies
Volume 26; Utah 31


I was born the twenty-third of January, 1825, in Baron County, Kentucky. My parents were Byrum Bybee, who was born February 25, 1799, in Barren County, Kentucky, and Betsy Lane, who was born January 24, 1801, Washington County, Tennessee. They were not in the best of circumstances and since their four oldest children were girls, they had to work very hard to help support the family. There were twelve children in the family, six girls and six boys. Three of them died very young.

My father was a sickly man and his circumstances would not permit him to give his children a good education, as there were very few public schools. We had no conveniences, not even stoves, wash boards, or lamps. For lights we used candles made of tallow or a rag soaked in tallow. We often had to sew and knit by fire-light.

When my two older sisters were married in 1840, I was the oldest one left in the family and had to work very hard to help support the rest of the family. I will relate something of how the people had to work them; from the time children were seven Mother carded cotton with hand cards while my sister and I spun it with a large spinning wheel. We had to spin four cuts a day, one hundred forty-four threads in a cut. We also learned to spin flax and had to do the house work while Mother did the weaving. My mother also took the wool from the sheep's back and washed, carded and wove it into cloth for clothing and blankets and yarn for sweaters, socks, and stockings. Rich, as well as poor, had to make themselves useful in order to live.

In 1836, when I was ten years old, my father sold our home and moved from Kentucky into Indiana where we started a new home. There were many sugar-maple trees on the place, so we had plenty of sugar and molasses.

Alma Rabbit, a Mormon Elder, came into Indiana preaching the Gospel of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, in 1840. I thought his doctrine was very strange. In 1841, two more Mormon Elders came into the state. After preaching in our settlement about three weeks, fifteen of us, including our family, decided to be baptized.

We moved to Nauvoo in 1842, where I attended school one season. I worked on a farm that belonged to the Prophet Joseph Smith for some time, and then went to a friend's house across the street to take care of a sick lady. The Prophet came to see her very often until she died. I know the Prophet and his family, and found them to be honest straight-forward people. They were just what they professed to be.

The Prophet's enemies were now after his life. He started across the river to go to Iowa, but some of his friends persuaded him to come back, calling him a coward. He turned and went back, telling his friends that he was going like a lamb to the slaughter. He and his brother Hyrum were taken to Carthage Jail and a mob was raised that killed them both. They leaned the Prophet's body against the well curb and were going to be-head him when a flash of lightening came from Heaven and paralyzed the man that was going to do the deed. Every one fled from Carthage. The two bodies were brought home and I saw them lying side by side in their coffins.

The people of Carthage tried in many ways without success, to get the blood stain from the floor of the Carthage jail. They thought that if a Mormon girl came and scrubbed the floor, the stains would come out. They came for me but neither I, nor any of the other girls would go.

I was married to Daniel Smith, July 4, 1844. He was a widower with seven children, four girls and three boys.

The mob was not yet satisfied. They were howling around until the fall of 1845, when they started driving the people of Nauvoo, burning their houses, barns, grain and everything they owned. Brigham Young sought protection from the government until the people could leave the state.

The people left Nauvoo in 1846. We crossed the Mississippi River on the sixteenth of February. Ice in flakes as large as tables were floating on all sides of the boat. We camped on Sugar Creek for about two weeks waiting for the main body of people to get together. The camps were finally organized and started west on untraveled roads. Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves. In May we stopped, planted gardens and bough provisions. Several days travel further on, we planted more gardens at what we called Garden Grove. A little farther on, some of the people stopped at Mt. Pisgah to prepare themselves for the journey West. We traveled on westward making roads and bridges until we came to Council Bluffs. There, the Government called five hundred to go to Mexico. There were hardly enough men to fill the call, so young men eighteen and nineteen years old went. We went on to Mosquito Creek, camped there a few days, and went on to the Missouri River, where we prepared to stay for the winter. It was known as Winter Quarters then, but is now called Omaha City.

A new organization was formed the next spring and the leaders went West to form the settlement. We were unable to leave Winter Quarters until 1850. During this time two girls and one boy were added to our family.

We finally started West again. In traveling up the Platte River, we found many Indians and buffalo by the thousands. The Indians didn't bother us as they thought the Mormon people were alright. The moving buffalo would make the earth shake, and the noise was deafening. My husband was appointed hunter of the company and always drove ahead of the rest of the wagons. I had to drive the wagon while he was out hunting.

One morning, my husband brought in a large buffalo calf. We drove several miles ahead of the rest of the company in search of water to dress the meat and finally saw a pond of water about a half a mile from the main road. Turning the horses loose we dressed the meat. It was warm weather and the flies were very bad. The horses strayed to the foothills several miles away so that my husband had to go after them, leaving me and two children alone. He didn't know whether we would be dead or alive when he returned. Before my husband reached the hills, he met a large buffalo bull coming to water. He had left his rifle in the wagon and had nothing to protect himself with. After trying every way to scare him away my husband decided to take off his shoes and give the old fellow a race to the wagon. As luck would have it, the buffalo suddenly decided to go the other way. During this time, a pack of wolves had smelled the fresh meat and were howling around on the other side of the pond several rods away. The sun was going down and it was a very gloomy and desolate sight. I saw a man going along the road not knowing whether he was an Indian or a white man. He went on without bothering us. By the time my husband returned with the horses it was so dark that we couldn't follow the road. Some of the men were searching for us, shooting their guns for a signal. We answered the shot and were soon reunited with the camp amid much rejoicing.

A few days later when we were camped near a spring, we heard a terrible billowing and roaring. The very ground that we were standing on shook. The men and boys went to a nearby hill and looking over the plains saw a herd of thousands of buffalo on the stampede for water. Most of the people were terribly frightened. Some were laughing, some singing, some crying, others yelling and praying, while the more level headed brought torches to frighten the buffalo and held the horses and oxen to keep them from stampeding. The leaders of the herd seemed frightened when they saw us and turned off in another direction. I think the Lord was surely with us in protecting his people.

Farther west the Indians were fighting among themselves so Brigham Young thought it best to send word for the company to get together and look out for trouble. The Indians bothered no white people at this time.

I was never happier in my life than the day we arrived in Utah and found peace, although it was a terribly lonesome and desolate looking place. For two or three years it looked like nothing but starvation. The Mountaineers had offered a thousand dollars for the first ear of corn or bushel of wheat that was raised in the valley. The people prospered and the Valley bloomed like a rose. Grain, vegetables and fruit grew in abundance. Settlements were built all around. We moved to South Weber, Utah where we remained until 1863.

Our next move was to California by ox team. The Indians were very troublesome and we had several narrow escapes. We camped for three days at Fish-Springs waiting for the soldiers to come. The Indians were killing white people on all sides. One day one of our oxen strayed away and my oldest son, then about fifteen, went after it. He found it about two miles from camp, and got back safely. Meanwhile, the stage picked up a man that had been killed about two or three miles from camp.

