CHAPTER LXVIII.

Trip to California--Met by the Committee on Reception of the Society

of California Pioneers--Received with Great Cordiality--Honored Guests

at California's Golden Jubilee--The Celebration--Courtesies Extended

to Mormon Battalion Members Present at the Discovery of Gold--Return

Home--Resolutions by Society of California Pioneers--Report of

Reception committee of California Golden Jubilee--Sketch of

Marshall's Surviving Companions--Complete my Autobiography--My Son

Homer Accidentally Killed--The Old Folks--Publication of Life of a

Pioneer--Conclusion.

ILLUSTRATIONS.

Portrait of James S. Brown

Fire Prepared to Roast the Missionary--Sentenced to Death

A Typical Tahitian with his Burden of Bread Fruit and Feii

A War Party of Shoshones Dancing around their Prisoners while in the

Chief's Lodge

Surrounded by a Pack of Hungry Wolves

Chased By a War Party

Marquesas Fire Dancers

LIFE OF A PIONEER

BEING

THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

OF

JAMES S. BROWN.

CHAPTER I.

HOME OF THE AUTHOR--A CAREER OF THRILLING EXPERIENCES--HIS BIRTH

AND PARENTAGE--EARLY AVOCATIONS--MIGRATION PROM NORTH CAROLINA

TO ILLINOIS--LIFE ON THE FRONTIER--DANGERS TO EARLY SETTLERS--A

FRONTIERSMAN--FATHER'S ADVICE--MORE SETTLERS COME--CHURCHES AND

SCHOOLS--LIMITED OPPORTUNITIES--FROZEN FEET--UNIMPRESSIONABLE TO THE

PREACHING OF THE TIME--TALK OF A NEW RELIGION, PROPHETS, MIRACLES,

ETC.--PERSECUTION OF THE NEW CHURCH--"SHOWERS OF STARS"--POPULAR

ADVERSE VIEWS OF THE MORMONS--THE MORMONS DRIVEN FROM MISSOURI

INTO ILLINOIS--MORMON ELDER COMES TO PREACH--CONVERTS UNCLE

JAMES BROWN--PREACHES AGAIN--PREPARATIONS TO MOB THE ELDER--HIS

SCRIPTURAL DOCTRINE DISCONCERTS ENEMIES AND SECURES HIM FRIENDS--HIS

DISCOURSE--EFFECT ON YOUNG JAMES S. BROWN OF THIS FIRST GOSPEL SERMON

TO HIM--HIS TESTIMONY TO THE SPIRIT AND TRUTH OF THE ELDER'S MESSAGE.

THE subject and author of this Life-Sketch of a Pioneer is James

Stephens Brown, now (1900) in his seventy-second year, a resident of

Salt Lake City, Utah, his home less than a quarter of a mile from and

within the summer morning's shadow of the majestic Temple of the Lord

erected on that spot which he beheld a barren and desolate wilderness,

on his entrance into the valley of the Great Salt Lake, over half a

century ago. His life has been one of thrilling experiences--more than

ordinarily falls to the lot even of a pioneer settler in the Great

West--a life in which hardship and perils by sea and land, among dusky

savages and with white men, have contributed largely to the events

of his career; withal one in which he has had abundant occasion to

recognize and acknowledge the power and protecting care of an Almighty

Providence.

It is at the urgent request and advice of valued friends, familiar

to a considerable extent with my life and labors, that I place this

autobiography in form to be easily accessible to those desirous of

perusing it; and I am not unmindful of the fact that this simple

recital of events is not only of intense interest in numerous episodes

which it records, but is of historic value in being a plain and

truthful narrative of the personal experiences of a western pioneer.

I was born on Independence Day, July 4, 1828, in Davidson County, North

Carolina, U.S.A. My father was Daniel Brown; he was the youngest son

of his father's family, and was born in Rowan County, North Carolina,

June 30, 1804. My father's father was James Brown, a native of Rowan

County, North Carolina, 1757 being the year of his birth. His wife

was the widow of a Revolutionary War soldier named Emerson, who was

killed in the war for American independence, leaving his wife and

two children, Margaret and John Emerson. My grandfather James Brown

married the widow Emerson, who bore him nine children--three sons and

six daughters--Jane, Polly, Nancy, Susan, Patsy, William, Obedience,

James (captain of Company C, Mormon Battalion), and Daniel (my father);

her maiden name was Mary Williams. All the family had an excellent

reputation, being upright, thrifty, and good and industrious citizens.

With these introductory remarks, I will proceed to an account of my

boyhood's days. I was reared at the farming and stock business, also

at getting out saw timber and wood for cooperware. My parents had

moved from North Carolina to Brown County, Illinois, in the autumn of

1831, and had purchased an extensive tract of land. We were a large

family; the country was then wild and with very few inhabitants, and

the climate was unhealthy; so it was with great effort that father and

mother succeeded in making a home and gathering about them the comforts

of life.

We were frontier settlers, and while father had his pick of land, he

also had the hardships and privations of a new country to endure. There

were no churches or schoolhouses nearer than ten miles from our home,

and grist mills and blacksmith shops were equally distant. Thus the

family was reared without the advantage of schools, or of church-going

religious training. But we were thoroughly acquainted with border

life, with hunting, fishing, and all the sports indulged in by hardy

pioneers, and even learned to shake terribly from the ague, and burn

with fever spells, while we were well dosed with quinine and calomel,

and had enormous doctor's bills to pay.

In our operations we trained horses and cattle to work, stocked our own

plows, made our own harrows, rakes and forks, braided our own whips

from the pelts of wild beasts which we ourselves dressed, raised our

own honey, and made our own sugar, with some to sell. We had a good

sugar orchard, and plenty of wild fruits and nuts for the gathering. As

the first settlers of new countries are more or less subject to dangers

from outlaws, wild beasts, and savage men, we found it important to be

well armed, and on the alert day and night to defend life and liberty.

Thus we learned the use of firearms and the tomahawk. My father was

an expert with the old Kentucky rifle, and some of his boys were not

far behind him; he trained them always to shoot with a rising sight,

to keep cool, and always to have their powder dry and plenty of it. He

also taught us to tell the truth, and used to say: "Be honest, stand up

for your rights, and fight for your country and friends."

In the year 1835, people began to settle in around us, and then the

circuit riders, as they were called--the ministers--commenced to call

around and hold meetings in private houses. There were Baptists,

Freewill Baptists, Methodists, Campbellites, and others. From 1836 to

1838 some small churches and schoolhouses were built, so that we began

to get spiritual food, such as it was; and also some schooling, with

the benefit of the hickory rod that always was kept "in soak," so to

speak, and woe to the unruly student when it was called into service!

So far as the author is concerned, he managed to get along without the

rod the short time he was permitted to attend school. He was kept close

at work on the farm in summer, and in the winter months was engaged

getting out timber and hauling to market the farm products. Once his

feet were frozen so that he lost every nail from his toes. As to the

religious teachings of the time, there was a great deal of thundering

and thundering, but it failed to indicate any lightening of the

author's path, for he fished and hunted on the Sabbath day, just the

same.

Some time in the '30s we began to hear a little about false prophets, a

new religion, miracles, money-diggers, thieves, liars, miracle-workers,

deceivers, witches, speaking in tongues and interpretation of the same,

walking on the water, and visits from angels. As time went on, all

these things were combined to form a grand excuse for raising mobs to

expel the new Church from the borders of civilization. Then came news

of murder, rapine, house-burning, and destruction of towns and cities

in Missouri. There were great "showers" of stars in the firmament

about this time. On popular rumor, and from hearing only one side of

the story, almost everybody decided that such a previously unheard-of

people as the Mormons ought to be shot or burned at the stake. This was

the sentiment to be found on every hand.

As a culmination of these things came the tidings that the Missourians

had driven the Mormons from the state of Missouri into Illinois. A

little later, and a Latter-day Saint Elder named Jacob Pfoutz entered

the neighborhood of my Uncle James Brown's home, converted him, his

wife, and several of the neighbors. This Elder was brought down by my

uncle to see his two sisters, Aunts Polly and Nancy Brown.

Elder Pfoutz was given permission to preach in the schoolhouse about

three miles from my father's house. The news spread like a prairie fire

that the Mormons had come and would preach on Friday. I think this was

in the autumn of 1840. I was at my aunt's at the time, and decided to

go and hear the strange preacher. Like most of the people, I went out

of curiosity, more than anything else. I had just turned my twelfth

year, and had begun to take some interest in religion, going to every

meeting for which I could obtain permission from my parents, yet not

thinking for a moment but that all religions were right.

At the first meeting held by the Mormon, the house was pretty well

filled. Some who attended did so with the thought that after the

services were over they would tar and feather the Elder and ride him on

a rail, as such things had been indulged in in Missouri, and threats

had been made freely. Others were going to confound him, and still

others wanted to see the fun, as they said.

The preacher was a plain-spoken man of thirty-five to forty years old,

of German descent. He was plainly dressed, and without that urbane

polish which ministers usually have. When he began his discourse,

he raised up very calmly and deliberately and read from Matthew,

seventh chapter, verses fifteen to twenty. He spoke from that text

and corroborating passages, supporting his argument throughout by

scripture. At the conclusion of his address, some of the people said

they did not want to mob a man who preached like that, while others

"sniffed" their noses and tried to get up a sneering laugh, but failed.

The Elder was invited to my aunt's house and was granted permission to

preach on Sunday in their oak-grove, while several of the religiously

inclined followed him to his stopping place and plied him with

questions.

As to myself, it seemed that I had not only heard it thunder, but I

had seen the lightning and felt it through every fibre of my system,

from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet. I was revived as

the showers of heaven revive the parched earth and impart life to

the languishing vegetation. Notwithstanding the fact that I knew

the Latter-day Saints, or Mormons, were looked upon as filth, in

fact as even worse than rubbish, that they had been called the very

off-scourings of the earth, that they were regarded as deserving to be

put to death, yet from that very day I received their doctrine in or by

the spirit.

Now that sixty years have rolled by since the events here narrated;

that I have passed through mobbings, robbings, fines and penalties;

have been banished and once sentenced to death; Paul-like have fought

with wild beasts, have been shipwrecked and almost starved; have

famished on thirsty deserts; have had the scalping-knife wielded over

my head while the Indian warwhoop saluted my ears and the savage

warrior danced with tomahawk in hand, exulting over the victim intended

to be slain and scalped in trophy of victory; have laid in dungeons

for my religion's sake--thanks be to God that I yet live and bear a

faithful testimony of the truth and spirit that possessed my soul from

that first Gospel sermon I ever heard. I have listened to ministers of

various Christian denominations advocate good and virtuous principles,

but I never knew any of them to preach the fullness of the Gospel of

the Lord Jesus as did that humble Mormon Elder.

CHAPTER II.

PERSECUTED BY PLAYMATES--GIVE THEM AN EFFECTIVE CHECK--FIGHT

WITH WILD BEASTS--PARENTS JOIN THE MORMONS--THE AUTHOR HOLDS

BACK--ASSASSINATION OF JOSEPH AND HYRUM SMITH--MORMONS LEAVE ILLINOIS

FOR THE WEST--EXCITING TIMES--MY WINTER'S WORK--FATHER DECIDES TO

WAIT A WHILE BEFORE LEAVING ILLLNOIS--MY DETERMINATION TO GO WITH THE

MORMONS--CONFIDE A SECRET TO MY MOTHER--A NEW CONSULTATIONS--CHANGE IN

THE FAMILY PLANS--FATHER PREPARES TO START--GIVES ME PERMISSION TO

GO--THINKS OF LEAVING ME BECAUSE OF MY ILLNESS--I FEEL TO PREFER DEATH

TO BEING LEFT BEHIND.

FROM the very day my parents entertained the Latter-day Saint Elders in

their house my former playmates in the neighborhood commenced a crusade

on me, calling me a Mormon, and many hard names, whenever they met me.

