HEROINES OF
"MORMONDOM,"
THE SECOND BOOK OF THE
NOBLE WOMEN'S LIVES SERIES
SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH.
PUBLISHED AT THE JUVENILE INSTRUCTOR OFFICE.
1884.
PREFACE.
IT affords us much pleasure to be able to present a second book of
the "NOBLE WOMEN'S LIVES SERIES" to the public. It will, we feel
confident, prove no less interesting than its predecessor, and the
lessons conveyed by the articles herein contained will doubtless be as
instructive to its readers as any ever given.
The remarkable events here recorded are worthy of perusal and
remembrance by all the youth among this people, as they will tend
to strengthen faith in and love for the gospel for which noble men
and women have suffered so much. The names, too, of such heroines as
these, the sketches of whose lives we herewith give, should be held
in honorable remembrance among this people, for no age or nation can
present us with more illustrious examples of female faith, heroism and
devotion.
We trust that this little work may find its way in the homes of all
the Saints and prove a blessing to all who scan its pages. This is the
earnest desire of
THE PUBLISHERS.
CONTENTS.
A NOBLE WOMAN'S EXPERIENCE.
Chapter I.
Chapter II.
Chapter III.
A REMARKABLE LIFE.
Chapter I.
Chapter II.
Chapter III.
Chapter IV.
Chapter V.
Chapter VI.
A HEROINE OF HAUN'S MILL MASSACRE.
Chapter I.
A NOBLE WOMAN'S EXPERIENCE.
CHAPTER I.
Hyrum Smith, the Patriarch, married Jerusha Barden, November 2, 1826.
They had six children, viz: Lovina, Mary, John, Hyrum, Jerusha and
Sarah. Mary died when very young, and her mother died soon after the
birth of her daughter, Sarah. Hyrum, the second son, died in Nauvoo,
in 1842, aged eight years. The Patriarch married his second wife,
Mary Fielding, in the year 1837, she entering upon the important duty
of stepmother to five children, which task she performed, under the
most trying and afflictive circumstances, with unwavering fidelity.
She had two children, Joseph and Martha. Thus, you see, Hyrum Smith,
the Patriarch of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, was
really a polygamist many years before the revelation on celestial
marriage was written, though, perhaps, about the time it was given to
the Prophet Joseph Smith; but not exactly in the sense in which the
word is generally used, for both his wives were not living together
on the earth; still they were both alive, for the spirit never dies,
and they were both his wives--the mothers of his children. Marriage is
ordained of God, and when performed by the authority of His Priesthood,
is an ordinance of the everlasting gospel and is not, therefore, merely
a legal contract, but pertains to time and all eternity to come,
therefore it is written in the Bible, "What God hath joined together
let no man put asunder."
There are a great many men who feel very bitter against the Latter-day
Saints, and especially against the doctrine of plural marriage, who
have married one or more wives after the death of their first, that,
had their marriages been solemnized in the manner God has prescribed
and by His authority, they themselves would be polygamists, for they,
as we, firmly believe in the immortality of the soul, professing to
be Christians and looking forward to the time when they will meet, in
the spirit world, their _wives_ and the loved ones that are dead. We
can imagine the awkward situation of a man, not believing in polygamy,
meeting two or more wives, with their children, in the spirit world,
each of them claiming him as husband and father. "But," says one, "how
will it be with a woman who marries another husband after the death of
her first?" She will be the wife of the one to whom she was married
for time and eternity. But if God did not "join them together," and
they were only married by mutual consent until death parted them, their
contract, or partnership ends with death, and there remains but one way
for those who died without the knowledge of the gospel to be united
together for eternity. That is, for their living relatives or friends
to attend to the ordinances of the gospel for them. "For, in the
resurrection, they neither marry nor are given in marriage;" therefore
marriage ordinances must be attended to here in the flesh. Hyrum Smith,
however, was a polygamist before his death, he having had several women
sealed to him by his brother, Joseph, some of whom are now living.
At the death of the Patriarch, June 27th, 1844, the care of the family
fell upon his widow, Mary Smith. Besides the children there were two
old ladies named respectively, Hannah Grinnels, who had been in the
family many years, and Margaret Brysen. There was also a younger one,
named Jane Wilson, who was troubled with fits and otherwise afflicted,
and was, therefore, very dependent, and an old man, named George Mills,
who had also been in the family eleven years, and was almost entirely
blind and very crabbed. These and others, some of whom had been taken
care of by the Patriarch out of charity, were members of the family
and remained with them until after they arrived in the valley. "Old
George," as he was sometimes called, had been a soldier in the British
army, had never learned to read or write, and often acted upon impulse
more than from the promptings of reason, which made it difficult,
sometimes, to get along with him; but because he had been in the family
so long--through the troubles of Missouri and Illinois--and had lost
his eye-sight from the effects of brain fever and inflammation, caused
by taking cold while in the pineries getting out timbers for the temple
at Nauvoo, Widow Smith bore patiently all his peculiarities up to the
time of her death. Besides those I have mentioned, Mercy R. Thompson,
sister to Widow Smith, and her daughter, and Elder James Lawson were
also members of the family.
