What sufferings must have been endured by these brave, faithful,
single-hearted, pioneer "Mormon" women. Pen and tongue are weak to
express the struggles and trials of these heroines of modern times.
Lydia was still in her little den into which she had moved when coming
to the place one year ago; flooded when it rained, intensely cold in
Winter, hot and stifling in the Summer, and always damp, low, unhealthy
and impossible to make, or keep clean. Lydia was too neat and thrifty
to tamely submit to such a state of things any longer than possible.
She felt weak in her own spirit when alone with her sad thoughts, but
when the occasion presented itself for action, she was prepared for it.
In June, she heard that the Widow Ensign was about to move to the
valley, and wished to sell her cabin and a few acres of farming land.
Accordingly she set out to see if she could purchase it. She had been
washing and sewing for those of the Saints who could pay for such
things, and had saved thereby a few dollars.
She offered the widow what money she had together with some clothing
and household effects which she could ill spare, for her cabin and
land. The offer was readily accepted, as it was not very easy to sell
property, so many were constantly leaving for the valley.
Then, here was Lydia, without a dime and but very few personal effects,
settling down for another year, with no prospect of reaching the Mecca
of all her hopes, the valley, for at least another year. However, she
had a tolerably decent log cabin, which possessed the merit of keeping
out the rain, and which could be made a clean dwelling place for
herself and little ones. She moved into her new home on the 23rd of
June, and her devout spirit breathed a fervent prayer of gratitude to
God, as she entered its portals, that she and her children were still
alive and well, and that their surroundings were so much improved.
The children were now sent to school, and Lydia took in washing and
other work to keep herself and family.
On the 30th of June she writes:
"Have been doing some washing for miners that I may get some money to
buy meal. To-day I went with my son to the mill to get something to
make bread for my family. Just as I was leaving, a gentleman, learning
my situation, told the miller to put up twenty pounds of flour for me,
at his expense. May the Lord reward him bountifully."
How many times in the history of this people have unknown friends aided
them when in distress! Surely angels must have carefully watched over
them in their manifold sufferings.
During harvest, the brethren "took hold" and harvested Lydia's wheat.
The Winter of '49-'50 was spent very peacefully by this patient woman.
Her children, whom she had always taught at home previously, were now
at school. Busy with her needle and wash-tub, to earn enough to feed
and clothe her little ones, the time flew quickly by, and as Spring
came on Lydia felt an almost irrepressible desire to make a start to
emigrate to the valley.
"James," she said one day to her oldest son, "can't we make an effort
to get to the valley this season?"
"Why, mother, what will you go with? President Young took our two teams
and wagons and you know we only got back one team and part of the two
wagons. What was the reason, mother, that the wagons were so broken up
and almost fit for nothing?"
"Well, my son, I have heard it rumored that the teamsters in crossing
the plains, returning here, as they did not have proper restraint and
care over them, were a little foolish and perhaps cut up the more
cumbersome parts of some wagons for firewood."
"How would they drive them?"
"They did not drive the broken wagons, my boy, but would load the more
valuable part of several wagons, such as wheels, axle-trees, etc.,
yoke up long strings of oxen on this wagon, and thus save hunting up
wood, or going without, where wood was scarce. But let us say nothing
about it; we will be very thankful to have what is here. I have given
the pieces of one wagon to get the other one repaired, so that we may
have one good wagon. Bishop Hunter was here the other day; he has come
on to bring a company of the poorer of the Saints, and will help them
with the Emigration Fund, where they are unable to come any other
way. Now, the kind Bishop tells me that President Young has given him
especial charge to bring us out this season; and he offers me the use
of two yoke of oxen. He says I can pay for their use when I get to the
valley and earn enough to do so. This, of course, I will do as soon as
I possibly can."
"Well, but mother, ain't we poor?"
"Yes, James, but God will always help those to be independent who
earnestly desire to be so. We will be blessed in the future as we have
been in the past."
It was thus decided to get ready to move westward with Bishop Hunter's
company, and Lydia very rapidly completed her preparations for the long
journey across the plains. Under Bishop Hunter's advice she sold, for
a small sum of money, the yoke of oxen that had returned the previous
year from the valley, and turned the proceeds into a little fund for
the outfit.