When we gathered at the mill pond, our usual place of bathing, they

would baptize me, as they called it, in the name of Beelzebub; but I

called it drowning, for it seemed to me that when three or four of them

got me under the water they never knew when to let me up. Then when I

got out of the water they would mockingly "lay hands" on me in the name

of Beelzebub, going through a ceremony and at short intervals calling

"Pluck," when they would pull my hair with a severe twitch, and would

spit on me and laugh. Once my clothes were taken and thrown into a bed

of itching nettles, and when I tried to get them out with a pole I was

pushed in among the nettles. At the gristmill, also, they would punish

me in a shameful manner. At last I became so provoked that I went after

them with a strong jack-knife. Though some of them were eighteen or

nineteen years old, they ran off, fully convinced that I would have

hurt them if I could have caught them. The miller interposed and gave

them a severe reprimand. From that time they never tried to punish

me. My medicine had worked well, and thereafter I was looked on as a

leading boy among them.

During this period I had some perilous experiences with wild animals.

My father had a pet deer, and a bulldog owned by the family caught

it by the nose; I tried to get the dog off, when the frightened

deer kicked and tore my clothes almost off, lacerating my flesh

considerably. Soon after this the deer was followed, in the woods near

the house, by a large buck, which my father shot. The animal's shoulder

was broken, and I followed it to the millpond and sprang into the water

to hold it. As I seized its horn the buck, which had a footing, threw

me around, lacerating my left hand considerably. For a time my life

was in peril from the wild animal, but I struggled and finally used my

pocket knife on its throat. Some time after this episode a man named

John Bos shot and wounded a big buck near our home. It being night, he

came to the house for assistance, and father and I went out. The dogs

reached the buck, which charged on them, and as it was seized by the

nose by one of them father and I caught the buck's hind feet. It kicked

us free, and I had a close call from being severely if not fatally

hurt; but we returned to the attack, and finally secured the game.

As time went on the older people in our neighborhood took interest in

the Mormon Elders, and some of them joined the new Church, while others

became very intolerant and hostile. My parents and my eldest brother

and sister united with the Mormons; yet I held back, for though fully

in sympathy with what my relatives had done I did not consider myself

worthy to join, for I thought that to be a church member I must have

some great experience and see great lights, such as I had heard people

testify of. Thus I stayed out and watched developments.

Finally, in July, 1844, the news reached us that the Prophet Joseph

Smith and his brother Hyrum, the Patriarch, had been assassinated

in Carthage jail by a mob; also, that the Mormons had been ordered

to leave the state, and were going either to the Rocky Mountains,

California, or Vancouver Island. In fact, there were many kinds of

rumors afloat, and there was great excitement.

In the fall of 1845 permission was given me to go to a river town five

miles from home, to work at a slaughter and packing house, where my

cousin, Homer Jackson, and I got employment that season. We heard that

the Mormons were going to start west the next spring--in fact, their

purpose was a topic of frequent conversation. We returned home in the

latter part of January, 1846, and soon learned that the Church leaders

were leaving Nauvoo for a new home in the unknown western wilds, and

that every true Mormon was expected to join them as soon as possible.

Shortly after this, father called a family meeting to consider what

to do. It was a great venture to start out with a large family on

a journey of a thousand miles or more into an unknown wilderness,

among savage tribes; so after long discussion of the matter, it was

decided to be too great an undertaking at that particular time. It was

regarded as inadvisable to take the chances of starving to death in the

wilderness. Besides, property was very low, and it was folly to sell

out a good home at so great a sacrifice as seemed necessary.

When this decision was reached, father turned to me and said: "Well,

Jimmy, what do you think about it?" I answered that where the Mormons

went I would go, and where they died I would die. This was the first

time I had been asked a question, and as I was not a member of the

Church my reply surprised the others. Being inquired of as to how I

would go, I suggested that perhaps someone wanted a teamster, or maybe

there was some widow who would take a boy for his labor in return

for food and clothing. Father asked if I would leave the family and

go out west and starve; and he suggested that as I did not belong to

the Mormons they would not have me. To this I said I would join them,

and that my mind was made up to go with the Mormons at all hazards.

Then father ordered me to keep quiet, saying he would thrash me if I

talked of leaving home. This closed the discussion, for in those days

thrashing was the great panacea for disobedience, whether at home or

in the school room. But that threat clinched my resolve to go with the

Mormons even at the risk of life, for I was thoroughly satisfied of the

justice of their cause.

I said no more then, but at the first opportunity told my mother that

soon I would come up missing, as I was going with the Mormons, and

should hide if searched for, if I had to go among the Indians. Mother

said I would starve, but my reply was that I could live on what others

did. My mother was convinced that I would go, and her mother's heart

was as so touched that she could not withhold my secret from my father,

who believed, too, that I would do as I had said.

One evening, soon afterward, I overheard them talking of the matter.

Father said it would break up the family if they did not move west, for

Jim certainly would go; they were satisfied that the Mormon doctrines

were true, and thought that perhaps they had better make an effort to

sell out and move. My heart was filled with joy at these words.

When morning came, father set out to buy oxen, and was successful. He

also sold his farm but reserved the crop, as he had to wait till after

harvest for part of his pay for the land. He thought that by fitting

out two good teams, and providing wagons and tools, he and Alexander

Stephens (mother's brother) and two of his sisters (old maids), and

myself could go out into Iowa, where we could put in some corn and

build a cabin or two. Then my uncle and I could do the rest while

father returned, took care of the harvest, and brought up the family,

when we would follow the Church as best we could until a resting place

was found.

The way now seemed open. My father felt encouraged, and all went well

until a few days before the time for starting, when I was stricken down

with fever and ague, and shook or chilled every other day till the

first of May, at which time all was ready for moving. Efforts were made

to persuade me that I could not stand the journey, but should allow one

of the other boys to go in my stead. But I could not see it in that

light. While father was talking of the matter to mother I overheard

him say, "We will have to let James go, for he will not be satisfied

without, but he will get enough of it when he has had a few days, and

has camped out and shaken a few times with the ague." I thought to

myself, "You are mistaken, father, for I would rather die than be left

behind."

CHAPTER III.

START FOR NAUVOO--TAKEN SEVERELY ILL--THE LORD ANSWERS MY PRAYER

FOR RELIEF--PASS THROUGH CARTHAGE--IN NAUVOO "THE BEAUTIFUL,"

BUT ALMOST DESERTED CITY--SCENE ON THE IOWA SHORE--CROSS THE

MISSISSIPPI--CURIOUS MAKE-UP OF THE EXILES' TEAMS--THE BAD ROADS--STUCK

IN THE MUD--REPAIRING CAMPS--GOOD ORDER MAINTAINED--UNNECESSARY KILLING

OF GAME FORBIDDEN--REACH GRAND RIVER AND PUT IN A CROP--LEARN OF THE

CALL FOR THE MORMON BATTALION--APOSTLES AS RECRUITING OFFICERS--CALL

FOR VOLUNTEERS--RESPONSE BY THE CAMP--RECEIVED INTO THE CHURCH BY

BAPTISM--FILLED WITH THE LOVE OF THE GOSPEL--GET THE SPIRIT TO

ENLIST--CONSULT WITH MY RELATIVES AND EZRA T. BENSON--AN ELDER'S

PROMISE--JOIN THE MORMON BATTALION.

MAY 1st, 1846, was a pleasant day, and we made our start for Nauvoo,

passing through Versailles to a point some ten miles from home to the

first night's camp. I was encouraged to think I had kept so well, but

about ten o'clock the second day I began to shake, and my teeth fairly

to crack. I prayed earnestly to the Lord to heal me. I was quite weak,

and all thought me very sick. But that was the last "shake" I had, for

I began to get well from that time.

It was on May 4th, I believe, that we reached Nauvoo, having passed

through Mount Sterling, the county seat of Brown County, also through

Carthage, where the Prophet Joseph Smith and his brother the Patriarch

Hyrum Smith had been assassinated. We found the roads so muddy and such

hard traveling that we did not make more than fifteen miles a day. When

we came in sight of the Temple at Nauvoo our hearts were filled with

mingled joy and sorrow--joy that we had seen the Temple of the Lord,

and sorrow that the Saints had been so cruelly driven from it.

As we passed through the city we saw many houses which had been

abandoned--indeed, the city itself seemed almost deserted. At some of

the houses stood covered wagons, into which people were packing goods

preparatory to their flight into the wilderness, they knew not where.

Looking westward across the great Mississippi River, we saw long trains

of wagons strung out over the high rolling prairie. The country was

new, and the roads muddy, so we rested three or four days, visiting the

Temple and viewing the city that was beautiful for situation, but now

was left with few inhabitants. Everything in and about the city that

formerly hummed with industry and life was now lonely, saddened, and

forlorn, and silent but for the preparations for flight by the remnant

therein.

About the 8th of May we crossed the great "father of waters" and

joined the "rolling kingdom" on its westward journey. We found friends

and acquaintances, made up a company of our own, and passed and were

repassed on the trip. Climbing an eminence from which we looked east

and west, covered wagons could be seen as far as the eye could reach.

The teams were made up of oxen, milch cows, two-year-old steers and

heifers, and very few horses and mules. The teamsters were of both

sexes, and comprised young and old. The people who could walk did so,

and many were engaged in driving loose stock.

Hundreds of teams stuck in the mud, and we had to double-up and help

one another out. Many times we had to wade in mud half to our knees and

lift our wagons out of the mire. In this the women not infrequently

would join their husbands and sons, and the old adage came true in

numerous instances--women for a dead lift; when they plunged into the

mud and put their shoulders to the wheels the men were urged to do

double effort, and the wagon always rolled out and onward, at the rate

of twelve to fifteen miles per day.

At every creek we found campers, some repairing wagons, yokes, chains,

etc., doctoring sick cattle, washing clothes, or helping forward

friends whose teams were weak. In all this there was excellent order,

for the camps were organized in a general way by tens, fifties and

hundreds. Peace and harmony prevailed all along the line. Evening

prayers were attended to in each camp. There was much singing, mostly

of sacred hymns or sentimental songs; and from no quarter could coarse

songs be heard. Sometimes the camp would meet in a sociable dance in

the evenings, to drive dull care away; and then there always was good

order and the most perfect friendship and peace.

The camps were instructed not to kill game of any kind to waste its

flesh; they were not even to kill a snake on the road, for it was their

calling to establish peace on earth, and good will toward man and

beast. Thus all went on in peace and order.

At one of the headwaters of the Grand River, Iowa, we found some

hundreds of people putting in gardens and field crops (corn and

potatoes). A few cabins had been built, so father and our party decided

to stop there. We put in a few acres of corn and garden stuff, then

father returned to Illinois to bring up the rest of the family, leaving

my Uncle Alexander Stephens and myself to look after the crop and

stock, which we did faithfully.

About the 6th of July we heard that President Young and several of the

Twelve Apostles had returned from the most advanced companies, and

that there would be a meeting held at the white oak grove--the usual

place of meeting--the next day. There was also a rumor in camp that a

government recruiting officer had come to enlist volunteers, for the

United States had declared war against Mexico.

Of course this latter tidings was a great surprise, as the Mormons had

been denied protection against mob violence and had been forced beyond

the borders of civilization in the United States, and our camps were

stretched out in an Indian country, from the Mississippi River to the

Missouri. Surprised as we were at the government's demand, we were

still more so to think that our leaders would entertain for a moment

the idea of encouraging compliance therewith. Yet rumor said that

President Young and the prominent men with him had come as recruiting

officers as well.

All who could be spared from the tents went eagerly to the White Oak

grove, and there learned that the rumors were true. The United States

government demanded that a battalion of five hundred men be raised

by the Mormon Church, then fleeing from mob violence for the want of

protection by that government whose right and duty it was to protect

them. The men of the moving camp were required to leave their families

in the wilderness, almost unprotected, and go to a foreign land to

fight their country's battles.

But wonders never cease. The leading men among the Mormons--Brigham

Young, Heber C. Kimball, Wilford Woodruff, and others of the Twelve

Apostles--stood before the people and called for volunteers to engage

in the Mexican war, saying that the five hundred men must be raised if

it took the whole strength of the camp to do it. If the young men would

not enlist, the middle-aged and old men would, said President Young;

the demand of our country should be met if it took the Twelve Apostles

and the High Priests.

At the close of the meeting there were many who were enthused, while

others appeared confused and did not seem to catch the spirit of

the matter. I was not yet a member of the Church, but all the old

stories of the war of the Revolution and that of 1812, with the later

Black Hawk Indian wars, brightened in my memory so that the spirit

of the patriots awoke within me, and although I was averse to war

and bloodshed, I had a desire to serve my country in any legitimate

way. Yet I felt that, as I was under age, and, as my Uncle Alexander

Stephens had decided to enlist, the responsibility of my father's

affairs now rested on me.