On or about the 8th of September, 1846, the family, with others, were
driven out of Nauvoo by the threats of the mob, and encamped on the
banks of the Mississippi River, just below Montrose. There they were
compelled to remain two or three days, in view of their comfortable
homes just across the river, unable to travel for the want of teams,
while the men were preparing to defend the city against the attack
of the mob. They were thus under the necessity of witnessing the
commencement of the memorable "Battle of Nauvoo;" but, before the
cannonading ceased, they succeeded in moving out a few miles, away from
the dreadful sound of it, where they remained until they obtained, by
the change of property at a great sacrifice, teams and an outfit for
the journey through Iowa to the Winter Quarters of the Saints, now
Florence, Nebraska. Arriving at that point late in the Fall, they were
obliged to turn out their work animals to pick their living through
the Winter, during which some of their cattle, and eleven out of their
thirteen horses died, leaving them very destitute of teams in the
Spring.
In the Fall of 1847, Widow Smith and her brother, Joseph Fielding, made
a trip into Missouri, with two teams, to purchase provisions for the
family. Joseph, her son, accompanied them as teamster; he was then nine
years of age. The team he drove consisted of two yokes of oxen, one
yoke being young and only partially broke, which, with the fact that
the roads were very bad with the Fall rains, full of stumps in places,
sometimes hilly, and that he drove to St. Joseph, Missouri, and back, a
distance of about three hundred miles, without meeting with one serious
accident, proves that he must have been a fair teamster for a boy at
his age.
At St. Joseph they purchased corn and other necessaries, getting their
corn ground at Savannah, on their return journey. Wheat flour was
a luxury beyond their reach, and one seldom enjoyed by many of the
Latter-day Saints in those days. On their journey homeward they camped
one evening at the edge of a small prairie, or open flat, surrounded
by woods, where a large herd of cattle, on their way to market, was
being pastured for the night, and turned out their teams, as usual, to
graze. In the morning their best yoke of cattle was missing, at which
they were greatly surprised, this being the first time their cattle
had separated. Brother Fielding and Joseph at once started in search,
over the prairie, through the tall, wet grass, in the woods, far and
near, until they were almost exhausted with fatigue and hunger, and
saturated to the skin; but their search was vain. Joseph returned first
to the wagons, towards mid-day, and found his mother engaged in prayer.
Brother Fielding arrived soon after, and they sat down to breakfast,
which had long been waiting.
"Now," said Widow Smith, "while you are eating I will go down towards
the river and see if I can find the cattle."
Brother Fielding remarked, "I think it is useless for you to start out
to hunt the cattle; I have inquired of all the herdsmen and at every
house for miles, and I believe they have been driven off." Joseph
was evidently of the same opinion, still he had more faith in his
mother finding them, if they could be found, than he had either in
his uncle or himself. He knew that she had been praying to the Lord
for assistance, and he felt almost sure that the Lord would hear her
prayers. Doubtless he would have felt quite sure had he not been so
disheartened by the apparently thorough but fruitless search of the
morning. He felt, however to follow her example: he prayed that his
mother might be guided to the cattle, and exercised all the faith
he could muster, striving hard to feel confident that she would be
successful. As she was following the little stream, directly in the
course she had taken on leaving the wagons, one of the drovers rode up
on the opposite side and said, "Madam, I saw your cattle this morning
over in those woods," pointing almost directly opposite to the course
she was taking. She paid no attention to him, but passed right on. He
repeated his information; still she did not heed him. He then rode
off hurriedly, and, in a few moments, with his companions, began to
gather up their cattle and start them on the road towards St. Joseph.
She had not gone far when she came upon a small ravine filled with
tall willows and brush; but not tall enough to be seen above the high
grass of the prairie. In a dense cluster of these willows she found
the oxen so entangled in the brush, and fastened by means of withes,
that it was with great difficulty that she extricated them from their
entanglement. This was evidently the work of these honest (?) drovers,
who so hurriedly disappeared--seeing they could not turn her from her
course--perhaps in search of estray honesty, which it is to be hoped
they found.
This circumstance made an indelible impression upon the mind of the
lad, Joseph. He had witnessed many evidences of God's mercy, in answer
to prayer, before; but none that seemed to strike him so forcibly as
this. Young as he was, he realized his mother's anxiety to emigrate
with her family to the valley in the Spring, and their dependence
upon their teams to perform that journey, which, to him, seemed a
formidable, if not an impossible, undertaking in their impoverished
circumstances. It was this that made him so disheartened and sorrowful
when he feared that the cattle would never be found. Besides, it seemed
to him that he could not bear to see such a loss and disappointment
come upon his mother, whose life he had known, from his earliest
recollection, had been a life of toil and struggle for the maintenance
and welfare of her family. His joy, therefore, as he looked through
tears of gratitude to God for His kind mercy extended to the "widow and
the fatherless" may be imagined, as he ran to meet his mother driving
the oxen towards the wagons.