When we stopped at Egan Station, about two days drive from Fish Springs, we found fifteen or twenty scalps of men, women and children hanging on the side of the barn. The men at the station wanted us to stay there that night but we were afraid to. Several days later the Indians burned the station, killed the men and took the stage.

Several miles from Egan Station there was large rock that projected over the road. We were afraid of being ambushed by Indians on the other side, but went through safely at night. The soldiers, being mounted on large American horses, were far ahead of us by this time. We were near the Sierra Nevada Mountains, and had no trouble after crossing them.

We settled on an island about a hundred miles north of Sacramento. It was a terribly lonely place for me, especially after my husband died, leaving me with six children to care and provide for. We had only been there about five years, and our financial affairs were not so good. By the help of the Lord I managed fairly well.

The island was a terrible place for the children. They had to go three miles through heavy timber to school. There were many mountain lions, wolves, wild cats, and other wild animals. Rattlesnakes were very thick and my children were often without shoes. During high water time, we were often surrounded by water for days at a time with no way to get out. We stood in the doorway and could see waves higher than the house. A great many times we expected to be washed away.

One time there was a great commotion among the chickens. My oldest son and myself took the gun and the dog and went out to see what was wrong. A large wild cat bounded away into the trees. We followed it from tree to tree until we were about a half a mile from the house. The cat hid in a large oak tree and I went under the tree to try to find it. My son, who was farther back saw the cat and told me to get back so it wouldn’t jump on me. He could see well enough by the moonlight to shoot it. It weighed twenty-five pounds. I could tell many other experiences with wild animals, but since others have to do my writing for me, I will not.

In 1875, one of my daughters came to Utah to visit. She decided to stay, and was married five years later. I came back to Utah to live in 1880, which I might not have done had my daughter went back to California. I lived ten months in Lewiston, nine or ten years in Hooper, where I was president of the primary for several years, and then returned to Lewiston, where I have lived since.

I have had eleven children and mothered twenty. Seven were from my husband's first wife and three from his third wife. I am the grandmother of fifty-seven children, and the great grandmother of twelve, at the age of eighty-three. My husband's third wife and one of the children died so I raised the other two.

David Byram Bybee

I was born October 12, 1855 in East Weber County, Utah (now known as Uintah) in a log house with dirt roof and dirt floor. It was rainy weather and my father killed a beef and took the hide and stretched over my mother's bed to keep her and myself dry. Grandmother Betsy Bybee was the midwife who was with my mother when I was born.

My clothing consisted of only the necessary articles and Mother carded, spun and wove the cloth to make them. My school was only a month or two in the winter time and I went to school barefooted when I did go. One of the teachers I had when a boy was my uncle, R. L. Bybee. Another teacher Father paid tobacco he brought back from Dixie for my schooling.

My grandfather owned a toll bridge on Weber River six miles south of Ogden at the mouth of Weber Canyon. When General Connor's volunteers from California moved up to Battle Creek, they crossed this toll bridge and gave Grandfather a government voucher for $700. It was cashed for gold three months later and the pioneers came from far and near to see this gold which was in 10, 20, 40 and 60 dollar gold pieces. To see that much gold money was rare for bills were paid in gold dust measured with small scales. When I was ten years old, my grandfather with wives and families decided to move down to Dixie. Grandfather's health was very poor and they thought the climate would be better for him down there.

My father and my uncles R. L. and Byram and Jonathan with their families moved with Grandfather to Dixie, Utah. We camped about a month on the Rio Virgin River then went on to Grafton, Utah. Here we lived on a steep hill above the Rio Virgin River. My father and uncles hired the Indians to carry water up the hill and fill the barrels for household purposes.

We lived there for sometime then my father decided they could not make a living for their families so moved back to East Weber. Grandfather and Grandmother, with Aunt Myria remained at Grafton. Grandfather died of hemorrhage on June 27, 1867 and was buried at Grafton, Utah. Uncle Robert L. Bybee returned to Grafton and brought Grandmother and son Byram Lee to East Weber. Later she moved with R. L. Bybee to Smithfield, Utah where Grandmother died and was buried.

On returning, my father made his home at Mountain Green, Morgan County, Utah contracting cord wood to the Government for fuel for Fort Douglas. He also supplied the fort with charcoal. He also sold tan bark to the tanneries for making tan shoes. In 1867 and 1868 my father contracted making a road for the Ben Holiday Stage Co. Later took another contract supplying timber and doing grading for the Union Pacific Railroad. He also supplied material for the branch railroad built between Ogden and Salt Lake. At one time, my father had a voucher for $10,000 which he had to discount $3,000 in order to get money which he needed.

I went with my father to Promentory, Utah when the gold spike was driven which connected the Union Pacific with the Central Pacific Railroad on May 10, 1869.

My father bought a sawmill and I worked for him. I learned to run the machinery and worked there for three years. Then I went to work for the Union Pacific Railroad as brakeman doing the work coupling cars by hand before the air brake method was used. My run was between Ogden and Evanston, Wyoming. While working on the railroad, there was a blockade of snow and for 30 days no trains ran between Ogden and Omaha.

At the age of 19 I married Emily Adelaid France, January 17, 1874. We lived in Mountain Green until that fall then moved to Hooper where our first child, Amy, was born.

When she was six weeks old, we moved up to Birch Creek, now Uinta, lived there about a year then moved back to Mountain Green. Amy died with scarlet fever. We bought an acre and half of land with a one room log house. We sold that and bought a larger log house with two acres of land over in Cottonwood. My family, now growing rapidly, consisted of six children. We moved to Hooper in 1885 where I hunted ducks where the Weber River emptied into the lake. Mallards sold for $1.50 a dozen. Teale ducks sold for $0.75 a dozen. My brother Byram and I were very good hunters. In the fall of 1878 and 1879 we went hunting for bears, deer and chicken. We hunted with Mose and Matt Browning, R. A. Wells and other prominent men. Once my brother and I sighted a big grizzly bear. We decided to kill him for his hide. Both of us shot at him and kept on shooting. We didn't kill him until he was within three rods of us.

In the spring of 1886, with my family and several others in the company with their families moved to Snake River Valley. I arrived in the Eagle Rock with my wife and six children and $0.75 (in money) on April 28, 1886. I found Wm. Arave whom I knew and obtained work at Eagle Rock. We pitched our tent on the west side of the Snake River and went to work on the Great Western Canal. This canal was built to wash gold. At one time the land between the railroad and the Monroe Brown farm was salted with gold dust and sold to some wealthy easterners for a large sum of money and the canal was built for panning the gold. After the Great Western Canal was built they found there was no gold so the canal later was sold to farmers on the west side of the Snake River for irrigation purposes.