My uncle and I were standing by the roadside talking over the

situation, when along came Ezra T. Benson, who had been recently

selected as one of the Twelve Apostles; there also came Richmond

Louder, one of my associates from boyhood, and Matthew Caldwell.

Richmond Louder and I had talked previously of being baptized together.

He said they were going down to attend to that sacred ordinance, and

invited me to accompany them, which I did gladly. We went to the south

fork of the Grand River, and with Uncle A. Stephens as a witness were

baptized. This was on the 7th of July, 1846. Then we went to the house

of General Charles C. Rich, where we were confirmed, I think under the

hands of Elders Willard Richards and Ezra T. Benson, in the presence of

President Brigham Young and others of the Twelve Apostles.

This done, the happiest feeling of my life came over me. I thought I

would to God that all the inhabitants of the earth could experience

what I had done as a witness of the Gospel. It seemed to me that, if

they could see and feel as I did, the whole of humankind would join

with us in one grand brotherhood, and the universe would be prepared

for the great Millennial morn.

When we returned to camp, my aunts partook of the same feeling that

had filled me. Then I got the spirit to enlist, and after a short

consultation with those most concerned they advised me to lay the

matter before Ezra T. Benson. Accordingly, the next morning Uncle A.

Stephens and I went over to the grove. I told the Elder my feelings,

and the responsibilities left upon me by my father. Elder Benson said

the Spirit's promptings to me were right, and I had started right. He

told me to go on, saying I would be blessed, my father would find

no fault with me, his business would not suffer, and I would never be

sorry for the action I had taken or for my enlistment. Every word he

said to me has been fulfilled to the very letter.

Uncle Alexander Stephens and I then went to a tent where men were

giving in their names as volunteers. We handed in our names, and were

enrolled as members of the historic Mormon Battalion.

CHAPTER IV.

START FOR THE BATTALION RENDEZVOUS--A JOURNEY OF HARDSHIP--IN THE

MORMONS' CAMP ON THE MISSOURI RIVER--FIRST EXPERIENCES IN THE

ARMY--BLESSED BY APOSTLES--PROPHETIC ADDRESS BY PRESIDENT BRIGHAM

YOUNG--THE BATTALION STARTS ON ITS LONG JOURNEY--DOING CAMP

DUTY--HEAVY STORMS AND INSUFFICIENT RATIONS--HARD EXPERIENCES--AT FORT

LEAVENWORTH--MEXICAN MULES AS A CURE FOR EGOTISM--COLONEL ALLEN TAKEN

ILL--ON THE SANTA FE ROAD--SUFFERING FROM THIRST--SICKNESS AMONG THE

TROOPS--DR. G.B. SANDERSON, A TYRANNICAL QUACK--ARMY MERCHANTS--ORDER

OF MARCHING.

IT was about one o'clock in the afternoon of July 9 when we bade our

friends an affectionate farewell, and started on what we understood to

be a journey of one hundred and thirty-eight miles, to join the army

of the United States at our country's call. We had provisions enough

put up to last us on our trip. The night previous our old clothes

had received the necessary repairs. Our preparations were hasty and

incomplete, for we had been told (by an unauthorized person, as we

afterwards learned) that when we got to Sarpy's Point, on the Missouri

River, we would draw uniforms, clothing, blankets, and rations, and

would have to cast aside our old clothes.

Our initial trip was begun without a blanket to wrap ourselves in,

as we thought we could find shelter in the camps along the line of

march. But in this we were mistaken, for everybody seemed to have

all they could do to shelter their own. The first night we camped on

the bank of a small stream, where we fell in with twelve or fifteen

other volunteers who had not so much as a bit of bread, but plenty of

assurance in asking for what others had. We divided with them, then

scraped what leaves we could and laid down thereon, with a chunk of

wood for our pillow. Next morning we divided our last morsel of food

with what we learned later were the very roughest element of the

battalion.

For five days we journeyed, much of the time in heavy rain and deep

mud, sleeping on the wet ground without blankets or other kind of

bedding, and living on elm bark and occasionally a very small ration

of buttermilk handed to us by humane sisters as we passed their tents.

We thought our experience was pretty rough, but I do not remember that

I heard murmuring from the lips of anyone, for we felt that we were in

the service of God and our country.

When we reached the Missouri River we found that some four hundred men

had rendezvoused there. In the camps of the Latter-day Saints, close

by, there were some thousands of men, women and children; a brush

bowery had been erected, where the people met for religious worship.

We soon found friends who welcomed us to camp, and we were invited to

a social dance and farewell party. We had excellent music, the best

dinner that the country could afford, and, above all, a spirit of

brotherly love and union that I have never seen surpassed. With all on

the altar of sacrifice for God and His kingdom and for our country, it

seemed that everything and everybody looked to the accomplishment of

one grand, common cause, not a dissenting voice being heard from anyone.

July 16, 1846, we were mustered into the service of the United States,

and, under command of Col. James Allen, marched down the bluffs to the

Missouri bottoms, where we camped in a cottonwood grove. Some flour

and other provisions were issued to us, and we peeled the bark off

a tree for a bread tray or kneading trough. Some rolled their dough

around sticks and stuck or held it before the fire, and others baked

their bread in the ashes; for we had not yet drawn any camp equipage.

We received one blanket apiece, and had that charged up, the amount to

be taken out of our pay.

I am not writing a history of the Mormon Battalion, but am relating my

individual experiences in that detachment of the United States army, as

I recollect them; so it will not be expected of me to tell much of what

others saw, or to narrate events as they remember them, but as they

impressed themselves upon my mind at the time of occurrence.

Just before our last farewell to friends at the Missouri River, and

preparatory to taking up our line of march, we were formed into a

hollow square, and President Brigham Young, with Heber C. Kimball and

others of the Apostles, came to our camp, rode into the square, and

gave us parting blessings and instructions. The words of President

Young, as they fastened themselves upon my memory, were in substance as

follows: "Now, brethren, you are going as soldiers at your country's

call. You will travel in a foreign land, in an enemy's country; and

if you will live your religion, obey your officers, attend to your

prayers, and as you travel in an enemy's land, hold sacred the property

of the people, never taking anything that does not belong to you only

in case of starvation; though you may be traveling in an enemy's

country, do not disturb fruit orchards or chicken coops or beehives, do

not take anything but what you pay for--although it is customary for

soldiers to plunder their enemies in time of war, it is wrong--always

spare life when possible; if you obey this counsel, attending to

your prayers to the Lord, I promise you in the name of the Lord God

of Israel that not one soul of you shall fall by the hands of the

enemy. You will pass over battlefields; battles will be fought in your

front and in your rear, on your right hand and on your left, and your

enemies shall flee before you. Your names shall be held in honorable

remembrance to the latest generation."

Heber C. Kimball and other prominent men of the Church confirmed what

President Young had said, and all bade us an affectionate farewell,

with "God bless you and spare your lives."

Thus we set out in good cheer on our journey of more than two thousand

miles in a section of the continent wholly unknown to us.

In the month of July, from about the 20th, we passed down through the

towns and villages along the river, for two hundred miles, to Fort

Leavenworth. The heat was excessive, and the roads dusty, when we

started out. A great part of the way we had only a small ration of

food, for it did not seem to be in the country, and we suffered much

from want. We took regular turns in standing guard around the camp and

in herding the stock. Heavy rains came on, and for several days we

pressed forward amid such terrible storms as I never had experienced

before. With less than half rations, and that badly or insufficiently

cooked, from lack of proper utensils and experience, and having to lie

on the ground without any bedding save one blanket each, it is a wonder

the entire camp were not down sick instead of a few. But with all this

hardship there were no desertions and few complaints. Everything seemed

to move harmoniously among the men.

The command crossed the river at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, and soon

afterwards we drew a tent to each mess of six men. This afforded us

great relief at nights, protecting us from the dews and rain; but in

the daytime the whiteness of the tents seemed to intensify the heat so

that there was no comfort in them. While at Fort Leavenworth we washed

our old clothing and made ourselves as comfortable as possible. Soon we

drew camp equipage and rations from the government. We got flintlock

muskets, and accoutrements consisting of bayonets, cartridge-boxes,

straps and belts, canteens, haversacks, etc., also a knapsack each.

We drew our first pay, forty-two dollars each, sent part of it to our

families, and fitted ourselves out with new clothes and shoes.

With all the paraphernalia of soldiers, we seemed so burdened as to

be able neither to run nor to fight. Then to be obliged to travel all

day under a broiling sun, or in driving rain or fierce winds, across

sandy deserts and over trackless mountains, going sometimes sixty to

ninety miles without water, in an enemy's country--kind reader, you

may picture such scenes in your imagination, but it is impossible for

you to realize the conditions except by actual experience therein.

It is equally impossible for me to find language to describe fitly

the situation at that time at the United States military post of Fort

Leavenworth.

The place being an outfitting station for United States forces in the

war with Mexico, all was bustle and activity; steamboats were unloading

material, and teams filled the streets; many of the new recruits

were very rough indeed, and drinking and fighting seemed to be their

pastime; myself and companions were amazed and shocked at the profane

and vulgar language and vile actions that we were compelled to listen

to and witness; with all else, squads of soldiers were being drilled,

the bugle sound was frequent, as were also the beating of the drum and

the playing of the fife; everywhere the men were preparing for victory

or death, and many were so reckless they did not seem to care which

came.

As our battalion was preparing quietly for the great march before us,

a band of very small Mexican mules was brought in to be used as teams

in our transportation department. The animals were unaccustomed to

harness, and very wild, so there was a detail of men from each company

assigned to do the harnessing. It fell to my lot to engage in the work,

and great was my surprise to see one of those little mules dragging

three to five men about the yards. I thought I was able to handle one

of the little long-eared animals myself, but had the conceit taken out

of me in quick order by having my hands burned with the rope, as I

was jerked and dragged about in fertilizer in the yards--there being

an abundance there. But we accomplished our work, with some sport and

considerable cost to our patience and muscular energy.

From the 10th to the 15th of August, companies A, B, and C moved out on

the Santa Fe road, and in two or three days were followed by companies

D and E. Our esteemed colonel, James Allen, having been taken ill,

ordered Captain Jefferson Hunt of company A to take command until the

colonel should recover and settle up the business of outfitting the

battalion.

Our route lay over rolling hills, through some timbered country and

some prairie. The weather was warm, and there was much suffering,

especially from lack of drinking water, this being scarce. The sick

felt the hardship particularly, and there was quite a number down with

chills and fever; such water as was obtainable was of poor quality,

warm and unhealthy, and added to the number of the sick.

Each company had a large wagon and three or four yoke of oxen to haul

the tents and camp equipage, and one issue of rations, I think it was

for one week. The government had assigned a doctor to our command,

George B. Sanderson of Platte County, Missouri. He proved to be so

cruel and tyrannical as to incur the ill-will of every man in the

command. He had immediate charge of the hospital wagons, and no matter

how ill a man was, he was not allowed to ride in the company's wagon

until he had reported to this cruel quack, who had to be honored with

the title of physician and surgeon. With his permission a man was

allowed to crawl into his company's wagon, which was filled nearly to

the bows with tents and other camp equipage. Sometimes there would be

five or six crowded in together, some shaking with ague and others

burning with fever. Our company wagon was called the Gray Eagle; John

Gilbert was the teamster, and did all in his power to favor those of

his comrades who deserved it.

Besides the company and hospital wagons, there were sutlers' or

merchants' wagons--speculators that are permitted to follow the army

for what they can make off the troops. They carry in stock such

things as they know from experience the soldier most needs, and many

luxuries; they had almost everything to entice the famishing soldier,

who had to stand guard over them and their stores. Many times, through

hardships, we seemed compelled to patronize them. Our suffering was

their opportunity, and they were not slow to take advantage of it.

Their prices were enormous, and their bills never failed to reach the

paymaster by each payday; after these were paid, the soldier came in

for the balance, if there was any. Some were very unfortunate through

sickness, and had to patronize the sutler, or merchant; others were

unwise in their purchases; and thus the eight dollars a month wages

often was spent before it was earned.

Our commissary and ammunition department included over a hundred

wagons; the three or four pieces of artillery followed close in our

rear, in charge of a wagonmaster and assistants.