CHAPTER II.
Joseph was herd-boy. One bright morning sometime in the Fall of 1847,
in company with his herd-boy companions, whose names were Alden
Burdick, (almost a young man, and very sober and steady), Thomas
Burdick, cousin to Alden, about Joseph's size, but somewhat older,
and Isaac Blocksome, younger, he started out with his cattle as usual
for the herd grounds, some two miles from Winter Quarters. They had
two horses, both belonging to the Burdicks, and a pet jack belonging
to Joseph. Their herd that day comprised not only the cows and young
stock, but the work oxen, which for some cause were unemployed.
Alden proposed to take a trip on foot through the hazel, and gather
nuts for the party, and by the "lower road" meet the boys at the spring
on the herd ground, while they drove the herd by the "upper road" which
was free from brush. This arrangement just suited Joseph and Thomas,
for they were very fond of a little sport, and his absence would afford
them full scope; while his presence served as an extinguisher upon
the exuberance of their mirth. Joseph rode Alden's bay mare, a very
fine animal; Thomas, his father's black pony, and Isaac the pet Jack.
This Jack had deformed or crooked fore-legs, and was very knowing in
his way; so "Ike" and the Jack were the subjects chosen by Joseph and
Thomas for their sport. They would tickle "Jackie," and plague him, he
would kick up, stick his head down, hump up his back and run, while
Isaac struggled in vain to guide or hold him by the bridle reins, for
like the rest of his tribe he was very headstrong when abused. No harm
or even offense to Isaac was intended; but they carried their fun too
far; Isaac was offended, and returned home on foot, turning loose the
Jack with the bridle on. We will not try to excuse Joseph and Thomas in
this rudeness to Isaac, for although they were well-meaning boys, it
was no doubt very wrong to carry their frolics so far as to offend or
hurt the feelings of their playmate, and especially as he was younger
than they; but in justice to them it is fair to say they were heartily
sorry when they found they had given such sore offense.
When Joseph and Thomas arrived at the spring they set down their dinner
pails by it, mounted their horses again, and began to amuse themselves
by running short races, jumping ditches and riding about. They would
not have done this had Alden been there. They had not even done such a
thing before, although the same opportunity had not been wanting; but
for some reason--ever fond of frolic and mischief--they were more than
usually so this morning. It is said that not even a "sparrow falls to
the ground" without God's notice, is it unreasonable to suppose that He
saw these boys? And as He overrules the actions of even the wicked, and
causes their "wrath to praise Him;" would it be inconsistent to suppose
that the Lord overruled the frolics of these mischievous, but not
wicked boys on this occasion for good, perhaps for their deliverance
and salvation? We shall see.
While they were riding about and the cattle were feeding down the
little spring creek toward a point of the hill that jutted out into the
little valley about half a mile distant, the "leaders" being about half
way to it, a gang of Indians on horseback, painted, their hair daubed
with white clay, stripped to the skin, suddenly appeared from behind
the hill, whooping and charging at full speed toward them. Now, had
these boys turned out their horses, as under other circumstances they
should, and no doubt would, have done, they and the cattle would have
been an easy prey to the Indians, the boys themselves being completely
at their mercy, such mercy, as might be expected from a thieving band
of savages. In an instant, Thomas put his pony under full run for home,
crying at the top of his voice, "Indians, Indians!" At the same instant
Joseph set out at full speed for the head of the herd, with a view to
save them if possible.
He only could tell the multitude of his thoughts in that single moment.
Boy as he was, he made a desperate resolve. His mother, his brother and
sisters and their dependence upon their cattle for transportation to
the Valley in the Spring, occupied his thoughts and nerved him to meet
the Indians half-way, and risk his life to save the cattle from being
driven off by them. At the moment that he reached the foremost of the
herd, the Indians, with terrific yells reached the same spot, which
frightened the cattle so, that with the almost superhuman effort of the
little boy to head them in the right direction, and at the same time
to elude the grasp of the Indians, in an instant they were all on the
stampede towards home. Here the Indians divided, the foremost passing
by Joseph in hot pursuit of Thomas, who by this time had reached the
brow of the hill on the upper road leading to town, but he was on foot.
He had left his pony, knowing the Indians could outrun--and perhaps
would overtake him. And thinking they would be satisfied with only the
horse, and by leaving that he could make good his escape.