A brother, named Grover, whom she had known in Kirtland, and had been
friendly with all through the various moves of the Saints, hearing of
her destitute circumstances, and that she was about to emigrate to the
valley, came in one day and gave her twenty-five dollars in cash.
She also sold the little cabin and piece of land for about twenty
dollars, receiving her pay in corn.
This corn was prepared for the journey in a very odd manner. The
children spent many days in parching it; after which it was taken
to the mill and ground up. This was done by the advice of President
Young, in order to preserve the meal sweet and good. The greater part
of the corn was thus prepared; but Lydia carried some meal unparched.
She bought a sack of flour weighing one hundred pounds, and thus had
for the journey about seven or eight hundred pounds of flour and meal
together parched and unparched. A few pounds of dried fish, some soap,
eight or ten pounds of sugar, a few matches and a little soda, formed
the grocery stores. Her medicine chest consisted solely of a bottle of
consecrated oil.
One pair of shoes and a stout, home-made suit or dress with a better
one for Sunday use for each of the children; a good shawl for herself
and warm wraps for the little ones, made up the scanty wardrobe. But
she had quite a good supply of bedding which was of great service to
her on the journey. A little stove was set up in the wagon to keep them
warm, and a little rocking-chair in the front end of the wagon for
Lydia to sit in, were among her selections for the trip. However, she
soon found that even these supplies would not go in the wagon, and give
room for the seven little ones. Although but twelve years of age, James
walked most of the way to the valley and drove the oxen, while Joseph,
Newel and Sally walked a great part of the way; but even then, a place
must be found for the three smaller ones, beside the mother. So after
talking the matter over a great deal, Lydia concluded to yoke up two of
her cows on lead of one yoke of oxen, and put the odd cow and the other
yoke of oxen on some wagon belonging to the company, the owner of which
would allow her to have the use of part of the wagon for her share.
Bro. Cluff offered to let Lydia put her cow and oxen on one of his
wagons, and partly load the wagon with her things, he having one of his
boys to drive. Bro. Cluff was pretty well off, had ten or twelve boys,
and was well able to assist the widow.
Lydia found herself ready about the 1st of June, 1850, and started with
Bro. Cluff 's folks, traveling as far as Salt River, and then halting
for the rest of the company to come up. In about two weeks, the whole
company was gathered, organized and ready to start. As was the custom,
the party was divided into companies of one hundred; then subdivided
into fifties, which were again divided into companies of ten. Bishop
Hunter was the presiding captain, and Jesse Haven was the captain of
the ten in which were Lydia and her friends, the Cluffs.
For many days they traveled upon the prairie, a level sea of waving
green, without a mound or hill to rest the weary eye. After striking
the Platte river, they followed it up for hundreds of miles. Sometimes
they would reach a little grove of trees, sometimes some brush, or a
little driftwood caught in a snag in the river. This was all the wood
the camp ever found while on the prairie; and the prudent widow always
carefully laid by some wood in her wagon to serve when there was none
where they camped.
For very many miles the train moved along the plains up the Platte
river, which were then called the "buffalo country." Often in the
distance they would see herds of these creatures. One day, they were
traveling in a little more hilly part of the country, and became
aware that the hills were covered with thousands of these herds. What
was thought at first to be trees, turned out to be a moving mass of
buffalos; and upon the head wagons getting near enough to see, they
found that some of these immense herds were crossing from the hills
down to the river to water. A halt had to be called, and some hours
were spent waiting for the road to be cleared for a passage.
It was here in this "buffalo country," that the famous stampedes of the
animals were wont to take place. Without one second's warning, every
ox and cow in the whole train would start to run, and go almost like a
shot out of a gun. No matter how weary, or how stupid they were, when
one made the spring, the remainder of the horned stock were crazed with
fear. On, on, they would go for miles, and seemed unable to stop until
headed and brought back to camp. One day while slowly plodding along
beneath the burning, sultry sun, the start was made, and as every wagon
was drawn by oxen or cows, away went cattle, wagons and inmates; tin
and brass pails, camp-kettles and coffee-pots jingling merrily behind
and underneath the wagons where they were tied; children screaming,
everything that was loose flying out as they bumped along; over the
untrodden prairie flew the maddened cattle, nearer and nearer to the
river bank, which was here a precipice of twenty-five feet down to
the water. Women, seeing their danger, sobbed out wild prayers for
God to save; men ran and shouted to no avail; when suddenly over the
plumy grass flies a horseman, spurring and screaming to his quivering,
panting horse; mothers clasp their frightened babes in their arms, and
prepare to face their watery grave. But the rider is up with the head
team, and just as the head wagons are within ten feet of the deadly
bank, he turns them aside and they are saved.