The usual order of marching, as I remember it, was: an advance guard;

then the colonel and his staff; next came the body of the command; then

a rearguard, the baggage and hospital wagons, etc. Only on special

occasions was the main body of the battalion permitted to march at

will, as long as it remained between the front and rear guards. When

the country was specially rough, and roads had to be made, the road

hands, or, in military language, the sappers and miners, were allowed

extra rations, and had to start out very early with the advance guard.

CHAPTER V.

CROSSING OF THE KAW RIVER--INDIAN FARMERS--FIERCE STORM ON STONE COAL

CREEK--CROSSING A CREEK WITH PRECIPITOUS BANKS--RUINS OF AN ANCIENT

CITY--WAGONLOAD OF SICK UPSET IN A STREAM--SAD NEWS OF COL. ALLEN'S

DEATH--DISPUTE OVER HIS SUCCESSOR--MILITARY RULES DISREGARDED IN

SETTLING THE QUESTION--TROOPS DISSATISFIED--SICKNESS IN CAMP--HARSHNESS

OF THE NEW COMMANDER, LIEUTENANT COLONEL SMITH--BRUTALITY OF THE

DOCTOR--DOSES OF OBJECTIONABLE MEDICINE IN AN OLD IRON SPOON--IN THE

COMANCHE INDIAN COUNTRY--ABUSE FROM LIEUTENANT COLONEL SMITH--SCARCITY

OF FUEL--BUFFALO CHIPS--COOKING FOOD UNDER GREAT DIFFICULTIES--INCREASE

OF SICKNESS--UP THE GRAND VALLEY OF THE ARKANSAS--DETACHMENT OF SICK

SENT TO PUEBLO--MIRAGES--HERDS OF BUFFALO--ON THE SICK LIST--REACH THE

ROCKY MOUNTAINS--PREHISTORIC RUINS--IN MEXICAN VILLAGES--ARRIVAL AT

SANTA FE.

WE crossed the Kaw River about the 17th of August, being ferried over

in flat boats by some half civilized Delaware and Shawnee Indians.

Where we crossed the river it was from three to four hundred yards

wide. The country in the neighborhood seemed to be well adapted to

farming. The Indians had good crops of corn and watermelons, and knew

as well as white men how to charge for them. These Indians were an

intelligent-looking people, having log cabins for dwellings.

From the Kaw we traveled to Spring Creek, over a beautiful country, and

there joined the companies that had preceded us. We met with rainstorms

that made it very disagreeable for us at night, when two of us would

spread one blanket and lie down on it. It would wet through at once;

and though we had tents over us, we often slept on the wet ground, in

wet clothes.

Moving onward to Stone Coal Creek, we there endured one of the severest

storms of wind and rain that any of us ever had experienced. Nearly

every tent was blown down; several government wagons were overturned,

and others were sent rolling before the wind as though they were

express or stage coaches; many men fell on their faces and held to

the shrubbery to avoid being carried away by the violence of the

hurricane, while others not so fortunate as to be able to catch hold

of a shrub were driven some rods before the blast. Some were bruised

and others badly frightened, but none received serious injury; and

although everybody was thoroughly soaked, not even the sick seemed to

be unfavorably affected in health by their experience.

The storm over and our clothing dried, we resumed our march. Coming to

a deep creek with precipitous banks, we had to hold the wagons back

with ropes and let them down gradually to the bed of the stream; then

a number of men with ropes, on the opposite side, assisted the teams

in drawing the wagons up the steep bank. We passed over some very fine

land to a place we named Allen's Grove, and camped. Next day we came

to the ruins of a city of the dim, distant past; the stone walls were

yet visible to the traveler. That night we rested on Beaver Creek. On

the 25th or 26th, while traveling through a beautiful country of rich

soil, one wagon with five or six people was upset into a creek, and

the occupants received a dangerous ducking, though I do not recall any

serious results following.

It was on this day that a messenger from Fort Leavenworth overtook us,

bringing the sorrowful news of the death of our esteemed commander,

Colonel James Allen. It was a sad blow to us, for all had learned to

respect, and, indeed, even to love him. Yet I have felt sometimes that

it was a kind providence to him that he was taken from us, for his

nature was too kind and sympathetic to have forced his men through what

the Mormon Battalion had to endure before reaching its destination.

Colonel Allen's death left a vacancy in the command that was not

difficult to fill according to military rules, as the next officer

in rank should have occupied his place. But plain as is the military

law on the subject, there arose a dispute, and much feeling was

worked up. The council of officers decided that, as Captain Jefferson

Hunt of company A had been placed in charge by Colonel Allen till the

latter should rejoin the command, he should continue in that position.

Accordingly, he led the battalion to Council Grove, where it was

learned that Lieutenant Colonel Smith was on the way, intending to

assume command. Thus the quiet of the camp was again disturbed, and

much feeling manifested. There were many warm discussions between the

officers and among the soldiers as well.

It was at Council Grove that Lieutenant Colonel Smith, Major Walker,

and G. B. Sanderson overtook us. The question of command was further

discussed, Captain Hunt standing up for his rights. But in the council,

Captain Nelson Higgins of Company D (my company) moved that Smith

should be recognized as the commanding officer; this was seconded by

Captain Davis of Company E; all the officers but three, viz.: Laron

Clark, Samuel Gully, and Wesley W. Willis, voted for the motion, and

the question was settled. Lieutenant Colonel A. J. Smith took command,

to the disgust of the soldiers, a large majority of whom, if not all,

were quite dissatisfied. Next day we reached Diamond Springs, where the

battalion was inspected by Lieutenant Colonel Smith.

At this time there was much sickness in camp, chills and fever and

mumps. This condition was produced by frequent changes of drinking

water, and by poorly-cooked food, as many times we had to depend on

dry weeds for fuel. When a man became sick, it had been the custom for

him to crawl into the company wagon. Our new commander soon dropped

on the kindness of the teamster, and put an end to it without mercy.

The commander was so rough and ungentle, and had so much pomposity and

assurance, that the whole command was disgusted, and almost all were

angry. He ordered the sick out of the wagons, and directed that before

they could ride they must be reported by the doctor as unable to walk,

and had to take a dose of the doctor's drugs from his old rusty spoon.

We soon began to realize that we had fallen into bad hands.

The doctor often talked to the men as though they were brutes. He was

very unfeeling, and the men would not respond to his sick call ("Jim

along, Josey") when it was possible for them to walk alone. When we

stopped he would sit in front of his tent with his book on his knee, a

long chest of medicine before him, a colored man for his body servant,

and a hospital steward standing in front of the wagon. At sick call,

everyone who could not walk had to be taken before the doctor's tent,

and there be seated or laid down, sometimes on the wet ground, then,

like going to a mill, wait for his grist, or dose of calomel. There

was not much chance to miss it, for, when a man's name was called and

responded to, the hospital steward was ordered to give him such and

such a dose, and the old iron spoon, with its contents of we knew

not what, was presented in the presence of the doctor. Under these

circumstances we began to feel at least the rigors of military rule.

About this time we entered the Comanche Indian country, and on

September 2 camped on Cottonwood Creek. The Indians were said to be

very hostile, yet we had no trouble with them. I think it was here that

we began to see signs of buffalo, and the prairie dog villages. Timber

was very scarce, and the country was more uninviting than that we had

passed over.

Shortly after Lieutenant Colonel Smith took command we were drawn up

in line, and some military laws were read to us. At the end of almost

every sentence there was the word death, as punishment for infraction

of the law. We were then talked to in a most offensive and domineering

manner, until some of us began to wonder what we had done to merit such

severity and downright abuse.

We were tired and footsore, and suffered much from lack of water. The

country showed such a sameness of forbidding features that the journey

became very monotonous and tiresome. Fuel was so scarce that we had to

dig trenches two or three feet long, and eight or ten inches wide and

a foot deep, fill these with dry grass, and start a fire and pile on

buffalo chips, with which to do our cooking. The result was our food

often was half raw and badly smoked, and many of the men were brought

down with severe diarrheal complaints. As many had traveled the road in

advance of us, even buffalo chips for fuel were so scarce that often we

had to go for miles to gather them.

When we reached Pawnee Fork we found it a very difficult stream to

cross. The wagons had to be let down the steep bank with ropes, by the

men, and had to be taken up the opposite bank in the same manner.

The events narrated here will indicate that it is not all of a

soldier's duty when on a long march to tramp all day with musket and

accoutrements and knapsack, but the soldier on such a journey as we

had must push and pull wagons up hill, hold them back when going down

hill, haul them through deep sands, and help them and the teams out

of quicksands; he must stand guard and night-herd stock; must press

on, over rough or smooth ground, rain or shine; must wade rivers, and

when crossing streams is not allowed to take off his clothing, but has

to plunge into the water, and then travel on in wet clothes; besides,

there are many other experiences that are far from pleasant.

We pushed along the best we could to the Arkansas River, through a

very uninviting country, in which we began to find brackish water and

saleratus. We traveled up the broad river bottoms of the Arkansas

eighty to one hundred miles, the water being poor and unhealthy. Many

were added to the corps of "Jim along, Joseys," and had to be led or

carried by their comrades to the unfeeling doctor, many times to be

cursed at by him, and then to take a dose from his nauseating spoon.

Quite a number of the sick were badly salivated by the drugs given them.

About September 15 or 16, we crossed the river where the roads fork,

one going toward Fort Benton, and the other leading to Santa Fe. There

we parted with Captain Nelson Higgins, he having been detailed to take

a small squad of men and the families to a Spanish town called Pueblo,

some hundred miles away, there to winter. Meanwhile, we pushed our

way over barren plains and sandy deserts to the Cimmaron River. We

saw deceptive rivers, ponds and lakes; we chased after them for miles

sometimes, till we found that, like jack o' lantern or will o' the

wisp, we could not get nearer to them. Finally we learned that they

were mirages--a peculiar reflection of the sun upon the great plains or

sandy deserts. It seemed impossible for the inexperienced to discern

the difference between the mirage and a body of real water.

In this barren country we saw immense herds of buffalo; in our long

march we came to ponds of water made perfectly filthy by the buffalo,

and rendered offensive by the broiling hot sun, the liquid being almost

as thick as gruel; but we were so terribly famished with thirst that we

were glad to get even such foul water.

When the Cimmaron River was reached, there was good water, and good

feed for our stock, but our rations were reduced one-third, and we were

pretty well worn down.

On the 18th or 19th of September it was my place to be on guard. I had

stood the journey very well, but by this time had become affected by

the alkali, and that day was so badly afflicted with diarrhea as to be

almost unable to drag myself into camp. But rather than march to "Jim

along, Josey," I took my place on guard. That night there came on one

of the most terrible storms I ever have experienced. I had to brace

myself with my musket to stand. From that date I have never been free

from pain in the right limb, near the instep, caused by the severe

exposure. Next day it became necessary to go on the sick list, to

remain several days.

About the 23rd we began to come to timber in the hills, and having been

for nine or ten days with nothing but grass and buffalo chips for fuel,

we were in a situation to appreciate the change. Soon we were among the

sandhills, where traveling was hard, and passed the Rabbit Ears (Black

Peak and Agua Fria Peak), two high mountain peaks. In this mountainous

region we found traces of the inhabitants of a past age, in old stone

walls and in numerous' irrigation canals long since dry.

On the 2nd or 3rd of October we came to the Red River. The mountain

air was bracing, but there were many men who yet remained sick. About

this time the command was culled over by Lieutenant Colonel Smith and

the doctor, and all who were considered able to stand a forced march to

Santa Fe were ordered forward on the double quick.

The sick men were left to take care of themselves as best they could,

with the broken down teams of the command to look after. My lot was

still with the invalids, and of course I had to remain. Yet we were

only about two days behind the strong men who left us in the mountains;

we reached Santa Fe on October 12th, having passed through several

Mexican villages, the houses of which were low and flat-roofed, and

covered principally with cement and tile. We saw the very small Mexican

sheep and goats, the people milking the latter, by sitting at the back

end, in an earthen pot, and there milking regardless of anything that

might drop into the vessel intended for milk only.