Joseph's horse was fleeter on foot, besides, he was determined to
sell what he had to, at the dearest possible rate. The rest of the
Indians of the first gang, about half a dozen, endeavored to capture
him; but in a miraculous manner he eluded them contriving to keep
the cattle headed in the direction of the lower road towards home,
until he reached the head of the spring. Here the Indians who pursued
Thomas--excepting the one in possession of Thomas' horse, which he had
captured and was leading away towards the point--met him, turning his
horse around the spring and down the course of the stream, the whole
gang of Indians in full chase. He could outrun them, and had he now,
freed from the herd, been in the direction of home he could have made
his escape; but as he reached a point opposite the hill from whence the
Indians came, he was met by another gang who had crossed the stream for
that purpose; again turning his horse. Making a circuit, he once more
got started towards home. His faithful animal began to lose breath and
flag. He could still, however, keep out of the reach of his pursuers;
but now the hindmost in the down race began to file in before him, as
he had turned about, by forming a platoon and veering to the right or
left in front, as he endeavored to pass, they obstructed his course,
so that those behind overtook him just as he once more reached the
spring. Riding up on either side, one Indian fiercely took him by the
right arm, another by the left leg, while a third was prepared to close
in and secure his horse. Having forced his reins from his grip, they
raised him from the saddle, slackened speed till his horse ran from
under him, then dashed him to the ground among their horses' feet while
running at great speed. He was considerably stunned by the fall, but
fortunately escaped further injury, notwithstanding, perhaps a dozen
horses passed over him. As he rose to his feet, several men were in
sight on the top of the hill, with pitchforks in their hands at the
sight of whom the Indians fled in the direction they had come. These
men had been alarmed by Thomas' cry of Indians, while on their way to
the hay fields, and reached the place in time to see Joseph's horse
captured and another incident which was rather amusing. The Jack,
which did not stampede with the cattle, had strayed off alone toward
the point of the hill, still wearing his bridle. An old Indian with
some corn in a buckskin sack was trying to catch him; but "Jackie" did
not fancy Mr. Indian, although not afraid of him, and so would wheel
from him as he would attempt to take hold of the bridle. As the men
appeared, the Indian made a desperate lunge to catch the Jack, but was
kicked over, and his corn spilt on the ground. The Indian jumped up
and took to his heels, and "Jackie" deliberately ate up his corn. By
this time the cattle were scattered off in the brush lining the lower
road, still heading towards town. The men with the pitchforks soon
disappeared from the hill continuing on to the hay-fields, and Joseph
found himself alone, affording him a good opportunity to reflect on
his escape and situation. The truth is, his own thoughts made him more
afraid than did the Indians. What if they should return to complete
their task, which he had been instrumental in so signally defeating?
They would evidently show him no mercy. They had tried to trample him
to death with their horses, and what could he do on foot and alone?
It would take him a long time to gather up the cattle, from among
the brush. The Indians might return any moment, there was nothing to
prevent them doing so. These were his thoughts; he concluded therefore
that time was precious, and that he would follow the example, now, of
Thomas, and "make tracks" for home. When he arrived the people had
gathered in the old bowery, and were busy organizing two companies,
one of foot and the other of horsemen, to pursue the Indians. All was
excitement, his mother and the family were almost distracted, supposing
he had been killed or captured by the Indians. Thomas had told the
whole story so far as he knew it, the supposition was therefore
inevitable; judge, therefore, of the happy surprise of his mother and
sisters on seeing him, not only alive, but uninjured. Their tears of
joy were even more copious than those of grief a moment before.
But Joseph's sorrow had not yet begun. He and Thomas returned with
the company of armed men on foot to hunt for the cattle, while the
horsemen were to pursue the Indians, if possible, to recover the
horses. When they arrived again at the spring no sign of the cattle
could be seen; even the dinner pails had been taken away. On looking
around, the saddle blanket from the horse Joseph rode was found near
the spring. Was this evidence that the Indians had returned as Joseph
had suspected? And had they, after all, succeeded in driving off the
cattle? These were the questions which arose. All that day did they
hunt, but in vain, to find any further trace of them; and as they
finally gave up the search and bent their weary steps towards home, all
hope of success seemingly fled. Joseph could no longer suppress the
heavy weight of grief that filled his heart, and he gave vent to it in
bitter tears, and wished he had been a man.
It is said, "calms succeed storms," "and one extreme follows another,"
etc. Certainly joy followed closely on the heels of grief more than
once this day, for when Joseph and Thomas reached home, to their
surprise and unspeakable joy, they found all their cattle safely
corraled in their yards where they had been all the afternoon. Alden,
it seems, reached the herd ground just after Joseph had left. He
found the cattle straying off in the wrong direction unherded, and he
could find no trace of the boys or horses, although he discovered the
dinner pails at the spring as usual. When he had thoroughly satisfied
himself by observations that all was not right, and perhaps something
very serious was the matter, he came to the conclusion to take the
dinner pails, gather up the cattle and go home, which he did by the
lower road, reaching home some time after the company had left by the
upper road in search of them. He of course learned the particulars of
the whole affair, and must have felt thankful that he had escaped. A
messenger was sent to notify the company of the safety of the cattle,
but for some reason he did not overtake them.