Lydia's wagon was near the lead, and she came within a few feet of the
precipice. When she once more was safely traveling in the road, she and
her children thanked God for His deliverance, praying that they might
be so endangered no more. Her prayer was granted.
Another stampede occurred, but it was in the night and no one was
hurt. The wagons, at night, were drawn up in a circle, the tongue of
one resting upon the hind wheel of the preceding wagon; inside of this
ring, the cattle were coralled. One night the camp heard the sudden
start, and over one wagon over which the lead ox had leaped, went the
whole herd. The wagon, which belonged to John Kay, was badly broken
up. Out into the prairie ran the cattle; but as speedily as possible a
man jumped on a horse, and riding furiously until he got ahead of the
herd, he circled round and brought them back to camp. The cattle, when
stampeding, always follow a leader, so the horseman took advantage of
this, making a circle of some ten miles around to get back to camp.
From ten to twelve miles, was the average day's travel. At night, on
reaching camp, the ring of wagons was formed, the cattle were turned
out to feed, and then tents (by those who had them) were spread,
camp-fires lit, supper cooked by the women; beds made in and under
wagons, and in tents; supper eaten, and children put to bed. After
dishes were washed and put away, the horn blew and the camp would
gather in the center of the circle, a hymn would be sung, and prayer
offered to God for future protection with thanksgiving for His past
mercies.
Then the cattle would be brought up and corraled, and the older people
would gather around the camp-fires; sometimes to sing, sometimes to
tell stories of the past, and sometimes even to dance on the level
space cleared for the purpose.
At daylight the cattle were again turned out to feed upon the grass,
the horn blew, and singing and prayer were offered up to God. Breakfast
was soon prepared and eaten, wagons packed, oxen yoked and the day's
march was again taken up. No swearing, either at oxen or in any other
way was allowed. No one was allowed to wander off; no running of teams,
no team could try to pass another, no camp-fires must burn at night
after retiring. Great care was taken that the prairies should not be
set on fire.
Sabbath day, the train remained in camp, holding service and praising
God, resting from the week's journey and toil.
Sometimes a halt would be made for a day or so that the women might
wash and iron, and patch up the clothes. At such times, the young men
would take their guns, getting permission from their various captains,
and go out hunting; rabbits, deer and sometimes a buffalo would be the
results of these expeditions, everything being divided carefully among
the camp.
The camps were each a company of fifty, traveling about a day's journey
apart, on account of the feed for the cattle.
Bishop Hunter was very kind to Lydia, and as they neared their
journey's end, he would often come up and ride along a moment, saying
in his quaint, abrupt fashion:
"Fine boy, fine boy! cattle look well; old cattle! didn't expect 'em to
see the valley; look well, look well, better than when they started.
Fine boy, fine boy--!"
By this time the worthy man would be out of hearing and soon out of
sight, giving his jerky discourse to the winds that blew softly round
his little gig.
Lydia's food lasted very well, she sometimes making a little mush or
johnny-cake; the cows giving milk night and morning. When there was no
fire she would turn the warm milk out on some parched meal, let it soak
awhile, and then eat it with thankfulness.
For butter, the "strippins" were taken at night and in the morning,
put into the churn which was in the wagon, and at night she would find
a little pat of butter sufficient for breakfast, churned by the day's
riding.
Days, weeks and months thus passed by, and at last, about the first of
October, the train entered Emigration canyon.
Long camping times were now a thing of the past, and all anxiously
watched for the first sight of the valley of the Great Salt Lake, where
all their hopes were centered, and their feet were bound.
What a joyful cry ascended from the weary travelers as the mouth of the
canyon was reached, and they were almost at their journey's end! Oh,
what a glorious time was that! Lydia's bosom swelled with unspeakable
joy as her eye beheld the scene before her, and she realized that her
journey's end was reached.
A general halt was called, and a universal prayer of praise and
thanksgiving ascended to that Father who had established the Saints in
the tops of the mountains.
