Crusade Against Plural Marriage.
When the crusade against plural marriage commenced in Utah, I was not
willing to give up my families; and being of a timid nature, I sought
to avoid trouble. In my heart I felt justified in having more wives
than one, believing plural marriage to be God's law; and therefore
I resolved to cleave to my wives and children, let come what might.
On the other hand, I did not court martyrdom; I was quite willing to
retire and live in seclusion until the wave of prejudice should pass
away.
Accordingly, I took up a ranch on the Boulder Mountain, at a place
called Wild Cat, a lonely retreat twenty miles from any town. Here I
took my wife Tamar, and began to run a dairy. Albina, my first wife,
remained on the farm in Rabbit Valley.
I had learned that there was a warrant out for me in the hands of
Deputy Marshal Armstrong, charging me with adultery--adultery,
forsooth, with my own wife! On one occasion, I was in Nephi staying
with Thomas Bowles. We were walking past Whitmore's store in the
evening, when Brother Bowles suddenly caught my arm. "There's
Armstrong!" said he, pointing to a man in front of the livery stable
who was trying to hold a lantern, and at the same time to do some
repair work on a buggy. I stepped forward, held the lantern, and
chatted with him some fifteen minutes. He thanked me, and I knew Johnny
Armstrong from that time onward.
Soon after my return to Wild Cat I received a communication from my
brother Franklin, saying that Armstrong and McGary wanted to meet
us, and try to make "terms" with us; pledging their word that we
should not be arrested at the meeting. I declined to meet. I knew the
marshals, and I didn't intend that by any such ruse they should make my
acquaintance.
My brother met them, however, and agreed on terms; and when notified,
he went to Beaver and surrendered himself; received as his "medicine"
the full extent of the law--three years and three hundred dollars.
Before harvest time, it became necessary for me to go to the city
for a reaper. My wife Albina was with me on my way home, and just as
we reached the head of the long dugway overlooking Rabbit Valley,
Armstrong drove up. I stopped and let him pass. He thanked me, and
drove by. I knew him and rejoiced that he didn't know me.
Once I came up from Wild Cat to get a load of rock salt for my cattle.
I called at the Co-op. store, but it had none. Hugh McClellan, the man
that the deputies always stopped with, said, "Drive me home, and I will
let you have a load."
"Am I safe?"
"Perfectly; there will be no one here for three or four days."
I went, and was loading the salt into my wagon when Lish Goff, a rough
man, supposedly unfriendly to me, pulled my sleeve, and nodded toward
a side lane. There came Armstrong and McGary! I felt I was a "goner."
Surely I could not escape this time! However, I picked up my lines and
drove off. McClellan was as white as death.
As I turned my back to the marshals, I was not ten rods in advance of
them. Goff stepped out, and told them dinner was ready. They wanted
to go to the store, but he persuaded them to wait until after dinner.
Thanks to Goff and the "deps" not knowing me, I escaped again.
In the fall, I loaded up a four-horse outfit with cheese to take up
to the valley. On Monday morning I sent my little boys to the pasture
to bring up my horses. As they were gone rather long, I stepped a few
rods in front of the house to look out for them, and I heard a voice
distinctly say, "Don't go today."
I consequently told the boys to saddle me a riding pony, and turn the
work horses out and let them go to the mountain. Going down the road
about ten miles, I turned off to Giles' sheep camp. Just as I reached
the camp, we were visited with a heavy rainstorm, and as one happy
result all previous tracks in the road were obliterated. On my return
home I saw a fresh buggy track, and looking ahead three hundred yards,
I beheld my friends, the enemy! I followed leisurely until the road
made a curve around the head of a hollow, when I cut across and came in
ahead of them. They helloed, but of course I did not hear. McGary stood
up with his gun in his hand, but as I quickened my pace, he sat down
again. Presently we came to the forks of the road; the right-hand went
to Wild Cat, the left to Brinkerhoff's ranch. I took the left, riding
leisurely so the buggy might follow. When within a mile of the ranch, I
rode rapidly ahead, found everybody gone, and the door locked. I next
rode over the brow of a rock ridge,
Then from behind a tree
I observed the enemy,
until the shadow of night settled down upon us, and they had
unharnessed, tied up, and gathered wood to keep fire until morning.