In the Spring of 1847, George Mills was fitted out with a team and went
in the company of President Young as one of the Pioneers to the Valley;
and soon, a portion of the family in the care of Brother James Lawson,
emigrated from "Winter Quarters," arriving in the Valley that Fall.
In the Spring of 1848, a tremendous effort was made by the Saints to
emigrate to the Valley on a grand scale. No one was more anxious than
Widow Smith; but to accomplish it seemed an impossibility. She still
had a large and comparatively helpless family. Her two sons, John and
Joseph, mere boys, being her only support; the men folks, as they were
called, Brothers J. Lawson and G. Mills being in the Valley with the
teams they had taken. Without teams sufficient to draw the number of
wagons necessary to haul provisions and outfit for the family, and
without means to purchase, or friends who were in circumstances to
assist, she determined to make the attempt, and trust in the Lord for
the issue. Accordingly every nerve was strained, and every available
object was brought into requisition. "Jackie" was traded off for
provisions; cows and calves were yoked up, two wagons lashed together,
and team barely sufficient to draw one was hitched on to them, and in
this manner they rolled out from Winter Quarters some time in May.
After a series of the most amusing and trying circumstances, such
as sticking in the mud, doubling teams up all the little hills and
crashing at ungovernable speed down the opposite sides, breaking wagon
tongues and reaches, upsetting, and vainly endeavoring to control wild
steers, heifers and unbroken cows, they finally succeeded in reaching
the Elk Horn, where the companies were being organized for the plains.
Here, Widow Smith reported herself to President Kimball, as having
"started for the Valley." Meantime, she had left no stone unturned or
problem untried, which promised assistance in effecting the necessary
of preparations for the journey. She had done to her utmost, and still
the way looked dark and impossible.
President Kimball consigned her to Captain ----'s fifty. The captain was
present; said he,
"Widow Smith, how many wagons have you?"
"Seven."
"How many yokes of oxen have you?"
"Four," and so many cows and calves.
"Well," says the captain, "Widow Smith, it is folly for you to start
in this manner; you never can make the journey, and if you try it, you
will be a burden upon the company the whole way. My advice to you is,
go back to Winter Quarters and wait till you can get help."
This speech aroused the indignation of Joseph, who stood by and heard
it; he thought it was poor consolation to his mother who was struggling
so hard, even against hope as it were, for her deliverance; and if he
had been a little older it is possible that he would have said some
very harsh things to the captain; but as it was, he busied himself with
his thoughts and bit his lips.
Widow Smith calmly replied, "Father ----" (he was an aged man,) "I will
beat you to the Valley and will ask no help from you either!"
This seemed to nettle the old gentleman, for he was high metal. It is
possible that he never forgot this prediction, and that it influenced
his conduct towards her more or less from that time forth as long as he
lived, and especially during the journey.
While the companies were lying at Elk Horn, Widow Smith sent back to
Winter Quarters, and by the blessing of God, succeeded in buying on
credit, and hiring for the journey, several yokes of oxen from brethren
who were not able to emigrate that year, (among these brethren one
Brother Rogers was ever gratefully remembered by the family). When
the companies were ready to start, Widow Smith and her family were
somewhat better prepared for the journey and rolled out with lighter
hearts and better prospects than favored their egress from Winter
Quarters. But Joseph often wished that his mother had been consigned
to some other company, for although everything seemed to move along
pleasantly, his ears were frequently saluted with expressions which
seemed to be prompted by feelings of disappointment and regret at his
mother's prosperity and success--expressions which, it seemed to him,
were made expressly for his ear. To this, however, he paid as little
regard as it was possible for a boy of his temperament to do. One cause
for annoyance was the fact that his mother would not permit him to
stand guard at nights the same as a man or his older brother John, when
the Captain required it. She was willing for him to herd in the day
time and do his duty in everything that seemed to her in reason could
be required of him; but, as he was only ten years of age, she did not
consider him old enough to do guard duty at nights to protect the camp
from Indians, stampedes, etc., therefore, when the captain required him
to stand guard, Widow Smith objected. He was, therefore, frequently
sneered at as being "petted by his mother," which was a sore trial to
him.
CHAPTER III.
One day the company overtook President Kimball's company, which was
traveling ahead of them; this was somewhere near the north fork of the
Platte River. Jane Wilson, who has been mentioned as being a member
of the family of Widow Smith, and as being troubled with fits, etc.,
and withal very fond of snuff, started ahead to overtake her mother,
who was in the family of Bishop N. K. Whitney, in President Kimball's
company, supposing both companies would camp together, and she could
easily return to her own camp in the evening. But, early in the
afternoon, our captain ordered a halt, and camped for that night and
the next day. This move, unfortunately, compelled poor Jane to continue
on with her mother in the preceding company.