After feasting their eyes until somewhat satisfied, every one anxiously
hurried to reach this blessed spot, and very soon the long serpentine
train was in motion.
Down the declivity cumberously hastened the tired oxen, urged by the
loud and oft-repeated "whoa-ha, whoa," of their lusty drivers.
On the third of October, 1850, the company reached the city, then
called Great Salt Lake City. Wagons went here and there, friends rushed
out from every hut and tent to greet and welcome the travelers.
As Lydia looked around her she was surprised to see the many
comfortable homes dotted around, with weighty stacks of grain, and
ricks and stacks of wild hay garnered for the winter's use.
Three years only had the Saints been here and already she saw houses
and sheds on every hand, with here and there a fence, all the lumber
for which had been sawed out by hand.
The long street on which she was traveling was called Emigration
street; (now called third South street); it was a distinct line in this
wilderness, of houses, cabins and tents; but as there were very few
fences, little could be told of the plan of the city as it now stands.
The houses were mostly thatched with straw or covered with mud. Some
few shingles had begun to assert their rights by proudly crowning a few
of the most pretentious houses.
Lydia enquired the way to her brother-in-law, Joseph W. Johnson's
house, to which she directed James to drive. Joseph Johnson had married
Newel's sister, and Lydia met a warm welcome from these kind-hearted
people.
Here she rested for several days, washing and ironing up her clothes
and overlooking the slender stores remaining from the journey.
Samuel, her step-son, was with his uncle, he having left Mr. Wixom
because of unkind treatment. He greeted his mother with noisy
rejoicings, and immediately began planning for a home, or a start for
one, for the family.
"Mother," he said, about the second day of her arrival, "I think we
might take a lot somewhere down in the south-eastern part of the city,
drive the wagon on it and then make plans for the coming winter."
"Why, my son, do you wish to go down there?"
"Well, mother, you know the cows must have some feed and on the bench
close by, there's pretty good feed."
"Well, Samuel, in a couple of days we will hitch up and make a start
for a home once more."
Accordingly, on the fourth day of her arrival Lydia directed Samuel and
James to yoke up the oxen and cows, and, for the last time for many
months, she and her little ones traveled in a wagon.
She called a halt on a vacant lot in what is now the First Ward, took
possession of the same and at once made plans for a house. Before
making any move to build, however, Lydia went to the agent of the
Emigration Fund, delivered up the two yoke of oxen, and gave her note
for sixty dollars for the use of them in crossing the plains. Before
two years were past this note was redeemed and she was out of debt.
The adobe yard was close by the new home, and one evening as the little
circle was gathered round the blazing camp-fire the widow said, "Boys,
do you think you could make adobes?"
"Of course we could, mother; Uncle Joseph will show us; you know he is
a mason," said Samuel.
"Well, if you boys could make some adobes, and then get a job to pay
for laying them up, we might get up one or two rooms which would be
warm and comfortable."
Execution followed close upon the heels of plans with the indomitable
little woman, and by the beginning of December the house was ready
for occupation. Brother Johnson had laid up the walls of the little,
two-roomed house for work which the boys did for him. Poles were
brought from the canyon to lay across the top of the walls to serve as
rafters on which to pile the roof of straw and dirt. From the wagon
Lydia had drawn out three window sash, much to the joy of the boys.
These had been saved by the mother when leaving the states. These gave
two windows to the front and one smaller one to the back room, which
latter was used as a bed-room. The doors were made of "shake" (lumber
split out of logs instead of sawed), strongly fastened together and
hung with rude, home-made hinges; these doors, overhung with a stout
blanket, were quite capable of keeping out the cold. A huge fireplace
filled up part of one side of the "big room." The floor of earth was
oddly carpeted, first with a lavish supply of straw, over which was
stretched a rag carpet fastened to numerous stakes driven down all
around the edge of the room. For the bed-room the box of the old
wagon was split up and the boards were laid down under the beds. When
settled, the little family was more comfortable than it had been since
leaving Nauvoo.
As soon as possible after moving into the house, Lydia went around to
her neighbors and told them she was about to open a small school.
Schools were then very rare, and on the opening day the brave teacher
was surprised to see so many pupils present. The school paid so well
during the winter, and so satisfied were the people there with the
teacher's labors, that she was solicited to accept the Ward school,
which she accordingly did in the Spring.