In the spring of 1886, with my family and several others in the company with their families moved to Snake River Valley. I arrived in the Eagle Rock with my wife and six children and $0.75 (in money) on April 28, 1886. I found Wm. Arave whom I knew and obtained work at Eagle Rock. We pitched our tent on the west side of the Snake River and went to work on the Great Western Canal. This canal was built to wash gold. At one time the land between the railroad and the Monroe Brown farm was salted with gold dust and sold to some wealthy easterners for a large sum of money and the canal was built for panning the gold. After the Great Western Canal was built they found there was no gold so the canal later was sold to farmers on the west side of the Snake River for irrigation purposes.

The next year quite a congregation of Mormons lived in the settlement. I was Superintendent of the Sunday School. The Mormons in Snake River Valley purchased the Anderson Bros Canal and headgates. This canal emptied its water in Sand Creek. I went up to work on this canal for two months in 1888 making it deeper and wider. In the spring of 1889, I took a contract carrying the mail from Eagle Rock to Menan for the U.S. Government. During winter, spring or high water time this was a very dangerous journey. I had to ford Snake River or cross with a row boat. I made the trip twice a week for a time then every other day. I carried the mail on this star route for two years. One time I got lost in a blizzard and it was 20 below zero. I wandered around the sagebrush until 6:00 the next morning. Mr. Jack Anderson, the Postmaster, sent five men out on horseback to find me. He thought they would find me frozen to death. The snow those winters fell four and five feet deep on the level. In 1890 I worked on my ranch, fenced it and improved it as much as possible with feeding my large family. I had to get work in town and send my children to school in Eagle Rock. By so doing a single man jumped my farm and I lost my homestead. Another time I took a cut-off that would save me about two miles. I had Annie hardy and baby with me in the sleigh. Crossing dry bed the horses broke through the ice. I grabbed Annie and babe up and shoved them out on the ice. I saved them from even getting wet. Annie Hardy walked and carried her baby one and a half miles over to Lewisville for help. In the meantime I worked in water up to my neck unhooking the tugs and breaking the ice with a long pole to save my horses. The men from Lewisville came and helped me break the ice for about one half block so my horses could get to a riffle and get out. That night when I got to John Arrowsmith's place where I stayed all night my clothes were frozen so I could hardly get them off my body. I missed getting the mail down that day and was fined as per my contract.

The coming June, high water time, a big log floating down the river upset the boat I was crossing the river in. I grabbed the mail sack in one hand and swam to shore. Dud Chase, owner of the boat, hung on to the boat, floated down river, caught hold of some brush, fastened the boat somehow and swam to safety. I was able to deliver mail to Menan Post Office in regular time, recrossed the dry-bed and stayed at Smith's all night. Late in the fall of 1890, I lost the mail contract, moved my family to Eagle Rock for the winter to send my children to school. Emily, too was near a nervous breakdown. I then ran a delivery wagon, hauled water to fill barrels for people who needed it, delivered for Bunting and Wheeler (later purchased by ZCMI). My wife and I ran a boarding house at the fair grounds that fall. The O.S.L. Shops were moved to Pocatello. The Railroad Company had a water system for their employees. W.H.B. Crow purchased this small system from the railroad and extended it to other parts of town. I worked for Mr. Crow operating a pump down on the river bank. Francis, Clarence and Albert were born during these years and Albert died while I worked for Crow.

My daughter Elva was kidnapped from home shortly after Francis was born, which caused very much excitement. She was gone about six or seven hours before we located her whereabouts. The culprit was sent to Idaho State Prison for three years at hard labor. She wasn't injured, thanks to providence and her mother's prayers. She was just six years old at that time. I built a home for my family over on the east side of the railroad tracks while working for Mr. Crow. When I moved my family into this home there were only about six houses in view as far as the eye could see. The house was built very close to the Crow Creek which supplied water for our use. Alleen was born at this new home. My wife was very sick for four months and at times it seemed she would be taken from us, but God spared her for the family who needed her badly. Our son, David was sent to Kirkville to college and then volunteered to go to the aid of his country in the Spanish-American war. I moved my house up on the hill about two blocks from where I had erected it and piped water into the house which we thought quite a luxury. Here we lived for nearly twenty years. David returned home after the war was settled. Lenna, Erma and Verge were born here. Charles, Elva and David married a couple of years later. Ethel, Addie and Rachel left the home nest next. Ida, Francis and Clarence followed shortly after. I sold the old home in Idaho Falls in 1910, moved to Mountain Home and while there we had a fire which burned most of our belongings. We moved into Boise in 1911. Erma and Lenna married in 1914 and left us quite alone. We later moved back to Idaho Falls in 1915. Alleen married next. I lived at Basalt for a time. I farmed at Tyhee a year, then moved to Pocatello where I worked as night watchman at the flour mill for a few years. I moved back to Idaho Falls in 1925 where the last years of our lives were spent. Verge married and remained at Pocatello. My beloved wife died while on a visit to our daughter, Mrs. C.B. McCurdy on Nov. 20, 1933. I am at present with my daughter Mrs. C.E. Criddle and she is writing this life story. (End.)


Father lived with Erma, Ida and myself the last four years he lived. On Jan. 1, 1937 he died at the age of 81, buried beside his wife in Idaho Falls.

HISTORY OF BYRAM LEVI BYBEE


The first Bybee family appears in the Colony of Virginia in the sixteenth century. They emigrated from the British Isles and were of Scotch-Irish decent. The name is spelled several different ways; Bibe, Bibby, Biby, and our spelling Bybee.

The name is not common in America. It is found in numbers only in areas where the original Bybees of Virginia settled during their migration days.

The Bybees lived in Virginia one hundred and fifty years prior to the revolution. The records of that war show at least eight Bybees from Virginia, some of which had important positions; an Aide-de-Camp to General Washington and a Deputy Adjutant General to Major General Phillips at Charlottesville in 1779.

My first known progenitor is Thomas Bybee and his wife Elizabeth. Both were born in the Colony of Virginia in the 1600's. He was a farmer and a slave holder. He had had some education because he did not sign his will with an "X" as was prevalent at that time. Thomas also had considerable property such as cattle, work animals, working tools, and pewter as he designates these to members of his family in his will, written 10 December 1728 and deeded 17 February 1729 in the circuit of Goochland Co., Virginia. He names his wife Elizabeth and four children; John, Thomas, Elizabeth, and Judith.

In 1729, Virginia was a Crown Colony, with Williamsburg the capitol under the rule of King George II and his wife, Queen Caroline.

John was born about 1706 in Henrico Co., Va. He married Sarah Judith Jane Giles in 1732, at Goochland Co., Va. He lived in Virginia all his life and was a farmer and a slave holder as his father was.

John had a 1500 acre plantation on Ballengers Creek, on Bybee road, near a village called Bybee. The 1500 acres was acquired by purchase. Some parcels of land were granted by letter patent.

Tobacco was the chief crop grown on the plantation because it was the only article of export which paid a profit.

John's religion was Baptist. The Baptist Church, Parish of St. Ann, was built on land donated to the church by the Bybees.