Towards evening the captain took a position in the center of the corral
formed by the wagons, and called the company together, and then cried
out:
"Is all right in the camp? Is all right in the camp?"
Not supposing for a moment that anything was wrong, no one replied.
He repeated the question again and again, each time increasing his
vehemence, until some began to feel alarmed. Old "Uncle Tommie"
Harrington replied in good English style, "Nout's the matter wi me;
nout's the matter wi me;" and one after another replied, "Nothing is
the matter with me," until it came to Widow Smith, at which, in a
towering rage, the captain exclaimed, "All's right in the camp, and a
poor woman lost!"
Widow Smith replied, "She is not lost; she is with her mother, and as
safe as I am."
At which the captain lost all control of his temper, and fairly
screamed out, "I rebuke you, Widow Smith, in the name of the Lord!"
pouring forth a tirade of abuse upon her. Nothing would pacify him till
she proposed to send her son John ahead to find Jane. It was almost
dark, and he would doubtless have to travel until nearly midnight
before he would overtake the company; but he started, alone and
unarmed, in an unknown region, an Indian country, infested by hordes of
hungry wolves, ravenous for the dead cattle strewn here and there along
the road, which drew them in such numbers that their howlings awakened
the echoes of the night, making it hideous and disturbing the slumbers
of the camps.
That night was spent by Widow Smith in prayer and anguish for the
safety of her son; but the next day John returned all safe, and
reported that he had found Jane all right with her mother. Widow
Smith's fears for his safety, although perhaps unnecessary, were not
groundless, as his account of his night's trip proved. The wolves
growled and glared at him as he passed along, not caring even to get
out of the road for him; their eyes gleaming like balls of fire through
the darkness on every hand; but they did not molest him; still, the
task was one that would have made a timid person shudder and shrink
from its performance.
Another circumstance occurred, while camped at this place, which had
a wonderful influence, some time afterwards, upon Captain ----'s mind.
There was a party of the brethren started out on a hunting expedition
for the day. A boy, that was driving team for Widow Smith, but little
larger than Joseph, although several years his senior, accompanied
them, riding with the captain in his carriage, which they took along
to carry their game in. This boy (he is now a man, and no doubt a good
Latter-day Saint) was a very great favorite of the captain's; and
was often cited by him as a worthy example for Joseph, as he stood
guard, and was very obliging and obedient to him. During the day the
captain left him in charge of his carriage and team, while he went some
distance away in search of game, charging W---- not to leave the spot
until he returned. Soon after the captain got out of sight, W---- drove
off in pursuit of some of the brethren in another direction, and when
he overtook them, strange to say, he told a most foolish and flimsy
story, which aroused their suspicion. They charged him with falsehood,
but he unwisely stuck to his story. It was this: "Captain ---- had sent
him to tell them to drive the game down to a certain point, so that he
(the captain) might have a shot as well as they." Having done this he
started back to his post, expecting to get there, of course, before the
captain returned. But unfortunately for his good reputation with the
captain, he was too late. The captain had returned, but the carriage
was gone, not knowing the reason he doubtless became alarmed, as he
immediately started in search, instead of waiting to see if it would
return. He missed connection, and was subjected to a tedious tramp and
great anxiety, until he fell in with those brethren, who related the
strange interview they had had with W---- and the mystery was explained.
Returning again, there he found the carriage and W---- all right, looking
innocent and dutiful, little suspecting that the captain knew all,
and the storm that was about to burst upon his devoted head. But like
a thunder-clap the storm came. At first W---- affected bewilderment,
putting on an air of injured innocence, but soon gave way before the
avalanche of wrath hurled upon him. Poor fellow! he had destroyed the
captain's confidence in him, and would he ever regain it? The reader
can readily imagine this would be a difficult matter. Sometime after
this, the captain went out from camp with his carriage to gather
saleratus, and on the way overtook Joseph on foot. To Joseph's utter
astonishment, the captain stopped and invited him to ride. There was
another brother in the carriage with him. As they went along the
captain told this story, and concluded by saying, "Now, Joseph, since
W---- has betrayed my confidence so that I dare not trust him any more,
you shall take his place. I don't believe you will deceive me." Joseph,
in the best manner he possibly could, declined the honor proffered to
him.
Passing over from the Platte to the Sweetwater, the cattle suffered
extremely from the heat, the drought, and the scarcity of feed, being
compelled to browse on dry rabbit brush, sage brush, weeds and such
feed as they could find, all of which had been well picked over by
the preceding companies. Captain ----'s company being one of the last,
still keeping along, frequently in sight of, and sometimes camping with
President Kimball's company which was very large. One day as they were
moving along slowly through the hot sand and dust, the sun pouring down
with excessive heat, toward noon one of Widow Smith's best oxen laid
down in the yoke, rolled over on his side, and stiffened out his legs
spasmodically, evidently in the throes of death. The unanimous opinion
was that he was poisoned. All the hindmost teams of course stopped, the
people coming forward to know what was the matter. In a short time the
captain, who was in advance of the company, perceiving that something
was wrong, came to the spot.