Then I went home to a loving family and a warm supper.
In the morning the deputies hunted until discouraged, and were on the
eve of leaving the mountain when they met a stockman who gave me away
by directing them to Wild Cat. They came, got their breakfast, then
subpoenaed Tamar, and her daughters Harriet and May, to appear in
court on a certain day. When the time came, I sent Albina, my first
wife, with my daughters Harriet and May; instructing them, when before
the jury to speak the truth freely about me, and promising that all
should be well with them. They did so, and the court treated them
respectfully, Marshal Armstrong being a gentleman and a friend to them.
Tamar's health was delicate, and I determined she should not be dragged
into court to be cross-questioned by lawyers; and, as often happened,
censured and lectured by a missionary judge.
My next meeting with the men who looked so kindly after the "cohabs"
was at Thurber. My son Ferra had purchased a strong, nervous, though
vicious horse, and we believed that, given a little start, there was
nothing in our burg that could overtake him. I had again been for a
load of salt, returning with a four-horse team, and had reached Thurber
when my son William R. overtook me.
"Father," said he, "you had better ride Selim a little while, and be
quick about it."
I had just mounted when Bishop Coleman and my brother Franklin W. met
us. They turned across the canal and drove rapidly toward the river,
the marshals being in sight and driving furiously toward us. I loitered
near my team in hopes to draw the "deps" after me; but they could see
Coleman's rig, and wheeled across the canal in pursuit of him.
I jumped my horse across the canal; and galloping around a block, came
into the road just ahead of the officers. They called on me to stop;
but I could not do it, as some dogs ran out from a house I was passing,
and so frightened my horse that he broke into a dead run. I jerked
back violently and broke one rein, virtually turning the vicious brute
loose. He seemed to go crazy. A man by the name of Keel was working
on a vacant rocky lot near by. The horse bolting in that direction,
pitched at the man, who struck him over the head with a crowbar. This
seemed to daze the animal for a minute, then he commenced bucking;
and for a short time he made it mighty interesting for me, and the
people who were looking on. Finally, he threw up his head and broke for
home, and I was quite willing to let him go. The marshals turned and
followed, whereby the other "cohabs" got away again. I took a skurry
through the hills, and late in the evening brought up at my brother's,
in Teasdale, where I found Willie R. Later still, Bishop Coleman and
Franklin W. arrived safe and sound.
Brother C. L. Christensen was living on a ranch about half way between
Wild Cat and the Valley. One day the marshals caught him. "Now," said
they, "you are a poor man, and we don't want to make it hard on you. We
will let you go now if you will promise to come when we want you. You
can thus be at home in peace with your family until you are wanted in
court." So he promised. "Now," they said, "we are going home, and we
will write you about ten days before we come for you; so you will have
time to be prepared."
As soon as they were gone. Brother Christensen kindly came over and
told me of the bargain, adding, "Now you can stay at home and not
worry; for when I get the letter, I will send you word." I was pleased;
for staying at home in peace in those troublesome times was pleasant.
It was getting cold on the mountain, so I moved down to my winter ranch
on Pleasant Creek. One night I woke up, and a low voice said to me,
"The marshals will not write to Christensen, and you had better get
away from here."
In the morning I rode eight miles to Bishop Joseph H. Wright's ranch,
told him of my impressions, and said: "Tomorrow morning, before light,
I shall pull for Colorado." He replied, "I will be at your place
tonight, prepared to go with you." The next morning, at three o'clock,
we pulled out, without letting our neighbors know of it.