John and Sarah had a weather boarded story and a half structure for their home. There was a beautiful old boxwood by the house. The building stood until it was very old and was then destroyed by fire.

In the census of 1782, for Fluvanna Co., Va., John Bibee is listed with a family of 5 whites and 0 blacks, so he had either freed or sold his slaves before this time.

John lived to be about 80 years old and died in Fluvanna Co., about 1786. His wife Sarah was born about 1711. I do not know her death date.

John and Sarah's children were: Thomas, born 1734 and died 1834, (married an Indian Princess, a descendant of Pocahontas); John, born 1739 and died 1821; Pleasant, born 1758, died 1835; Cornelius, died 1821; Samuel; Edward; and Joseph.

John, Jr. was born in Fluvanna Co., Va., in the vicinity of Ballengers Creek about 1739. He married Elizabeth Jane (Betsy) McCann in 1763. Elizabeth was the daughter of Neil McCann and Elizabeth Applegate. She was also born about 1739.

The McCanns owned land adjoining the Bybee's in the Ballenger Creek area.

John was also a farmer. He owned land in Fluvanna Co., which he sold in 1788. He then moved to Henry Co., Virginia, which later became Franklin Co. He served in the Revolutionary War as a private. He entered the war 1 June 1777, and was discharged in December of 1779. On 1 September 1780, he was given a land grant of 82 acres on Daniels Mill Creek of Black Water River in Henry Co. The grant was signed by Thomas Jefferson.

John and "Betsy" lived in Henry Co., until 1798 when, for reasons unknown, they left their home and, on horse back, with pack horses, they left Virginia, rode over the mountains into Barren Co., Kentucky to take up new land and start a new life.

On 27 August 1799, John was granted 200 acres of land "south of Green River," in the county of Barren, Watercourse Nobob Creek Area. This land grant was open to any persons possessed of a family and over 21 years of age. It was to be not less than 100 and not more than 200 acres.

John and "Betsy" McCann had ten children; Allen, born 1761/65; Betsy, born 1763; Charity, born 1766; Neal McCann, born 1767/69; John, born 1770, died 21 May 1819; Sherrod, born 1778; Polly, born 1775; Ann, born 1774; Lee Allen, born 14 Nov. 1780, died Jan 1852; Susan (Sukey), born about 1781.

John made a will, 14 April 1821. It was filed in January 1822. He signed his name with an "X." His wife Betsy is not mentioned in the will, therefore, she must have preceded him in death.

John III was born about 1770 in Fluvanna Co., Va. He moved with his parents to Henry Co., 1 September 1780.

John married Elizabeth Ann (Betsy) Kelly, 6 May 1791, in Franklin County. Elizabeth was born about 1770 also and in Fluvanna County. She was the daughter of William Kelly, Jr., and Mary Byram.


John purchased a small farm on Daniels Mill Creek, but migrated to Barren County, Kentucky with his father. They also left their farm and took with them only that which could be carried on horse back and pack horses. He is listed on the Feathergild Tax list of 1799, in Barren Co.

In Kentucky, John purchased 447 acres of land on Glovers Creek in the year 1806. He established his plantation there, although he owned land on Nobile Creek in the same county.

John III was a farmer and a blacksmith. He was also a Justice of the Peace and a Public administrator. He was recorded as a kind and respected citizen.

John and "Betsy" had nine children; Buford, born about 1792, died 25 April 1824; John, born about 1797; Byram Lee, born 25 Feb 1799, died 27 June 1862; Neal McCann, born 1800; Polly, born about 1801; Delilah, born about 1802; William, born 1804; Nancy, born about 1805; and Betsy, born 1807.

The father, John, died 21 May 1819, in Barren Co., Ky. The census of 1820 lists Betsy Bybee, widow of John Bybee. Her death date is unknown.

Byram Lee Bybee was born 25 February 1799, in Barren County. He was a farmer and a shoemaker. He married Elizabeth Ann (Betsy) Lane, on 5 January 1820. Elizabeth was born in Washington, Tenn., 24 January 1801. She was the daughter of Robert David Lane and Mary (Polly) Chapman. Byram Lee and Betsy moved to Green Co., Mos., about 1830, then back to Kentucky about 1836, then to Clay County, Indiana, about 1837. The Bybee family were, at this time, of the Campbellite faith. It was here in Indiana that they were first introduced to the Mormon religion by Elder Isaac Morley.

Byram Lee's family is listed on the 1840 census of Clay Co., Indiana, and it was noted they were prosperous farmers. However, the land they were tilling was not opened for entry, but was held on "Squatter's rights." The house they lived in was of logs, with a dirt roof and floor, and was built on the river bank. Byram Lee was not a healthy man and the responsibility of the family fell on his wife and sons.

Byram Lee must have had itchy feet, because again the family moved. This time to Illinois to be near the saints, as they were now members of the church. This was in 1843 or early 1844.

Most of Byram's family went with him to Illinois, also his Uncle Lee Allen Bybee and some of his family. They traveled together in covered wagons and, upon their arrival in Nauvoo, they engaged in farming.


Byram Lee and "Betsy" Lane had ten children: Polly Chapman, born 28 Oct 1820, died 7 Aug 1902; Rhoda Bird, born 19 Nov 1823, died 17 Dec 1908; Elizabeth Jane, born 25 Jan 1825, died 23 Nov 1908; Luanne Bird, born 3 Jan 1827, died 5 Nov 1883; John McCann, born 17 Feb 1829, died 21 Feb 1909; Lucene Bird, born 7 Feb 1831, died 26 Jan 1915; David Bowman, born 17 Sept 1832, died 22 Feb 1893; Jonathan Marion, born 28 Jul 1836, died 30 July 1836; Robert Lee, born 4 May 1838, died 4 Oct 1929; and Byram Levi, born 4 May 1841, died 7 July 1905.

The Bybee children remembered seeing the Prophet Joseph Smith riding on a black horse. He would often call at the Bybee home. They also recalled meetings held in a beautiful grove in the Eastern part of the city of Nauvoo. These meetings would be conducted by the Prophet Joseph.

The Bybee family also mourned the death of Joseph and Hyrum with all of the Saints. Byram Lee was too ill to attend the services held for the brothers, but their mother, Betsy, took the children and they remembered this day always.

Byram Levi was one year old when the family moved from Indiana to Nauvoo, and four years later, they were on the move again. They left Nauvoo and went into Iowa. There was about a foot of snow on the ground and it was bitter cold. They crossed the Mississippi River on the ice. They could take only the bare necessities with them, and they were instructed by Brigham Young to leave their homes clean and in good order. Polly Chapman Bybee Hammon, Byram Lee's daughter, said she even left a clock ticking on the wall.

The Bybees arrived in camp at Sugar Creek and made their home out of brush and blankets, mere shanties. Some of the company, however, used their wagons for shelter.

From Sugar Creek they went to Farmington, Iowa, and on to the Winter Quarters sight on the west bank of the Missouri River.