Perhaps no one supposed for a moment that the ox would ever recover.
The captain's first words on seeing him, were:
"He is dead, there is no use working with him; we'll have to fix up
some way to take the Widow along, I told her she would be a burden upon
the company."
Meantime Widow Smith had been searching for a bottle of consecrated
oil in one of the wagons, and now came forward with it, and asked her
brother, Joseph Fielding, and the other brethren, to administer to
the ox, thinking the Lord would raise him up. They did so, pouring a
portion of the oil on the top of his head, between and back of the
horns, and all laid hands upon him, and one prayed, administering the
ordinance as they would have done to a human being that was sick. Can
you guess the result? In a moment he gathered his legs under him, and
at the first word arose to his feet, and traveled right off as well as
ever. He was not even unyoked from his mate. The captain, it may well
be supposed, now heartily regretted his hasty conclusions and unhappy
expressions. They had not gone very far when another and exactly
similar circumstance occurred. This time also it was one of her best
oxen, the loss of either would have effectually crippled one team,
as they had no cattle to spare. But the Lord mercifully heard their
prayers, and recognized the holy ordinance of anointing and prayer, and
the authority of the Priesthood when applied in behalf of even a poor
dumb brute! Sincere gratitude from more than one heart in that family,
went up unto the Lord that day for His visible interposition in their
behalf. At or near a place called Rattlesnake Bend, on the Sweetwater,
one of Widow Smith's oxen died of sheer old age, and consequent
poverty. He had been comparatively useless for some time, merely
carrying his end of the yoke without being of any further service in
the team; he was therefore no great loss.
At the last crossing of the Sweetwater, Widow Smith was met by James
Lawson, with a span of horses and a wagon, from the Valley. This
enabled her to unload one wagon, and send it, with the best team, back
to Winter Quarters to assist another family the next season. Elder
Joel Terry returned with the team. At this place the captain was very
unfortunate; several of his best cattle and a valuable mule laid down
and died, supposed to have been caused by eating poisonous weeds.
There was no one in the camp who did not feel a lively sympathy for
the Captain, he took it to heart very much. He was under the necessity
of obtaining help, and Widow Smith was the first to offer it to him,
but he refused to accept of it from her hands. Joseph sympathized with
him, and would gladly have done anything in his power to aid him; but
here again, it is painful to say, he repulsed his sympathy and chilled
his heart and feelings more and more by insinuating to others, in his
presence, that Widow Smith had poisoned his cattle! Saying, "Why should
my cattle, and nobody's else, die in this manner? There is more than a
chance about this. It was well planned," etc., expressly for his ear.
This last thrust was the severing blow. Joseph resolved, some day, to
demand satisfaction not only for this, but for every other indignity he
had heaped upon his mother.
On the 22nd of September, 1848, Captain--'s fifty crossed over the
"Big Mountain," when they had the first glimpse of Salt Lake Valley.
It was a beautiful day. Fleecy clouds hung round over the summits of
the highest mountains, casting their shadows down the valley beneath,
heightening, by contrast, the golden hue of the sun's rays which fell
through the openings upon the dry bunchgrass and sage-bush plains,
gilding them with fairy brightness, and making the arid desert to
seem like an enchanted spot. Every heart rejoiced and with lingering
fondness, wistfully gazed from the summit of the mountain upon the
western side of the valley revealed to view--the goal of their
wearisome journey. The ascent from the east was gradual, but long and
fatiguing for the teams; it was in the afternoon, therefore, when they
reached the top. The descent to the west was far more precipitous and
abrupt. They were obliged to rough-lock the hind wheels of the wagons,
and, as they were not needed, the forward cattle were turned loose
to be driven to the foot of the mountain or to camp, the "wheelers"
only being retained on the wagons. Desirous of shortening the next
day's journey as much as possible--as that was to bring them into the
Valley--they drove on till a late hour in the night, over very rough
roads much of the way, and skirted with oak brush and groves of trees.
They finally camped near the eastern foot of the "Little Mountain."
During this night's drive several of Widow Smith's cows--that had been
turned loose from the teams--were lost in the brush. Early next morning
John returned on horseback to hunt for them, their service in the teams
being necessary to proceed.