From the appearance of Santa Fe we had no reason to doubt that it was

between three and four hundred years old; for it looked at least that

far behind the times. Mexicans and Indians, badly mixed, made up the

population. Their costume, manners, habits, and in fact everything,

were both strange and novel to us, and of course were quite an

attraction. Many of the people looked on us with suspicion, and if

it had been in their power no doubt they would have given us a warm

reception; others appeared to be pleased, doubtless because it made

trade better for them, and on that account they seemed very friendly.

They brought into camp, for sale, many articles of food; the strongest

of these were red pepper pies, the pepper-pods as large as a teacup, and

onions (savoyas) as large as saucers, to be eaten raw like turnips.

A few days' rest and change of food at Santa Fe, and the command was

ready to resume its arduous march.

CHAPTER VI.

EXEMPLAR'S CONDUCT OF THE MORMON TROOPS--LIEUTENANT COLONEL

P. ST. GEORGE COOKE ARRIVES AND ASSUMES COMMAND--A WELCOME

CHANGE--ANOTHER DETACHMENT OP SICK, ALSO THE LAUNDRESSES, SENT TO

PUEBLO--SELECTING MEN TO CONTINUE THE JOURNEY TO CALIFORNIA--REDUCING

THE BAGGAGE--DIFFICULTIES OF THE 1,100 MILES JOURNEY AHEAD--POOR

EQUIPMENT THEREFOR--LEAVE SANTA FE--ROADS OF HEAVY SAND--ON ONE-THIRD

RATIONS--HARDSHIPS INCREASE--GALLED FEET AND GNAWING STOMACHS--MORE

SICK MEN FOR PUEBLO--LEAVING THE LAST WAGONS--MULES AND OXEN IN A PACK

TRAIN--IN AN UNKNOWN COUNTRY--HUNTING A PASS OVER THE MOUNTAINS--ALARM

OF AN ENEMY--A BEAVER DAM--CROSSING THE RIO GRANDE DEL NORTE--GREAT

SUFFERING AMONG THE TROOPS.

WHILE we were in Santa Fe, Colonel Sterling Price came in with his

cavalry command, and soon the town prison was filled with them, so that

it became necessary for a guard from the Mormon Battalion to be posted

at the prison. I do not recall that any of our command was put into the

prison, though it is possible one or two might have been, for a few of

them got rather too much wine; but it was a very few who acted that

way. There were many invalids of other commands left to garrison Santa

Fe, and they caused considerable disturbance, many of them getting into

prison.

It seems that word had gone ahead to the Mexican town that the Mormons

were a very hard class of outlaws, consequently at first we were looked

upon as "toughs" of the very worst kind. But when the people had an

opportunity to see our superior conduct in contrast with that of the

other troops, they realized the true situation, and male and female

thronged our camp in friendly visit.

It was on October 13, 1846, that Lieutenant Colonel P. St. George Cooke

assumed command of the Mormon Battalion, having been designated for

that purpose, and by this proceeding we were liberated from the little

tyrant Lieutenant Colonel A. J. Smith.

By order of Colonel Cooke, Captain James Brown of Company C took

command of all the sick that were unable to continue the journey to

California; also of most of the laundresses, and a few able-bodied

men, with directions to go north to Pueblo, and join Captain Higgins.

In order to determine who were not able to continue the march to

California, we were drawn up in line, and the officers and Dr.

Sanderson inspected the whole command. The doctor scrutinized every one

of us, and when he said a man was not able to go, his name was added to

Captain Brown's detachment, whether the man liked it or not; and when

the doctor said a man could make the trip, that settled the matter. The

operation was much like a cooper culling stave timber, or a butcher

separating the lean from the fat sheep.

My desire was very strong to continue the overland journey, and when

the doctor neared me, I braced up and tried to look brave and hardy.

To the doctor's inquiry, "How do you feel?" my answer was, "First

rate." He looked at me suspiciously and said, "You look d--d pale and

weak," then passed on, and I was greatly relieved at having gone safely

through the inspection.

In order No. 8, Colonel Cooke called the particular attention of the

company commanders to the necessity of reducing baggage as much as

possible; that means for transportation were very deficient; that the

road was almost impracticable, much of it being in deep sand, and

how soon we would have to abandon our wagons it was impossible to

ascertain; that skillets and ovens could not be taken, and but one

camp-kettle to each mess of ten men.

Colonel Cooke very properly and correctly pointed out that everything

seemed to conspire to discourage the extraordinary undertaking of

marching the battalion 1,100 miles, for the much greater part of the

way through an unknown wilderness, without road or trail, and with a

wagon train. He said the battalion was much worn by traveling on foot,

marching from Nauvoo, Illinois; their clothing was very scant, there

was no money to pay them, or clothing to issue; the mules were utterly

broken down; the quartermaster's department was out of funds and its

credit bad; animals were scarce, and those procured were inferior and

deteriorating every hour from the lack of forage. All this made it

necessary that such careful preparation as could be should be made in

advance.

It can be easily seen from this statement that the condition and

prospects of the battalion were not very encouraging; yet there

were very few of the men who had the least desire to retrace their

steps--they knew what they had passed through, but looking ahead they

tried to hope for the best, realizing, just as they had been told, that

the country through which they had to travel was an unknown region.

With the colonel's orders carried out, we got ready to move, and about

the 21st of October we left Santa Fe and traveled six or eight miles

to a stream called Agua Fria (cold water). Grass for animals was very

short, the nights were very cold, and our road was in heavy sand almost

from the start. Our advance was slow, for the best teams had been taken

for extra service or express duties in other departments. Besides,

there was added to our already overburdened animals the load of sacks,

packsaddles, lashing-ropes, etc., necessary in the event of being

compelled to abandon the wagons, so we would not be entirely without

means of transportation. There was also the burden of sheep pelts and

blankets to use under pack saddles, and as most of these were bought

second-hand, they were well stocked with the insects commonly called

"greybacks."

In a short time we drew near to the mountains, and the weather became

colder. Having but one blanket each we began to use the pelts and

saddle-blankets to splice out our scanty store of bedding. Thus

we proceeded over sandy roads, through the towns and villages of

Spaniards, Indians and Greasers--the surroundings presented being of

such a sameness that the journey became very monotonous.

Soon after leaving Santa Fe our rations were reduced to one-third

the regular amount allowed by law to the soldier. A detail of men

was called as a substitute for mules, to move and to lighten the

loads of the ammunition wagons. Each soldier was required to carry

sixty-four rounds of cartridges that contained each a one-ounce ball,

three buck-shot, and powder enough to send them where they should be,

besides the heavy paper they were wrapped in, and extra flints for the

firelock--about two hundred ounces added to the already overburdened

soldier.

Now the soldier must wade the tributaries of the Rio Grande del Norte,

sometimes waist deep and more, and is not allowed even to take off his

shoes, or any of his wearing apparel. An officer, perched on his white

mule on some point or eminence overlooking the whole command, with a

hawk's eye for keen military experience, calls to this or that squad of

men, with a horrid oath, as if they were brutes; often he curses the

men until they long for a battle where perchance someone would remember

the tyrant with an ounce ball and three buckshot. And yet, if that

feeling were not quenched in the soldier's bosom it would not require

an engagement with the enemy to accomplish the deed. But, praise God,

that feeling quickly passed off as the men marched along, their clothes

wet, and their thick soled cowhide army shoes partly filled with

sand--the chafing and galling of the flesh without and the gnawing and

grinding of the stomach within defied the mind to dwell upon any one

subject for long at a time.

Is it any wonder that under these conditions fifty-five of our comrades

wore down and collapsed so they had to go on the sick list and it

became necessary for Lieutenant W. W. Willis to take command of that

number of invalid soldiers, and join Captains Higgins and Brown at

Pueblo? This company of sick and exhausted men left us, on their

return, about the 10th or 12th of November.

About this time, the quartermaster was ordered to leave the remaining

two heavy ox-wagons, while the company commanders were directed to

reduce their tent-poles two-thirds; that is, to cast away all the

upright poles and use muskets instead, and to put gores in the back

part of the tents so they could shelter nine men in place of six; we

were also to leave one-third of the campkettles.

Then came some sport in putting packs on a number of our mules and

worn-out oxen. Some of these, which did not look as though they could

travel a hundred miles further, when the crupper was put in place would

rear up, wheel around, and kick in a most amusing style; nor did they

cease until their strength failed them.

When this sport, if sport it may be called, was over we began to

realize in a small degree the gravity of our situation. Our guides

were "at sea," so to speak. We were in an enemy's land, with not a

soul in camp who knew anything of the country. Men had been sent ahead

to hunt a route for us to travel, and every time, on their return,

they reported impassable barriers ahead--rough, high, steep mountains,

without springs of water or creeks, or sandy plains, and barren deserts

that it would be impossible to cross. In this dilemma we had to bear to

the south, along the river, in hopes of finding a pass to the west.

One night, while camped near the Rio Grande del Norte, we heard a great

noise as though a band of horses were crossing the river. This created

quite an alarm, as there had been rumors of Mexicans revolting. For a

short time it was thought it was Mexican cavalry crossing to attack

us by night, but on the colonel making inquiries of the guides it was

learned that the noise proceeded from beaver playing in the river.

After watching and listening for a time, all settled down, contented

that there was no enemy at hand.

On resuming our march next day, we passed through a grove of cottonwood

trees, and saw where many of them had been cut down by the beaver. Some

of the trees were two feet or more in diameter, had been cut off in

long sections, and a surprisingly large dam had been constructed by the

beaver across the river. This dam had caused to be formed a large pond,

in which the beaver congregated at certain seasons, for sport. Thus the

mystery of our midnight disturbance was solved to our satisfaction.

We passed along the sandy road to a large bend in the river, which

Colonel Cooke decided was the place where we would cross the stream. He

stationed himself on an abrupt point of rock, from which he could view

the whole proceeding. Men were detailed from each company to follow the

wagons through the river. In order to avoid a rocky ridge the stream

had to be crossed twice within quarter of a mile. There were very heavy

quicksands, and if the teams were allowed to stop one minute it was

doubtful whether they could start again; consequently the precaution of

having men close at hand was very important, though the average soldier

did not understand the real reason for forcing him into the water

without stripping off at least part of his raiment.

The crossing was made early in the day, and the water was very cold, as

I had ample evidence, being one of those detailed to attend the wagons.

Our comrades took our muskets over the point while we lifted at the

wagons. As the water was waist deep, when the men would stoop to lift

it would wet our clothing very nearly to the armpits; our shoes also

were filled with sand.

Wet and cold, almost chilled, we continued our march through deep

sands, pushing and pulling at the wagons till our clothing dried on our

bodies, our shoes became so dry and hard that walking was very painful

and difficult, and our feet became raw. If this had been all, we might

have had less reason to complain; but when an irritated officer (not

all the officers pursued such a reprehensible course, but a few of them

did) swore at us as if we were brutes, when we were already burdened

almost beyond endurance, it is no wonder there was an impulsive desire

to retaliate. For my own part, my feelings never were so outraged,

and the desire for revenge never ran so high and wild as then. But we

cooled down, though our physical sufferings were not lessened; as we

tramped on through the sands we became so weak it was almost impossible

to keep our ankles from striking together as we walked, and our hard

and dry shoetops would cut our ankles till the blood came.

CHAPTER VII.

PUSHING TO THE WEST--OVERHEARING A CONVERSATION WITH COL. COOKE--THE

COLONEL FEARS THE MEN WILL STARVE--NO BERRIES, NOT EVEN BARK OF TREES,

FOR FOOD--TRUE STATE OF AFFAIRS AS TO THE OUTLOOK KEPT FROM MOST

OF THE TROOPS--HIDES, INTESTINES, AND EVEN SOFT EDGES OF HOOFS AND

HORNS OF ANIMALS EATEN--"BIRD'S EYE SOUP."--IN A SNOWSTORM--RELICS

OF ANCIENT INHABITANTS--CAMPING WITHOUT WATER--OLD SILVER AND COPPER

MINES--HARDEST DAY OF THE JOURNEY--MEN APPEAR AS IF STRICKEN WITH

DEATH--THE WRITER SO ILL AS TO BE UNABLE To TRAVEL LONGER, AND

EXPECTS TO DIE--UNCLE ALEXANDER STEPHENS COMES WITH WATER AND REVIVES

HIM--AWFUL SUFFERING IN CAMP--REPORTED SICK NEXT MORNING--BRUTAL DR.