In the late summer of 1848, they moved to Buchanan Co., Mo., and lived with their daughter Polly Chapman Bybee and her husband Levi Hammon.

While at Buchanan, they built wagons for the trek west. They then returned to Winter Quarters, and then Council Bluffs, Iowa, where the men built more wagons, and the women made cloth, called Linsey Woolsey. It was a grey cloth, and they changed colors by making dye using sage, weeds, grasses and other concoctions.

The saints had brought with them useful items such as looms, seeds, spinning wheels, slips of trees and shrubs, and very few personal items.

On 21 June 1851, they left Council Bluffs, for Utah. They were with the Alfred Cardon Co. They traveled in the third ten of the second fifty. Levi Hammon was their leader. There were nine families in the group.

There were 5 people in Byram Lee's family; Byram Lee, "Betsy," David Bowman, Robert Lee and Byram Levi. They had 1 wagon, 4 oxen, and 6 cows. Byram Levi was now ten years old and walked most of the way to Salt Lake bare foot, although his father was a shoe maker. The shirt he wore had 17 patches on it. Byram Levi said it was hard to tell where one patch ended and the next patch began.


The company arrived in Salt Lake Valley, 6 Oct 1851. They contacted Heber C. Kimball, and he advised them to go to East Weber (now known as Uintah) and homestead. This valley had been settled one year before and Byram Lee's son John McCann, and two sons-in-law, Henry Beckstead, and Daniel Smith, helped to settle.

East Weber was located at the mouth of Weber Canyon, near the Weber River. It was unprepossessing and unpromising country that presented itself to the Bybee family. It was wild and the land was covered with bunch grass; the only forest trees being willows that bordered the streams.

However, the rich grass did provide food for their cattle and stock raising and primitive farming was their occupation.

The family made their home with logs, or branches, cut from the banks of the Weber River.

The implements used to farm were very poor. Some plows were made entirely of wood with little strips of iron. They cultivated the land the best they could. The soil was productive and they realized a good harvest.

Byram Lee and Elizabeth Ann (Betsy) were sealed by President Brigham Young in his office on 13 March 1852.

The winter of 1855 and 1856 was so severe the settlers lost many cattle. Each morning they would go around the fort and lift up the cattle that were too weak to get up by themselves. In the daytime, they cut down willows for the cattle and sheep to browse on. They also carried wood on their backs to have firewood available to build fires, if necessary, to warm the animals.

That spring and summer were hard, and they suffered much. The women carried their small babies on their backs while they searched for segos and other roots to cook in milk to feed their families.

Sometime between 1856 and 1858, Byram Lee moved his family to Mountain Green, up Weber Canyon, in Morgan County. While there, Byram Levi, now a young man of 15 or 16, met a very lovely young lady, Jane Geneva Robinson. Her father, with one of his wives, and family, had pioneered Mountain Green.

Byram Lee's family lived only a short time in Mountain Green and then returned to Uintah. However, it was long enough for Byram Levi to decide he wanted to marry Jane and he wasn't too happy about moving back to Uintah, at this time.


In 1858, when Johnson's Army threatened the valley, the Bybee's, along with other Mormon families, moved south to Dixie, as instructed by Brigham Young. Byram Levi went with his parents. However, about a year later, Byram still thinking of the "lady fair," at Mountain Green, received permission from his parents to return to their home in Weber County so he could court Jane. His mother baked him some bread, his father gave him several cows, and with his gun and very few personal belongings, Byram bade his parents goodbye, not realizing that would be the last time he would see his father alive. Byram Lee Bybee died in Washington, Utah on the 27 June 1864, and was buried there. After his death, his wife, Elizabeth Ann (Betsy) Lane Bybee, moved to Smithfield, Utah to live with their son, Robert Lee. She died in Smithfield, 7 May 1867, and was buried there.

For nearly a month Byram trudged along, telling his cows of his thoughts and dreams, his hopes and fears. When he was hungry, he would milk the cow, catch some milk in the cup, dunk some bread in the milk and have his meal. He could not hunt for food, although he was an expert with the gun, because he had to watch the cows. However, he did spend a night or two along with way with some of the saints and was well fed.

When Byram reached Uintah, he lost no time in preparing for his marriage. At least the courting began. He would ride his horse over the Indian trails in horseshoe bend in Weber Canyon, to Mountain Green to see Jane. He would take her to a dance, and more often than naught, he would play his fiddle, call the dance, and square dance with Jane all at the same time. He was a good singer and a good violinist, although he had never had a lesson and played by ear.

His courting won the "Lady," and Byram Levi and Jane Geneva Robinson were married in Mountain Green, on Jane's 17th birthday. She was born while her parents were crossing the plains, on 14 July 1848, to Joseph Lee Robinson and Laurinda Maria Atwood. They were sealed on 2 February 1867 in the Salt Lake Endowment House.

Byram Levi and Jane Geneva were the parents of eleven children: Lorinda Geneva, born 30 Oct 1866, died 16 May 1951; Alice Elnora, born 1 Dec 1868, died 29 June 1879; Anna Belle, born 3 April 1871, died 10 July 1879; Byram Lee, born 17 June 1873, died 14 May 1963; Emma Luciene, born 20 May 1876, died 21 Aug 1961; Laron Lafayette, born 4 Nov 1879, died 15 May 1880; Maud Luan, born 30 March 1881, died 9 May 1882; Joseph Orin born 26 Mar 1883, died 14 August 1966; Laura Mae, born 14 Oct 1885, died 16 Dec 1972; Zina Pearl, born 30 March 1889, died 2 Oct 1964; and Silva Josephine, born 25 March 1893, died 25 February 1894.

Byram and Jane built their home in Uintah by the side of a hill, near a spring. It was a two storied adobe home. There were several bedrooms upstairs, a large kitchen and a large living room down stairs, an outside door on the west and one on the south. They also had a large porch on the south, several feet high, to dry their fruit.

The water for household use was carried from the spring; the stove used for heating and cooking was a four hole wood stove. They always kept a one gallon capacity teakettle on the stove and always the fire was burning to have the water hot.


Jane would catch rain water for washing clothes. The water was heated in a large tube on top of the stove. Later, they bought a stove with a reservoir that held five gallons of water, and finally they got a stove with both a reservoir and a warming oven.

They used candles for light and Jane made her own candles. They had not refrigeration, so the meat was kept in a salt solution called brine, which cured the meat. Then the meat was hung in the basement for summer use. During the cold months they would kill a beef or hog and hand it in the granary to cut as needed.

Everyone was welcome at the Bybee home, friends or strangers, and no one ever went away hungry.

The family did not have many luxuries, but they did have an organ, and many wonderful evenings were spent listening to the organ and singing songs together as a family. All of the girls learned to play the organ. Byram loved music and gaiety, but abhorred confusion.

Byram was a stern man, but loving and kind. He would not allow his children to bicker or find fault one with another.