I had three horses and a big, snorty mule in my team, and my wagon
carried three thousand pounds of freight. About two o'clock, while
driving across a smooth clay flat running parallel with the Dirty Devil
river, I had raised the cover and was looking at a ranch on the south
side, when I heard a moan; and looking around I saw Tamar fall from
the wagon on to the heels of the mule. The team, becoming frightened,
ran two hundred yards before I could stop them. When I finally did so,
there lay Tamar, the nigh front wheel on her breast. I sprang out,
pulled the team back with one hand, and lifted the wheel with the other
until I rolled it off her.
The mule backed until her feet struck Tamar, then she wanted to run
again. I tried with one hand to pull Tamar's body from the road, but
she said, "Don't, you hurt my hand." Then I saw that her hand was under
the wheel. With one hand and my knee, I lifted the wheel and she drew
her hand out; then she fainted.
All this time, little Ray, three years old, frightened nearly to death,
was screaming and threatening to tumble out of the wagon. I lifted him
down, then examined Tamar's hand, expecting to have to take my knife
and cut off her fingers, for they looked, in the blood and dust, as if
they were ground to pieces. I found the bones were not broken. Thus
relieved, I thought of assistance; and called to Bishop Wright, who was
some distance ahead. Luckily he heard me, and ran back. Tamar still lay
as if dead. Brother Wright brought some water from the river; we bathed
her face, and she revived.
We arranged a bed in the wagon, and placed her on it, then drove till
after midnight before we reached a habitation. We finally got into a
school-house and spent the rest of the night in administering to, and
nursing my wife. Her breast bone was crushed in, and her hand badly
lacerated; and I feared the nervous shock and the bruise would bring
on premature child-birth and perhaps death. In the morning she felt so
much better, however, that we moved on to Hanksville, about fifteen
miles.
On the west side of town was a store, in care of Mrs. Dr. Jorgensen,
an old acquaintance of ours. At the store the public road shot to the
north and south. The latter led to Hall's Ferry, on the Colorado; the
former crossed the Dirty Devil and went to Blake, on Green River. As
we drove up, Sister Jorgensen ran out to see Tamar. I jumped from the
wagon and stopped her, telling her she must not see her, as it would
get her into trouble. She prepared some liniment, and told me how to
nurse her; then I bade her good-bye.
We crossed the road, pulled through the town, down the river two miles,
and stopped with William Bacon. They gave us their best room and bed,
and Tamar rested comfortably for two days. Again in the night, an
unseen power said to me, "Move on." Tamar's body was sore; but I knew
the road was sandy and free from rocks, and she said she would rather
go than be arrested. We crossed the river in Brother Bacon's field, and
followed an old wood road up a sandy hollow, until we struck the main
road.
Just before reaching it, we saw the tops of three wagons passing.
They drove to the ford near the store, and camped. They had scarcely
unharnessed when Armstrong and McGary drove up. The freighters assured
them we were not on the road, as they were direct from Green River and
had met no one.
The officers then wheeled and took the road for Hall's Ferry. Twenty
miles out they met Dan Dalton, who assured them we were not on that
road. They then returned to the store and questioned Sister Jorgensen,
threatening to arrest her unless she would tell them where we were;
but she maintained stoutly that she had not seen Mrs. Young, and knew
nothing of her whereabouts.
When the marshals first reached the store, twenty minutes' drive would
have taken them to us; but when they came back from a forty-mile run,
their team was exhausted. They offered fifty dollars for the use of a
fresh team; but no one in. Hanksville wanted the money, and to this day
I have a warm spot in my heart for those good people.
The day we left Brother Bacon's was full of painful anxiety to Bishop
Wright and myself. The sand was deep, and our loads heavy; we had to
move slowly, walking by the side of our teams and resting every few
rods. These, however, were minor troubles; the atmosphere was full of
apprehension and danger. From the top of every ridge we looked back,
expecting to see our enemy coming; and I had determined that Tamar
should not be dragged into court if I had power to prevent it.