SANDERSON GIVES A DEADLY DOSE OF LAUDANUM, BUT THE WRITER VOMITS IT

AFTER BEING MADE FEARFULLY SICK--IN TERRIBLE DISTRESS FOR DAYS--HEALED

BY THE LAYING ON OF HANDS OF THE ELDERS OF THE CHURCH OF JESUS CHRIST

OF LATTER-DAY SAINTS.

IT was but a little while after this that we left the Rio Grande del

Norte, and pressed on toward the west. One day, while passing up a

brushy canyon, my place being with the advance guard, in the rear of

the road hands, I had occasion to step into the brush by the roadside.

While there, out of sight, Col. Cooke and staff and guides came along

and stopped right opposite me, so close that I dared not move lest they

should see me. As they came up, the colonel inquired of the guides if

there were no fruit or berries that men could live on; the reply was,

no, not a thing. They were talking about some place ahead that the

guides were acquainted with. The colonel then asked if there were no

trees that had bark something like elm bark, which men could live on

for a few days; but the answer was that there was neither fruit, roots

nor bark, that the country was a barren waste.

Upon receiving this information, the colonel exclaimed, "What can we

do?" In response, the suggestion was that the guides did not know

unless some of the stronger men and mules were sent on a forced march

to the first place in California, where they could get a bunch of beef

cattle and meet us on the desert with them. There was some further

conversation, when it was ended by the colonel exclaiming, with a

despairing oath, "I expect the men will starve to death!"

The deep gloom of sadness hung over those who knew of the situation.

All of the men, however, were not informed of the gravity of the

position we were in. At that time we were drawing less than half

rations. The fresh meat we had was more like glue or jelly than beef.

The plan had been adopted of slaughtering the weak cattle first, so

that the stronger animals could travel faster. When an animal became

too weak to hold up one end of a yoke, or to carry a packsaddle, it was

slaughtered, and the flesh issued to the men. Not a scrap of the animal

would be left on the ground; the hide, intestines--all was eaten; even

the tender or soft edges of the hoofs and horns would be roasted, and

gnawed at so long as a human being possibly could draw subsistence

therefrom. Many times we were without water to wash the offal. The

bones would be carried along, broken up, and boiled and re-boiled, in

some instances as long as there could be seen a single "bird's eye"

(the name given to solitary spots of grease that would come to the

surface) of grease rise on the water; then each man was eager for his

share.

Sometimes cattle became so weak that men were left with them to come

up to the command after night. On one occasion, when an old ox could

not be got into camp and had to be left four or five miles back, men

were sent bright and early next morning, to bring him in. It snowed

that night, and in camp things generally were disagreeable. The ox was

brought in, slaughtered, and issued to us for rations. If any man had

failed to get his share of that white ox at that time there might have

been a row, but a fair distribution maintained peace. The place of our

camp was called White Ox Creek, and we laid by for one day to rest and

refresh ourselves.

From there we traveled over a rough country, but one that evidently

had been inhabited ages ago, for we found stone walls, pottery by the

acre, and old and dry canals--their former source of water having

disappeared. We found in a rock a deep and large hole with water

sufficient to supply the command; we secured it by drawing all night,

until everything was watered. Then we moved on, and next night camped

without water. We passed many old mines, supposed to be of silver and

copper, and there were said to be gold mines in the vicinity. Late at

night we traveled, and were on the march early the following morning.

All day we pressed forward as rapidly as possible, there being no

water, and late at night the command came to a place called Dry Lake.

That was the hardest day for me that came in the experience of the

whole journey. I had been run down so low with a severe attack of

dysentery that I could travel no longer, and laid down. My thirst was

intense, and it did not seem possible that I could live till morning.

It seemed that everyone was traveling as best he could, for the

rearguard passed me without taking any notice. Men went by, looking

like death, their mouths black, their eyes sunken till it was difficult

to recognize them. Some eyes had a staring glare, which looked as if

the monster death were close at hand. Yet the men staggered on, their

feet hitting each other, tit for tat, as one was dragged past the

other. The hopes of these men were greater than mine, for I had ceased

to march. This was the first time I had felt there was little reason to

hope that I would ever reach camp again, for I supposed that all the

men had passed me. The sun's rays faded away on the eastern mountain

tops, and the bright orb dropped beneath the western horizon. For

a moment I felt that with me the vital spark would soon sink below the

mortal horizon, as if to accompany the king of day.

Just when my hopes were flickering as does a candle when the wick has

all but burned out, there came to my ears the sound as of the tinkling

of a tin can that seemed to keep time with a soldier's step as he

marched. Gradually the sound became more distinct until its approach

was a certainty. Then my uncle, Alexander Stephens, came in sight. He

had been left to bring up an old spotted ox which had failed, and had

driven the animal into the shade of a rocky cliff, where the ox laid

down, while the driver hunted around and found a dripping of water

as it seeped from a crevice in the rock. He had quenched his thirst

and filled his canteen, resting in the meantime, then followed on the

trail, pricking the ox with his bayonet.

When Uncle Alexander Stephens came up he handed me his canteen, and the

draught of water quickly revived me. I did not think myself able to

rise to my feet, but with a little assistance I got up, and took hold

of the packsaddle. My knapsack, musket and accoutrements were lashed to

the ox, and by a final effort we reached Dry Lake camp, by halting at

short intervals along the four miles we had to travel.

Wretched, wretched indeed, was the condition of the command that night.

It is doubtful whether at any time in the long march the men suffered

more than they did then and the forty-eight hours preceding. Next

morning, at the doctor's call, many had to be helped by their comrades

to the place designated for the sick.

For myself, two men sat me upon the ground, and held me up till my time

came to be questioned. Dr. Sanderson called out, "What is the matter

with you?" When he received the information asked for he remarked

gruffly: "I've a d--d great mind not to report you sick. I never saw

such a d--d set of men in my life. They will not report till d--d nigh

dead." I answered that it did not matter to me whether he entered me on

the sick list or not, for I could not walk. At this he said sharply.

"Not a d--d word out of you or I'll make you walk."

Then he ordered the steward to give me a dose of castor oil and

laudanum, stating the quantity. The steward, William Spencer, said,

"Isn't it a rather heavy dose?" to which the doctor responded with a

curse, telling him to do as he was ordered. At that the dose was poured

into a teacup, filling it half full. It was given to me, the steward

saying in a low tone of voice. "If you do not throw it up it will kill

you." I was assisted back to the company's wagon, and soon vomited the

medicine, but not until it had changed my countenance so much that the

lieutenant of my company, Cyrus Canfield, did not know me. He came and

ordered me out of the wagon, telling me to go to my own company. It was

sometime before he could be convinced who I really was, then remarked

that I looked so near dead that he could not believe it was I. But when

he recognized me he was very kind, and was willing to do anything he

could for my relief.

For four days I lay in a dull stupor, when that phase of the disease

was checked, and a very high fever set in. My sufferings were so

terrible that some of my messmates came into the tent, anointed me with

oil, then administered to or prayed for me; and although burning with

a high fever till it seemed that I could not live, I was instantly

healed, so that when they took their hands off the fever was entirely

gone, and I was wet with perspiration. From that time I began to gather

strength. That was my first experience with the ordinance of healing by

the laying on of hands by the Elders of the Church of Jesus Christ of

Latter-day Saints.

CHAPTER VIII.

ON THE SUMMIT OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS--CROSSING THE BACKBONE OF THE

NORTH AMERICAN CONTINENT--REVIEW OF THE JOURNEY--GRAVES OPENED BY

WOLVES--MUTILATED BODIES--AN UNPARALLELED JOURNEY OF HARDSHIP--THE

PROSPECT AHEAD--A MATTER OF LIFE AND DEATH--START DOWN THE PACIFIC

SLOPE--DESCENDING THE CLIFFS WITH WAGONS--ONE VEHICLE SLIPS AND IS

REDUCED TO KINDLING WOOD AND SCRAP IRON--INTO A NEW CLIMATE--CHANGE

IN THE CHARACTER OF VEGETATION--WILD HORSES AND CATTLE--ATTACKED BY

WILD CATTLE--SEVERAL MEN HURT AND ONE MULE GORED TO DEATH--A NUMBER OF

CATTLE KILLED--SUPPLY OF BEEF--REACH THE SAN PEDRO RIVER--TRAVELING

THROUGH A HEAVY GROWTH OF MESQUIT AND CHAPPARAL--APPROACH THE MEXICAN

GARRISONED TOWN OF TUCSON--NEWS OF APPROACH OF A LARGE AMERICAN ARMY

SENT TO THE MEXICANS--ORDER ISSUED BY COLONEL COOKE.

AT the camp at Dry Lake, which we reached between November 20 and 25,

we laid over a day, and a party was sent ahead to cut a road over the

divide. I was too weak for four or five days to take much interest in

what passed; and in the meantime the command reached and crossed the

divide, or summit of the Rocky Mountains--the backbone of the North

American continent--where the waters are divided, flowing on either

side to the Atlantic and Pacific respectively.

For eighteen hundred miles the Mormon Battalion members had made a hard

and weary march. Starting from Nauvoo, on the Mississippi River--the

"father of waters"--as exiles, they had passed over a lovely country,

yet at a season of the year when travel was difficult, to the Missouri

River. At the latter point the battalion was mustered into service, and

moved over an excellent country two hundred miles to Fort Leavenworth;

thence through what is now the state of Kansas, passing over a goodly

land to the Great Plains, a timberless country, where water is scarce.

There they began to be footsore and leg-weary, and to suffer severely

from heat and thirst. Soon they came to the desert, and for nine days

tried cooking their shortened rations over "buffalo chip" fires, with

fuel even scarcer than it was poor; often having very little water, and

that brackish, so that men and hearts began to grow weak and ill.

At this point in the long journey they commenced passing the open

graves of soldiers, many of whom laid down their lives in the advance

companies. Their graves were open for the reason that wolves had dug

up the dead bodies and devoured the flesh from the bones; the blankets

in which the bodies were wrapped were torn to shreds, while in some

instances the carcass still hung together, except that the fingers and

toes had been eaten off by wild beasts. The road was also strewn with

dead horses and cattle, so that as the battalion advanced the gruesome

sights became more frequent and therefore excited less comment. And in

turn the battalion contributed a share of dead to the lonely graves of

the plains.

Then, on the sandy roads, there was the rough order to put the shoulder

to the wheel and help the jaded teams; and the battalion waded creeks

and rivers with quicksand bottoms, or lifted or pulled at ropes in

lowering or raising their wagons over rough and precipitous places--in

what appeared at that time a rough and worthless country, which may not

have changed greatly since.

At times they were called forward to tramp sand roads for teams, and

then to return and pull at ropes or push at wagons which, without

assistance, the teams could not control. Then when Santa Fe was passed

the journey was proceeded upon with reduced rations, down the difficult

country along the Rio Grande del Norte. Onward the struggle continued,

over sandy deserts and through a rough, mountainous region, where the

hardships were intense, and where there seemed no eye to pity and no

hand to pass even a drop of water to moisten the parching tongue. It

was not human capability, it was the divine power that sustained them

in such extremities as they had to endure.

It was thus the renowned Mormon Battalion toiled and struggled on their

journey to the summit of the lofty Rocky Mountain range--the crest

of the continent--a journey whose details of privation, and peril,

and patient courage, cannot be told in human words, and never can be

realized except by those who experienced it. So many lofty mountain

spurs had been crossed, that the final ascent seemed quite gradual.

Leaving now this general survey of the past, I recall that from the

lofty eminence we had reached on our march, the descent was very abrupt

and difficult, through the rugged defiles to the west. But with the

battalion it was a case of life and death. That was no place to remain,

there was no earthly help at hand, no way to life open but to trust

in God and persevere in the onward movement. So with the pick-axe and

crow-bar we commenced to clear the most feasible road down by chopping

away the shrubbery and brush and removing that and the rocks.

After much of the baggage had been taken down the mountain one way by

pack animals, long ropes and guy-ropes were attached to the wagons and

the descent with them began by another way. The wagons were lowered for

a distance of half a mile or so, men standing as best they could on

the mountain side, letting the vehicle down gradually, then holding it

till other men could get a fresh footing and lower it still further.

Thus one by one the wagons were let down in safety, all but one. By

some mishap that got adrift from the men, and to save their lives they

had to let it go until there was nothing of it but scrap-iron and

kindling-wood. As there was already an abundance of the latter around

us, no one was desirous of descending to the rugged depths of the

ravine to secure even a relic of that terrible descent.