Most of the children went barefoot around the home and yard, only wearing shoes on special occasions and to church on Sunday.

The Christmas Holiday was very simple. They did not have a tree. The children would hang their stockings on the windowsill and in the morning they would have candy, nuts, raisins, and an orange in their stocking.

Thanksgiving holiday was always observed by having a chicken dinner and mince pies and plum pudding.

Byram was about 5'9" tall and weighed about 160 pounds. His wife Jane was about 5' tall and weighed about 175 pounds. Byram was of sandy complexion, blue-grey eyes, medium brown hair, and a full, well-trimmed beard. He always stood as straight as an arrow.

Byram was a leader in the community; a Justice of the Peace; and an Indian interpreter. He also helped clear the land of sagebrush, dig irrigation ditches, repair channels of the Weber River and build the road thru Devil's Gate in Weber Canyon. This project was hard because there wasn't any dynamite for crushing the large boulders, so they used hammers to pound the boulders until they were broken into pieces small enough for the men to carry them.

Byram also tried prospecting in Cottonwood Canyon, but his project was not lucrative and was of a short duration.


He was the road supervisor for the first Uintah Dugway which was built in 1898 and wages were $1.80 a single hand, for ten hours work, and $3.40 a day for a team, plow or scraper and they had to furnish their own equipment.

In the late 1860's and early 1870's, Byram and his brother David operated a sawmill in Cottonwood Canyon in Morgan. They manufactured railroad ties for the U.P. Railroad. Byram also used his expertness as a marksman to supply the camp with deer and bear meat, along with pine hens.

One of the canyons in that area is called Bybee, after the sawmill.

Byram lived most of his life as a farmer and stockman. He raised fruit, mostly apples, corn and some alfalfa. They always paid their tithing with produce. They would also give fruit to the Indians for them to dry for their winter use.

The Indians always went to a spot unknown to Byram for their winter camp, but each year as spring came, so did the Indians, and they would make their camp on the hill above the Bybee home.

The horse power threshing machine would tour the country and visited Byram's farm each threshing season. The workers would always stay overnight and were fed the best food Jane could prepare. However, they also helped themselves to any fruit or produce on the farm and would waste much, even food provided for their animals...which upset Byram very much because he always believed that to "waste not was to want not." He was always glad when threshing season was over.

Their main source of income was derived from their cows. They would make and sell butter for about 15 or 20 cents per pound. This job was Jane's.

In 1879, there was a diphtheria epidemic and Byram and Jane's family was afflicted. They were advised to give their children whiskey, but, being a religious family, they declined. However, two of their children died: Alice Elnora, and Anna Belle. Alice had planted a white rose bush by the west side of their house and realizing that she was going to die, requested roses from this bush be placed on her grave. Ten days after Alice passed away, Anna Belle succumbed. She, too, knew she was going to die and she asked for wild flowers from the hill side be placed on her grave.

After the death of these two daughters, the other children were given whiskey and recovered from the disease.

As mentioned, Byram was an expert sharpshooter and an avid hunter. He would build his own ammunition. He had a long handled spoon which he put in front of the fire grate, melt the lead and pour it into a bullet mould. When it cooled he would have a perfect bullet. The next night he would load the shells and crimp them many times, they then were ready for use.


At this time, there were no specified season or limit on wild game and Byram furnished several meat markets in Ogden, and an Ogden hotel with wild meat. He would take the hides from the deer to the Indians for tanning. They would tan them and return to Byram one hide out of every three, so he always had plenty of buckskin strings.

Although during his life he was strong, erect and active, the last six months of his life, Byram Levi was an invalid, suffering from an unknown malady, getting weaker every day, and although he never complained, he was in terrible pain and his body withered away until he could not walk and was carried by his son, Orin.

Byram Levi Bybee was known and loved for his honesty and integrity, and ever ready wit. He was a hardworking man and devoted to his family. He died free from debt on 7 July 1905, at Uintah, Utah and was buried there. His wife, Jane Geneva Robinson, died at her home in Uintah on 7 June 1922, and was buried by her husband, Byram Levi Bybee.

Two years after Byram died, his sister Rhoda Bird Bybee Bair came to visit her family, whom she had not seen in over 64 years. She had married before Byram was born and her husband was bitter toward the Mormons and would not allow Rhoda to visit her family. After her husband's death, she came west, but too late to see her youngest brother, Byram Levi. After Rhoda's visit, she returned to the east. She was the only one of Byram Lee Bybee's family that did not join the church.





A UINTAH PIONEER DIES

Byram L. Bybee answers to Final Roll Call. He was a prominent and good citizen.

SPECIAL TO THE ARGUS

Byram L. Bybee, of Uintah, who died from a complication of diseases last Friday was buried at his late home on Sunday. Funeral services were held at the meetinghouse and besides the local speakers, there were E.F. Rose, and A.S. Rose of Farmington; Bishop Kendell of South Weber, and others who testified to the sterling worth of the deceased. The meetinghouse was inadequate to hold the assembled friends. There was in attendance the South Weber Choir, which furnished most excellent and soul-stirring music. Over forty vehicles made up the cortege, making this one of the most imposing funeral services ever held in the Uintah Ward.

One very sad feature of the death is that Mrs. Bybee, now in the hospital in Ogden, was not able to be in attendance at this final sickness and death, nor would the doctor in attendance even allow her to be appraised of his death.


OBITUARY

Byram L. Bybee was born in Clay County, Indiana, May 4, 1841, and came to Utah with his parents in the year 1851 and settled in Uintah where he remained until his death, July 7, 1905, thus being 64 years, 2 months and 3 days. In the year 1865, he married Jane Robinson who with him are the parents of eight daughters and three sons, six of whom survive him.

A large picture of Byram Levi and Jane Geneva Robinson Bybee hangs in the picture gallery at the D.U.P. Museum in Salt Lake.







History of Byram Levi Bybee
by Pearl Bybee Rollins


My father Byram Levi Bybee was born 4th of May 1841 at Clay County Indiana, son of Byram Bybee and Elizabeth Ann (Betsy) Lane. One year later they moved to Nauvoo, Illinois. There his parents lived at the time Joseph Smith was martyred on the 27th June 1844 B the family came West in the Alfred Cardon Company of 1851, and settled in Uintah, called "Weber" at that time, now named Uintah, Weber Co., Utah.

Robert Lee Bybee came with the parents of Byram Levi Bybee they being the younger members of the family, the older girls were married, some never did join the Church or come to Utah. My mother Jane Geneva Robinson, born 14th July 1848 while her parents were crossing the plains in "Sweet Water" Nebraska. She was the daughter of Joseph Lee Robinson and Laurinda Maria Attwood. They settled in Farmington, Davis Co., Utah. Later moved to Mountain Green, Morgan Co., Utah.