Our wives were innocent of crime; they were virtuous, honest, bashful
girls, unused to public life. In their innocence and spiritual
devotion, they had trusted us for guidance and protection; and I was
not going to see my wife slurred and brow-beaten by a profligate
lawyer, nor humiliated by a missionary judge. We might suffer by
flight--and we did suffer more than my pen can tell; as a matter of
fact, Tamar suffered for years from the effect of the accident she met
with--but we escaped arrest, and there was comfort in that. I had never
felt that the road to exaltation was through the Utah penitentiary;
I did not owe Uncle Sam a cent; and I certainly did not want to be
honored by wearing the uniform of his boarding house. One more incident
and then I am done with the marshals.
By appointment, I met my cousin Brigham in Rabbit Valley, and
accompanied him across the desert to New Mexico. Below Hanksville, we
met Dan Dalton, who was freighting from the Henry Mountain. He told us
there were two marshals at the ferry evidently waiting for someone. We
passed on, and when by ourselves, Brigham asked, "What shall we do?"
I replied, "You are the captain; as you direct, I shall act." "Well,"
he said, "I'll tell you: if you will drive the team I will do the
fighting, and there are no two deputy marshals living that can take me
back to Utah."
When we reached the Colorado, we met Platte D. Lyman and L. H. Redd,
the supposed marshals. They took our carriage apart and ferried us over
the river in a small boat, swimming our horses. I went to Fruitland,
New Mexico, with Brigham, then bought two scrub ponies and went back
alone.
In a seven days' ride on the desert, I met but three persons. The
first two were Bishop Allan Taylor and Bishop Franzen, who were on the
"underground," and later on I met a deputy marshal on this wise: There
being no one at the ferry, I swam the Colorado, pack-horse and all; and
passing through Hanksville in the night, I rode out on to the desert
about fifteen miles, hobbled my horses and went to sleep. As soon as it
was light in the morning I was moving.
Presently I met two grey horses, hobbled, and evidently running away.
Tying the greys to my pack-horse's tail I took them with me about three
miles, when I met the owner. He was pleased with what I had done,
and became communicative, telling me he was a deputy marshal; then,
stopping suddenly, he asked my name.
"Brown," said I.
"What Brown?"
"John."
"Where are you from?"
"Kanab."
"What are you to Guernsey Brown?"
"Cousin."
That reassured him. He told me he had been to Kanab after "cohabs."
By this time we had reached his camp. I took breakfast with him, and
he continued to interest me by telling me he was after a fellow by the
name of Young. I asked him what Young. He said "John R." I told him I
had heard of him; but had never met him. He said Young had gone to New
Mexico to hunt him a home; but would soon return by way of Blake, and
he was going to wait for him.
We rode together until we reached the San Rafael. There we parted, as
I was going to the Iron Springs to look at a bunch of cattle I thought
of buying. That night, about midnight, I reached my little home in
Huntington, and found my wife Tamar very feeble. She had lost her babe,
and was still suffering with her breast and mutilated hand, the result
of her fainting and falling out of the wagon when fleeing to avoid
arrest and imprisonment for having become a plural wife when there was
no law making it a crime.
During the crusade, I suffered my family to become scattered. It
was one of the errors of my life. The principle of plural marriage
came from God; and when honestly lived up to, it purifies the life
and enlarges the soul. On the same reasoning, since the Manifesto
was adopted, it should be honored, because it came from God, for the
temporal salvation of his people.
And now that plural marriage is barred by law, that does not justify
men, when in power, in being cruel and oppressive, as some of the
judges and many of the marshals were. The intent of the law is to
render justice, tempered with mercy; but in this suppression of
polygamy in Utah, the Roman idea, that to the "victor belongs the
spoil" was adopted; and I felt then, as I do now, that it was unjust
and cruel.