It was thought by our commander and guides that it would require from

six to eight days to make the descent, but thanks to the tact and skill

of some of our men who had been accustomed to frontier life, the work

was done in two days, and we were again where the wagons could stand on

partially level ground.

In a very brief space of time we found ourselves plunged into a warm

climate, where we could not see any plant or shrub that we had been

acquainted with before. There was some small, scrubby ash, sycamore

and black walnut, but everything, even to the rocks, had a strange

appearance. We also had entered the land of wild horses and cattle,

which roamed the hills by thousands. The wild cattle became excited at

the rumbling wagons, and gathered thickly along our way.

At last the muskets commenced to rattle, partly through fear, and

partly because we wanted beef. Finally a herd of wild cattle charged

our line, tossed some men into the air, pierced others with their

horns, knocking some down, and ran over others, attacking one light

wagon, the hind end of which was lifted clear from the road. One large

bull plunged into a six-mule team, ran his head under the off-swing

mule, throwing him entirely over the near one and thrusting his horn

into the mule's vitals, injuring our animal so it had to be left on the

ground, where it expired in a few minutes. There were several men and

mules roughly used and bruised, just the number I do not now recall.

The attacking party lost twenty or twenty-five of their number killed,

with many others badly or slightly wounded.

We had plenty of beef for a few days, and might have secured much

more. I never understood the reason why we were not allowed to lay

by and "jerk" an abundance of meat for the subsequent use of the

command, but the stop was not permitted. Many of the men felt greatly

disappointed and indignant because we were denied the privilege of

availing ourselves of this splendid opportunity of replenishing our

scanty rations. We were half starving at the time, and perhaps if we

had been allowed to lay by a few days we would have gorged ourselves to

our injury. It may be that would have been more serious than to have

stormed, as some did, at being ordered to march on. It is possible this

was the view taken by our commander, though we never knew.

Continuing our advance to lower levels, the climate was mild and

pleasant. Our course was northwesterly until we passed a deserted

ranch called San Bernardino, in what is now Arizona, and followed

down the San Pedro River. I think this was the south fork of the Gila

River. There was some good country along this lovely stream. It was

there we first saw the mescal and mesquit, the former being the plant

from which the Mexicans distil their whisky (pulque), the latter a tree

somewhat resembling the black locust, but growing with a very spreading

habit, making it difficult to travel among. In many places it had to be

cut down and cleared away before we could proceed. There was another

scrubby tree-growth which the Spaniards call chapparal. This brush grew

very thick in places, so that in cutting it away travel became very

tedious.

Here the guides told Colonel Cooke that if we followed along the stream

it would be a hundred miles farther than if we cut across the bend, but

if we took the latter route we would have to pass through a Mexican

fortified town, where a body of soldiers had been left to guard it as

an outpost. At that time it was impossible for us to learn the strength

of the place; but it was thought that we might get some supplies of

provisions and some animals. At the same time there was considerable

risk that we would have to fight, and perhaps get defeated, in which

case it would be not only a loss of property but of life as well.

On December 12 and 13 we followed down the San Pedro, our course

being nearly due north, near the base of a mountain extending towards

the Gila River. The guide, Leroux, with others, returned from an

exploration of the table-land to the west, leading to Tucson. They

found a party of Apache Indians and some Mexicans distilling mescal,

and learned from them that the Mexican garrison at Tucson numbered

about two hundred men. The interpreter with the guides, Dr. Foster,

had thought it proper to go to Tucson, and Leroux told the Mexicans to

inform the commander at Tucson that an American army was approaching

en route to California; that the advance guard numbered about three

hundred and sixty men, and if it stopped to drill it would give time

for the main army to come up; that the strength of the main army could

be judged by the size of its vanguard; and that if Foster did not

rejoin the advance guard by a given time it would be understood that he

was a prisoner at Tucson. Upon learning what had been done and said,

Colonel Cooke issued the following order:

"Headquarters Mormon Battalion, Camp on the San Pedro, Dec. 13, 1846.

"Thus far on our course to California we have followed the guides

furnished us by the general. These guides now point to Tucson, a

garrison town, as on our road, and assert that any other course is

one hundred miles out of the way, and over a trackless wilderness of

mountains, rivers and hills. We will march then to Tucson. We came

not to make war on Sonora, and less still to destroy an important

outpost of defense against Indians. But we will take the straight road

before us and overcome all resistance, but shall I remind you that the

American soldier ever shows justice and kindness to the unarmed and

unresisting? The property of individuals you will hold sacred; the

people of Sonora are not our enemies.

"By order of Lieutenant Colonel Cooke.

"P. C. Merrill, Adjutant."

CHAPTER IX.

ON THE TRAIL TO TUCSON--EXCITEMENT IN THE TOWN--MEET MEXICAN

SOLDIERS--OUR NUMBERS OVERRATED BY THE INDIANS--MEXICAN COMMANDER

UNDER ORDERS TO OPPOSE US--COLONEL COOKE ANNOUNCES HIS WISH TO

PASS ON WITHOUT HOSTILITIES--ARREST OF CORPORAL CASSADURAN, SON OF

THE MEXICAN COMMANDER AT TUCSON, AND OTHER MEXICANS WHO ARE HELD

AS HOSTAGES FOR THE RETURN OF OUR INTERPRETER--THE INTERPRETER IS

LIBERATED--AN ARMISTICE PROPOSED--SURRENDER OF TUCSON DEMANDED--MEXICAN

PRISONERS RELEASED--SURRENDER IS REFUSED--COLONEL COOKE ORDERS THE

BATTALION TO PREPARE FOR BATTLE--ADVANCE TOWARD THE TOWN--FLIGHT OF

THE MEXICANS--AT THE GATES OF TUCSON--OUR LINE OF BATTLE--ADDRESS BY

COLONEL COOKE--WE ENTER THE TOWN, AND PASS THROUGH TO CAMP--PURCHASES

OF WHEAT, CORN, ETC.--THE BATTALION NEARLY STARVED--NIGHT ALARM OF

A MEXICAN ATTACK--DIFFICULTIES OF GETTING INTO LINE--NO ENEMY IN

SIGHT--START ACROSS THE GILA DESERT--AGONY ON THE BURNING SANDS AND

ALKALI FLAT---STRENGTHENED BY THE DIVINE BLESSING--REACH THE GILA RIVER.

ON the 14th the battalion ascended to the plateau, traveling up hill

for eight or nine miles, when it struck the trail leading to Tucson.

Colonel Cooke selected fifty men, with whom he pushed forward. Passing

the vanguard, he soon reached water, where he found four or five

Mexican soldiers cutting grass. Their arms and saddles were on their

horses near by, easily accessible to our men. But these had no wish to

molest them, and the Mexicans appeared to pay little attention to us.

The colonel learned from a Mexican sergeant that rumors of a large

force of American troops coming had reached Tucson, and great

excitement prevailed in the town. Of course the colonel, who was

possessed of generalship as well as a stern sense of discipline, took

no pains to disabuse the Mexicans' minds, and thus possibly expose

our little army to unnecessary peril. Indians who had seen us from a

distance had overestimated largely our numbers, and thus served to

impress the people of Sonora with the accuracy of the statement made by

the guides.

The colonel also learned from the Mexican sergeant that the commander

of the garrison had orders from the governor not to allow any armed

force to pass through the town without resistance. A message was

therefore sent to the commander by this same sergeant, saying that the

people need not be alarmed, as we were their friends and would do them

no harm, as we wished merely to purchase supplies and pass on.

The next day we traveled about twelve miles, passing a distillery, and

camped without water. The battalion marched in front of the wagons, to

protect the provisions. Here a new (to us) species of cactus proved

very troublesome. It was jointed, and when an animal rubbed against the

thorns it broke loose at the joints, and sections about three inches

long would stick fast to the animal. The same variety of cactus is

found in southern Utah.

This day a corporal, the son of Cassaduran, commander of the Mexican

post at Tucson, and three Mexican soldiers were met with. They showed

no signs of fear until Colonel Cooke ordered them arrested, when they

seemed terribly frightened. On arriving at our camp, the corporal was

questioned by the commander as to Dr. Foster. He said (and it proved to

be true) that Foster was under guard, but had been requested earnestly

to come with them, and had refused. He had feigned indignation at being

arrested, lest the Mexicans should be suspicious as to our numbers and

should get reinforcements and fight us. As he anticipated, his conduct

inspired them with terror.

One of the Mexican prisoners was released and sent to the garrison

with two of the guides, one of whom took a note to the commander of

the post, demanding Foster's release and stating that the other three

Mexicans were held as hostages. About midnight, Dr. Foster was brought

into camp by two officers, one of whom was authorized to arrange a

special armistice.

Colonel Cooke sent a proposition to the Mexican commander that he

deliver up a few arms as a guaranty of surrender, and that the

inhabitants of Tucson would not fight against the United States, unless

released as prisoners of war. The Mexican prisoners also were released.

Our camp at this time was about sixteen miles from Tucson; and on our

advance the following day, when a few miles out, a cavalryman met us

with a note from Captain Cassaduran, declining the proposition to

surrender. We were thereupon ordered to load our muskets and prepare

for an engagement. We had not traveled far, however, before two other

Mexicans met us, with the news that the garrison at Tucson had fled,

and had forced most of the inhabitants to leave the town. They also

had taken two brass pieces of artillery with them. A little later in

the day, about a dozen well armed men, probably soldiers in citizens'

dress, met and accompanied the battalion to Tucson. But before passing

through the gates a halt was ordered.

That morning, when we were striking camp for the march into Tucson, Dr.

Sanderson opened up again by remarking that "every d--d man who could

stand alone ought to fall into line." Our first move was to form ranks

with everything in proper order to make an assault or receive a charge.

Then we moved out in line of battle. When within three or four miles of

the fort a stop was made, we were faced to the right, and the command

came to forward march, double-quick time. At that the whole column

moved on a smart trot. Some of us, at least, thought we were advancing

upon an enemy that had been discovered by the commander; but when we

had gone pell-mell over cobblerock and gullies, through brush and

cactus, for a distance of nearly three quarters of a mile, we received

the command to halt. Then came orders to left face, file left, march.

This move brought us back into the road, where we filed to the right

and marched on to the fort.

At the gates of the fort. Colonel Cooke made a brief speech, stating

that the soldiers and citizens had fled, leaving their property behind

and in our power; that we had not come to make war on Sonora; and that

there must not be any interference with the private property of the

citizens.

We then marched through the town, where a few aged men and women and

some children brought us water and other small tokens of respect. We

made no halt in the village, which had contained some four or five

hundred inhabitants, of which number all but about a hundred had fled.

Our stop was made about half a mile down stream from the place.

In the town we made purchases of wheat, corn, beans and peas, which we

parched or boiled. We were so near starved that we could not wait for

this food to be more than half cooked before we ate it. There was no

general supply purchased at Tucson, but each man or mess obtained as

much as could be with the scanty means on hand.

On the night of December 17, Albern Allen and his son Rufus C. Allen

had been placed on picket guard above Tucson, with orders that if any

body of men, say ten or more, appeared, an alarm was to be fired, and

the guards were to run into camp. Sometime between midnight and two

o'clock a body of Mexicans put in an appearance, and the alarm was

given as ordered. The bugle sounded at the colonel's quarters, and soon

Lieutenant George Oman, who was officer of the day, rushed through the

camp, shouting, "Beat that drum; if you cannot beat the drum, beat the

fife!" The drum-major, R. D. Sprague, obeyed the order, and hit the

drum. Immediately the stern voice of the colonel shouted to cease that

music. In less time than it takes to tell it, lights sprang up through

the camp. Then came the sharp command from the colonel, "Dust those

fires!" and the flames went out; the adjutant rushed through the camp

with orders to the officers to form their companies into line, the men

were commanded to fall in, and all was rustle and bustle.

The writer had been up relieving his stomach of half-boiled wheat,

corn and peas, and had just got settled back in bed when the alarm

was fired, so he heard all that was going on. As we all slept in our

pantaloons, the first thing I thought of in that country of prickly

pears was my boots; and while reaching for these and bumping heads with

comrades, some of the men whose muskets were used for uprights for the

tent thought these the first articles in the emergency and seized them,

the tent coming down and the ridge-pole making another bump on heads.