My father and mother were married the day she was 17 years old, July 14, 1865. They lived in Mountain Green until Geneva was born then moved to Uintah, Utah. The next two children Alice and Annabelle died in an epidemic of diphtheria a week apart. Alice was 10 years old at the time and Annabelle was 8 years old. When Annabelle saw Alice's funeral cortege go by she said: "I don't want garden flowers on my grave, I want wild flowers." My oldest brother Byram "Bine" contracted the Black Diphtheria but was given whiskey which cut the phlegm and saved his life. He went to sleep and awoke much better. He never did drink whiskey again in all his life and lived to be ninety years old.

Emma was the next child followed by Maud who died when she was a baby. Then Orin, Laura and myself were the next children followed by Sylvia that died when she was 11 months old.

I remember of going to grandmother Robinson's home in Hooper seeing a flock of ducks in her yard. They picked the ducks in the summer for their feathers which they made into pillows and feather beds. Grandmother made cheese too, I remember the large vats of milk. Grandfather planted mulberry trees to pick the leaves for silk worms to feed upon. Grandmother raised silk worms as early as 1867 under the direction of Brigham Young.

My father Byram Levi Bybee was of small build, had blue eyes, sandy mustache and beard. Had a beautiful tenor voice, helped with the singing in Sunday School, played violin for dances in early days. Raised four daughters who became organists in Uintah Ward. Died 7 July 1905 age 54.

In early days father and his brother Robert were riding through Weber Canyon on a load of hay when they met a band of Indians. The Indians surrounded them and lowered their arrows to shoot. The Indian Chief "Old Soldier" recognized my father and Robert and stopped the Indians. He said: "Don't shoot," Bybees had given him bread and biscuits to eat. Old Soldier knew my mother in Farmington when she was a girl in her father's home. When he saw her in Mountain Green after she was married; he called her "Robinson's Papoose and Bybee's squaw."

My parents were hard working people knew many hardships and sorrow. Planted apple trees, other fruits, raised hay, grain etc. I have heard father say many times that he walked most of the way across the plains barefooted. He had a twinkle in his eye, sense of humor. Provided for his family and loved us all very much. Never did I see my father come home cross or speak cross or criticize my mother. He corrected us when we needed it. We knew he loved us.
- Written by his daughter Pearl Bybee Rollins

All the Bybee histories I have read tell of their kind and loving disposition, Byram Levi Bybee's father Byram Bybee, who is my grandfather was the very same way, so we can all be proud of our wonderful lineage.
- E. Geneva C. Pace

Incidents in the life of My Great Grandmother as given by herself
Elizabeth Jane Bybee Smith

“I was born he daughter of Byrum Bybee and Betsy Layne Bybee on January 23, 1825, in Barren Country Kentucky. There were twelve children in the family, six boys and six girls, three of whom died while very young. We four oldest girls had to work very hard to help support the family. My father was a sickly man therefore could not give his children a good education and as there was no public money, schools were very scarce and the people were unable to educate their children.”

“In those days we had no conveniences, no such things as stoves, washboard, lamps, etc., for lights we used candles made of tallow or a gag absorbed in tallow (called a b****) and often had to sew or knit by fire light.”

My two oldest sisters were married in 1840 leaving myself and younger sister, the next oldest in the family to help support the family. From the time children were seven and eight years of age they were given different kinds of work to do in the cotton fields and gardens.”

“My mother carded cotton with hand cords while my sister and I used a large spinning wheel to spin the cotton. We had to spin four cuts a day (144 threads in a cut), then we were allowed the rest of the day to ourselves. We were eight and nine years of age when we were taught to spin and toe on small wheels, this we enjoyed very much. Mother always did the weaving while we girls did the housework. All of us had to work; Mother also took the wool from the sheep’s back, washed, corded, and wove it into cloth for clothing, blankets, yarn for stockings, and sweaters, this I also did in later years for my own family. There was always plenty of work for rich as well as poor people.”

“In 1836 when was ten years old father sold his farm and moved from Kentucky into Indiana where he started a new home. Maple Sugar trees grew on the ranch where he settled. We made plenty of sugar and molasses from the sap which came from the trees. Father was a shoe maker by trade and did very little farming.”

“In the year 1840 a Mormon Elder by the name of Alma Babit came to Indiana preaching the Gospel of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. I thought at the time that his doctrines were very strange. In 1841 two other Mormon Elders came to the state. They preached the gospel in this settlement for about three weeks when about fifteen of us were baptized into the church.”

“We moved to Nauvoo, Illinois, in 1842. I went to school that season and in 1843 I went to work on a farm belonging to the Prophet Joseph Smith. I was acquainted with the prophet and his family and always found them to be honest, upright, straight forward people and were just what they professed to be. The following winter I stayed at the prophet’s home part of the time. Then went to a friends’ home across the street and took care of a sick lady. The prophet came to came to see her often until her death.”

“His enemies were now after him and he had to flee. He started across the river to Iowa when some of his friends persuaded him to come back calling him a coward, he said, ‘If my life is of no value to my friends, it is of none to myself.’ He turned back and said he was going like a lamb to the slaughter.”

“In June 1844, they took the prophet and his brother Hyrum to Carthage jail, where a mob was raised and both of them were killed. After the prophet fell from the jail window to the ground they leaned his body against the well curb. A man stepped up with a long glittering knife to be-head the prophet. As he raised his arm to commit the awful deed, a flash of lightning came from heaven and paralyzed him and he had to be carried away inert as a corpse and the mob fled from the scene in terror.”

“The prophet and is brother were taken home and I saw them lying side by side in their coffins. Even then the mob was not satisfied, but kept howling around until the year 1845 when they commenced to drive the people out of Nauvoo and burn their houses, barns, grain, and everything they possessed. Brigham Young sought protection from the government, but with little avail, until they leave the state. They started to leave in 1846.”

“After the Prophet and his brother Hyrum were murdered they tried every way to remove the blood stains from the floor in Carthage jail, but all in vain, it still remains a witness for the entire world to see. Some of them thought at that time if they could get a Mormon girl to scrub the floor the stain would come out. They came for me and others but none of us would go.”

“In July 1844, I married Daniel Smith a widower with seven children and left Nauvoo in February 1846 to come West with the Saints. On the 16th day of February we crossed the Mississippi River with ice in flakes as large as a large table floating on all sides of the boat.
We went to Sugar Creek and camped about two weeks, waiting for the main body of Saints to get together to come West.”

“Companies were arranged and started for the Rocky Mountains over unraveled roads. Yet everyone seemed to enjoy themselves on the way. In May they stopped and left the people to plant gardens. Later after traveling for several days they made a small settlement and called it Garden Grove, and still later another called Mt. Pergah. Some of the saints were left there to prepare themselves and teams for the trip to the Rocky Mountains.”

“We traveled on Westward making roads and bridges until we come to Council Bluffs. Here the government called for 500 men to go to Mexico to fight the Indians. There was hardly enough men to fill the call so young men 18 and 19 years of age went. This was the Mormon Battalion.”