At the same time we were all trapped in the fallen tent, which was

pinned down tight. I was trying to get the left boot on the right foot,

and my footwear being rather small I had no easy job. All being caught

in the tent-trap, the thought came how easy it would be for a body of

Mexican cavalry in a charge to cut us to pieces, and we soon burst

through the tent and fell into line.

For the first time in the whole march the writer brought up the rear

in getting to his place, and received a rebuke from the officer

in command, George P. Dykes. Right here, however, in that brief

experience, I learned a lesson I have never forgotten, namely, order

in dressing and undressing. We had been in the habit of putting

our clothing anywhere and each throwing his on top of another's,

if convenience appeared to suggest it, so that in the dark it was

difficult for each to get into his own raiment. I realized then how

important it was to have "a place for everything and everything in its

place;" hence to put every article of wearing apparel down so that in

the darkest hour of night I knew where to place my hand on it, and when

armed always to have my weapons in the best possible order and where

the hand might be laid on them without any mistakes.

Notwithstanding all the confusion, it seemed to me we were in line of

battle in very short order, awaiting an attack of Mexican cavalry.

There was a few minutes' breathless silence after we were ready for the

assault, and no enemy appearing, reconnoitering parties were sent out

to ascertain the true situation. We were held in readiness an hour or

more, then learning that everything was quiet, were permitted to retire

to our tents, but not without some apprehension of danger until the

dawn of day, which came bright and peaceful, and we began our march out

on what was known as the Ninety-five Mile Desert, which lay between us

and the Gila River.

After the first day's march on that awful stretch of barren waste, we

began to straggle along, and before the Gila was reached the command

was scattered along on the clay beds and sand strips for twenty miles.

We traveled night and day, not stopping at any one place more than six

hours.

The command was in a most deplorable condition on this journey. Many

were the men that lay down by the wayside without a hope that they

would live to reach water, and often thinking that they were behind the

command. But after they had rested for a few hours and perhaps dozed

long enough to dream that they died on the desert, and that the wolves

that were howling around were dragging their emaciated carcasses over

the sands or perchance in the alkali pools, so strongly impregnated

with poisonous stuff that it would consume, in a short time, the flesh

if not the bones also, then the thought of home and loved ones would

come; and what was sometimes last, though not the least, would be the

memory of the promises which the servants of God had made when we left

the dear ones of home. Then the worn and weary soldier would stagger

to his feet, survey the surroundings, and perhaps would catch sight,

in the distance, of some comrade who was staggering and reeling onward

toward the setting sun, and would follow in his path.

So the almost dead soldier would go on, his feet playing pit-a-pat as

they dragged past each other, until his limbs would refuse to carry him

farther, and down he would go and repeat the agonizing experience of

a few hours previous. He would also chew a buckshot or two to induce

moisture in his parching tongue, and would offer an earnest prayer from

his humble soul--a further exertion which he would not have brought his

wearied mind to do if it had not been for the confidence he placed in

the promises of God, made through His faithful servants.

Thus, dear reader, the renowned Mormon Battalion passed forward across

the great Gila Desert, almost without a human reason to hope that they

would reach the goal, and only able to accomplish their aim through

divine grace. When they succeeded in reaching the banks of the river,

their clothes were so tattered and torn that it was with difficulty

they could cover their nakedness.

CHAPTER X.

ON THE GILA RIVER--PIMA INDIAN VILLAGE--WELCOME GIFTS FROM THE

PIMAS--AMONG THE MARICOPA INDIANS--ASLEEP ON THE TRAIL--VISIT PROM

A BEAR--LOSS OF PROVISIONS THROUGH AN ATTEMPT TO FLOAT A QUANTITY

DOWN THE GILA--HARD TRAVELING--CROSSING THE COLORADO RIVER--GLOOM

IN THE CAMP--LOWER AND UPPER CALIFORNIA--TERRIBLE MARCH OVER THE

TIERRA CALIENTE, OR HOT LANDS--DIGGING WELLS FOR BRACKISH WATER--ADVANCE

GUARD REACH A MOUNTAIN SPRING--WATER CARRIED BACK TO REVIVE THE

FAINTING TROOPS--LAST SPOONFUL OF FLOUR USED--DIVIDING THE RATIONS--IN

THE CANYONS OF THE SIERRA NEVADA--HEWING ROADS THROUGH ROCKS AND

BRUSH--FEEDING ON LIVE ACORNS AND GREEN MUSTARD--NEWS OF VICTORIES

BY UNITED STATES TROOPS IN CALIFORNIA--PREPARING TO ENGAGE THE

RETIRING MEXICAN ARMY--FIRST HOUSE SEEN IN CALIFORNIA--BEEF WITHOUT

SALT--TRADE FOR ACORN MUSH--HEAVY STORM AND FLOOD IN CAMP--A FEW POUNDS

OF FLOUR SECURED--DANCING IN MUD AND WATER--RECEIVE ORDERS TO GO TO

LOS ANGELES--DISCOVER A BODY OF TROOPS IN LINE OF BATTLE--ADVANCE

TO THE ATTACK--SUPPOSED FOE PROVES TO BE FRIENDLY INDIANS--PRESENCE

OF THE MORMON BATTALION PREVENTS AN INTENDED ATTEMPT BY MEXICANS TO

RETAKE CALIFORNIA, ALSO AN UPRISING OF CALIFORNIANS AGAINST THE UNITED

STATES--ON A BATTLEFIELD WHERE GENERAL KEARNEY HAD FOUGHT--RELICS

OF THE ENCOUNTER--PROPHECY OF PRESIDENT BRIGHAM YOUNG AND ITS

FULFILLMENT--SOURCE OF HIS INSPIRATION.

WHERE we reached the Gila River it was a lovely stream, four or live

rods wide; but the country was covered with alkali grass and mesquit

brush. We rested part of a day, then proceeded down the river eight

or ten miles, coming to a Pima Indian village. The Pima Indians were

superior to any that we had fallen in with heretofore. They were an

agricultural people, peacefully inclined, and kind and loving toward

each other. Those in the village appeared the picture of good health.

They came and went by twos, the males and females keeping each sex,

to themselves. They seemed the most affectionate people I had ever

met; happy and innocent in appearance--a large and handsome class of

persons. Each Indian was wrapped in a large home-made blanket.

The Pimas had corn, wheat, pumpkins, beans, and, I think, peas. Some

of the Indians noted our wretched and starved condition, and cut up a

lot of pumpkins--as we cut them for cows. These they boiled, and handed

to the soldiers as the latter passed by and took the proffered food in

anything they could get to hold the steaming hot vegetables. The men

were indeed thankful for these favors, although they came from Indians.

It was between the 20th and 25th of December when we left the Pima

Indian village, and passed down the Gila River to a broad, open,

fertile valley in the Maricopa Indian country. At the Maricopa Indian

villages we met many fine specimens of the native inhabitants. We

traded brass buttons for food. One brass button had more purchasing

power than a five dollar gold piece.

It was some five or six days before we passed out of the Maricopas'

farming country. There was a large bend in the river, and we traveled

three days over a rough, sandy country before we came to the stream

again. On this march we camped without water. The writer was one of

those who stood guard around the stock. The feed was so scarce that

we were kept running all night. I was so completely worn out next day

that at about eleven a.m. I sought rest by dropping out of the command

and hiding from the rearguard behind a clump of brush that grew on a

sand knoll. No sooner had I laid down than I fell into a sound slumber,

oblivious to all danger.

When the writer awakened from that sleep the rearguard had passed on

long before; the sun had changed position so that the drowsy soldier

felt perfectly lost, but gradually he came to realize that it was three

or four o'clock p.m. Some six or eight feet from where he had been

lying he found fresh bear tracks, telling him of the wild beast that

had been viewing him while wrapt in slumber. He hurried forward on the

trail, and reached camp just as the night guards were being posted and

his comrades were becoming greatly concerned for his safety.

Our route lay down the river, through deep sand and mesquit brush,

where we had not only to chop and clear away the brush, but had to push

and pull the wagons until our souls as well as our bodies were worn

out. We gathered mesquit and a kind of pod to feed our mules. We were

six days traveling sixty miles, to the crossing of the Colorado River,

or Red River, as it was called by some.

The reader will not wonder that on reaching this point a mountain of

gloom rested upon the whole command, causing the men almost to despair

as they, on the 10th day of January, 1847, stood on the banks of the

swift-flowing Colorado--the stream being half a mile wide at that

place--with no alternative but to wade across, pulling and pushing at

the wagons, then to cut and burn their way out, through the thick brush

on the bottom land, to the bench or bluff that opened out on a barren

desert, known to the Mexicans as Tierra Caliente, or the Hot Lands.

Now the command entered upon another soul-trying march. The route from

the crossing of the Colorado was over the northeast corner of Lower

California, some sixty miles above the Gulf of California, then into

the south-eastern part of Upper California. The stronger men, with a

little extra ration, preceded the main army, to dig wells in the desert.

No sooner was the almost hopeless march commenced than men began to

lag behind, so that when the advance guard came to a halt at any part

of the journey, others were miles behind. The first day we came to a

well that General Phil. Kearney and his men had dug, but it had caved

in so badly that it was almost as much work to clean it as to dig a new

one; and when it was cleaned, our men dug another. The water was scant

and brackish. We remained at that point only until the rear of the

command caught up, then proceeded on our way, stopping but a short time

in any one place, until we reached Cariza, a splendid spring near the

base of the Sierra Nevada range of mountains. The first men to reach

water filled kegs and canteens, lashed them to the stouter animals, and

hastened back to succor and revive the famishing men who were bringing

up the rear.

On that terrible march many of the weaker men despaired of ever

reaching water. We passed several, who, with sunken and glazed eyes and

blackened mouths and looking as ghastly as death, stammered to us as

we passed them: "Goodby, I shall never live to reach water. I cannot

go a step farther, but shall die on this spot." Poor fellows! I verily

believe that if they had not been resuscitated by the water that was

carried back, their words would have been painfully true before the

rising of another sun.

If it had not been for some fresh mules and beef cattle that we met on

this tedious march, we never could have got through with the wagons,

and possibly would have lost some men, as our flour had given out and

we were reduced so near to starvation as to eat every particle of the

worn-out beef ox; even the tender part of the horns and hoofs, and the

intestines, were broiled on the coals and eaten, without water to wash

them.

In our mess, the last spoonful of flour was made into a thin gravy by

stirring it into some water where some of our glue-like beef had been

boiled. This so-called gravy was divided among the men by spoonfuls,

then the pan was scraped with a table knife and wiped into a spoon,

and with the point of the same knife it was divided into seven parts.

Each man watched the division; and I do not believe there was one man

out of the seven but would have fought for his share of that spoonful

of pan-scrapings. Nor do I believe there was one of them who would

have robbed his comrades. For the last three or four hundred miles we

had been in the habit of cooking the food, and dividing it into seven

equal parts. Then one man would turn his back, and the cook or the one

who made the division would touch each morsel and say, "Who shall have

that?" whereupon the one whose back was turned would say, so and so,

calling each messmate by name, until all had been "touched off," as we

used to call it.

From our camp at the spring we passed into the canyons of the Sierra

Nevada. The days had been excessively hot on the desert, and it was

very cold and frosty in the mountains at night. We soon came to where

the canyons were too narrow for our wagons; then with crowbar and

pickaxe and sledge we went at the jagged rocks until the pass was

sufficiently widened, and with our shoulders to the wheels or by

tugging at ropes we got our train to the summit.

It was while passing through this range of mountains that we first saw

live-oak acorns. They were bitter as wormwood; yet we ate considerable

quantities of them, and as we descended the western slope they became

very abundant, and served for a change. As we passed down to the

valleys we found green mustard, which was boiled and eaten without

pepper or salt.

About this time one of our guides or interpreters brought word from

the governor of San Diego that several battles had been fought by the

California troops and United States forces, and that we might meet a

large Mexican army retreating to Sonora. In consequence of receiving

this news, Colonel Cooke ordered a drill. We had secured a few beef

cattle and some fresh mules, and with this increase of strength and the

prospect of engaging the Mexicans we were spurred on from one mountain

summit to another, pushing and pulling the wagons--a business we were

well versed in, from oft repeated lessons.