“We traveled on to Mosquito Creek camped there a few days then on to the Missouri River were we prepared for the winter. This place was called Winter Quarters it is now known as Omaha City. In the spring a new company was formed to come west. A large body of Saints was left there to build a settlement as we were unable to travel farther we were among those who were left. We stayed here until 1850 then started west. Meanwhile a boy and two girls were added tour family, two of them born on the plains.”

“In traveling up the Platt River we found many Indians and Buffalo by the million. The Indians never troubled us but seemed to think the Mormon people were alright. While crossing the plains our baby girl 17 months old took sick and died. We had to bury her on the desolate plain, which was a very sore trial to us.”

“While traveling along the Platt River my husband was appointed hunter of the Company. Thousand of Buffalo roamed all over the plains, they would bellow until they made the whole earth shake. My husband always rode ahead to the Company, so it fell to my lot to drive the team. While out hunting one morning he killed and brought in a Buffalo calf, and we had to drive several miles ahead of the Company in search of water to dress the meat as we were quite a distance from the river. We drove about ½ mile from the main course to a pond of water where we dressed the meat. It was very warm, the flies were bad. The horses were turned out to graze and they strayed to the foot hills. Of course my husband had to go after them, leaving me here alone with two little children, not knowing whether or not he would find us alive when he returned on account of wild animals and Indians. Before he got back to the hills a large buffalo bull came down seemingly to get water. He tried every way to scare him away but could not do so, so he decided to take off his shoes and give the old fellow a race to the wagon as he had nothing with him to defend himself with, but good luck favored him and the buffalo finally turned and went the other way. All this time the wolves were howling across the pond about two rods distance.”

“I watched my husband out of sight and by this time the sun was just going down. It was very gloomy and desolate. I saw a man passing down the road, I didn’t know whether it was an Indian or white man, but he went on the other way.”

“By this time my husband had the horses and it was just light enough to see him coming and it was not long before we were on our way back to find the camp. It was so dark we could not follow the tracks. Some of the men were out searching for us. When we were about a mile from camp a gun was fired. My husband answered the shot, he had a remarkable rifle and everyone knew the sound of it. The men in camp lost no time in bringing out torches to find us and we were soon rejoicing to be safely back at camp.”

“We traveled on and camped near a spring. We heard a terrible roaring that shook the ground. The men and boys went upon a hill and saw thousands of buffalo. They covered acres of ground and were coming to the spring for water. Most of the people were terribly frightened, some were crying, some singing, some laughing, some praying and some bringing torches to frighten them away, while others were holding the horses to keep them from stampeding. The buffalo turned and went in another direction. This showed plainly to us that the Lord was watching over his people as no harm come to any of us.”

“As we traveled on Westward we found that the Indians were fighting among themselves. Brigham Young thought it best to send out word for the Companies to get together, but the Indians did not bother the saints. This was about three days before we reached Utah. I was never happier in my life then the day we reached Utah.”

“It was a terrible lonesome desolate looking place at this time. The first two or three years it looked like starvation for us and the people had a hard struggle to get along. The Mountaineers offered $1000 for the first ear of corn or bushel of wheat raised in the Valley. After a few years the people began to prosper. Grains, vegetables, and fruits grew in abundance. They began to build small settlements all through the valley.”

“We then moved to South Weber where we remained until all our children were born except one girl who was born in California. In the year 1863 we moved to California with Ox team. We had several narrow escapes with our lives, with the Indians. Here they were killing the white people on all sides. We camped on Fish Springs three days waiting for the soldiers to come.”

“One of our oxen strayed away. My oldest son 15 years old was sent to find it. He went about two miles from camp before finding it.”

“Meanwhile the stage picked up a man the Indians had killed. About two or three miles from camp there were 15 or 20 scalps (men, women and children) hanging on the side of a barn.”

“When we camped at Egan Station about two days drive from Fish Springs the men owning the station wanted us to stay that night. We were afraid however and went on and in about three days the Indians killed the men, burned the station and the stage, this was another narrow escape.”

“Several miles from this place a large rock projected over the road. We were afraid to pass for fear of Indians on the other side. We went through in the night and were not molested by Indians. About 25 men had American horses and as we were traveling with Ox team we were unable to keep up with them. We were now near the Sierra Nevada Mountains. And after crossing them we had no more trouble with the Indians.”

“We made our home about five years when my husband died, leaving me with six children and only two of them were old enough to earn their living. At that time we were living about a hundred miles from Sacramento on an Island. It was a terrible lonely place for me. I had a hard time to get along and make a living as we had not lived here long enough to have very much around us, our financial condition was not good and no one old enough to run the farm, but with the help of the Lord I got along fairly well with such a responsibility on my own shoulders.”

“In high water time we were surrounded by water for several days with no way to get out. We could stand in our door and see waves dashing higher than our house. Many times we looked to be washed away.”

There were lots of wild animals, mountain lions, wolves, wild cats, snakes. It was terrible to send my children to school on account of them. Part of the time they had no shoes to wear and they had to walk three miles through thick timber, six miles a day for school.”

“One night there was a great commotion among my chickens. I and my youngest son went to see what was wrong. We found it to be a large wild cat. We followed it with a dog and ran from tree to tree for half a mile from the house. We found him perched in a large oak tree. I went directly under the tree, my son told me to come back. As I stepped back a little way I could see the cat by the moonlight. My son Micheal (14 years old) killed the cat; we took it into the house and weighted it. It weighted 25 lbs. I could tell a great many thing about the others and snakes, but I have to depend on others to do my writing as I cannot write.”

“We used to cure and smoke our own meat. One day I went to the smoke house to get some salt, when I turned around I saw a large rattler curled up ready to strike. The snakes were very numerous and we had to always be on guard for them.”

“I always had a strong desire to come back to Utah here I could do my duty in the church. I never had any doubt but what the gospel was true and I had great faith in the Lord. I put forth every effort to get back and the way was opened for me.”

“I came back to Utah in 1875. One of my daughters went to Utah on a visit and was married there three years later, in 1880. Had she came back to California to live I might not have come to Utah, but everything worked out in my behalf. So I could live among the saints and I was happy and contented. I lived in Lewiston Utah for ten months. In 1881 I moved to Hooper, Utah where I lived for 9 or 10 years. Here I was President of the Primary Association for 2 or 3 years. Then again I moved back to Lewiston, Utah where I remained the rest of my life. I am the grandmother of 57 grand children and great grandmother of twelve great grand children at the age of 83 years.”

Great grandmother Smith received her endowments in Salt Lake about 1854 or 1855. She arrived in Utah October 1850. She was the mother of eleven children, raised seven of her husbands children, two of the second wife’s children. Her oldest daughter died leaving 4 or 5 children whom she raised and later her youngest sons’ wife died leaving two children whom she mothered until nearly grown. Making in all 26 or 27 children she mothered in her life and never complained. She died November 13, 1908. 84 years of age and true to the faith she embraced in Indiana.