At an earlier hour than usual the Captain gave orders for the company
to start--knowing well the circumstances of the Widow, and that
she would be obliged to remain till John returned with the lost
cattle--accordingly the company rolled out, leaving her and her family
alone. It was fortunate that Brother James Lawson was with them, for
he knew the road, and if necessary, could pilot them down the canyon
in the night. Joseph thought of his mother's prediction at Elk Horn,
and so did the Captain, and he was determined that he would win this
point, although he had lost all the others, and prove her prediction
false. "I will beat you to the Valley, and ask no help from you
either," rang in Joseph's ears; he could not reconcile these words
with possibility, though he knew his mother always told the truth,
but how could this come true? Hours, to him, seemed like days as they
waited, hour after hour, for John to return. All this time the company
was slowly tugging away up the mountain, lifting at the wheels, geeing
and hawing, twisting along a few steps, then blocking the wheels for
the cattle to rest and take breath, now doubling a team, and now a
crowd rushing to stop a wagon, too heavy for the exhausted team, and
prevent its rolling backward down the hill, dragging the cattle along
with it. While in this condition, to heighten the distress and balk
the teams, a cloud, as it were, burst over their heads, sending down
the rain in torrents, as it seldom rains in this country, throwing the
company into utter confusion. The cattle refused to pull, would not
face the beating storm, and to save the wagons from crashing down the
mountain, upsetting, etc., they were obliged to unhitch them, and block
all the wheels. While the teamsters sought shelter, the storm drove
the cattle in every direction through the brush and into the ravines,
and into every nook they could find, so that when it subsided it was a
day's work to find them, and get them together. Meantime Widow Smith's
cattle--except those lost--were tied to the wagons, and were safe. In a
few moments after the storm, John brought up those which had been lost,
and they hitched up, making as early a start as they usually did in the
mornings, rolled up the mountain, passing the company in their confused
situation, and feeling that every tie had been sundered that bound them
to the captain, continued on to the Valley, and arrived at "Old Fort,"
about ten o'clock on the night of the 23rd of September, all well and
thankful. The next morning was Sabbath, the whole family went to the
bowery to meeting. Presidents Young and Kimball preached. This was the
first time that Joseph had ever heard them, to his recollection, in
public; and he exclaimed to himself: "These are the men of God, who
are gathering the Saints to the Valley." This was a meeting long to be
remembered by those present. President Young spoke as though he felt:
"Now, God's people are free," and the way of their deliverance had been
wrought out. That evening Captain ---- and his company arrived; dusty and
weary, too late for the excellent meetings and the day of sweet rest
enjoyed by the Widow and her family. Once more, in silver tones, rang
through Joseph's ears. "Father ----, I will beat you to the Valley, and
will ask no help from you either!" J. F. S.
A REMARKABLE LIFE.
BY "HOMESPUN".
CHAPTER I.
Many of the noblest lives have been lived in obscurity and in poverty.
Nobility and virtue are never dependent upon surroundings. And when you
have read the simple little chronicle which I am about to relate, I
think you will agree with me that even though humble and retiring, the
subject of this sketch was one of nature's own heroines.
In a little cottage in Bravon, Lees-Mersem, England, lived an old lady
named Harris. She was given to study although very meagrely educated.
She was feeble and sat a great deal of her time poring over her Bible.
One day her granddaughter came to visit her, bringing her little
daughter, Mary, with her. The old lady had been reading her Bible, and
as her daughter came in she said:
"My dear, I have been reading some of the great prophecies concerning
the last days, and I feel sure that either you or yours will live to
see many of them fulfilled."
"Not so, grandmother," answered the woman, whose name was Mrs. Dunster,
"thou wast always visionary; put by such thoughts. Our religion's good
enough for the like of us."
The old lady arose, unheeding her granddaughter's warm reply, and
placing her hands on the little girl's head, said solemnly:
"Here's Mary; she shall grow up and wander away from you all and break
her bread in different nations."
The solemnity of her great-grandmother's manner and the peculiar spirit
that accompanied the words made a vivid impression on the little girl's
mind. How well that strange prophecy has been fulfilled you and I, my
reader, can tell hereafter.
The little girl, whose name was Mary Dunster, and who was born in
Lympne, Kent, December 26, 1818, grew up and when sixteen years of age
was asked in marriage by William Chittenden, who was a laborer on an
adjoining farm. She did not feel very willing, but the young man urged
her so warmly that she hesitated before refusing him. She had always
had an irresistible desire to go to America, where many emigrants were
then going from England.
At last she consented to be his wife on one condition: that he would
take her to America. Very bravely promised the lover, but not until
forty-two years afterwards did he fulfill that promise.
After they were married they settled down to work and lived, William as
farm laborer, in Lympne for four years. Two children were born to them
in this place, Mary Ann, born June 15, 1836, and Henry, born August 18,
1838.
Four years after their marriage, at which time the introduction of
convicts into Australia was prohibited and the government of England
offered good inducement to skilled laborers to settle up the country,
William Chittenden concluded to go to Australia. Previous to this time
the English convicts, who were under life sentence, had been sent
down to Australia, landing generally at Botany Bay. These convicts
were brought down and sold as life slaves to those freeholders who
were willing and able to purchase their labor. Sometimes they escaped
from their masters and made their way into the interior of the
country. These escaped convicts herded together in small parties or
bands, and are called "bush-rangers." They have now become a powerful
tribe, fierce, vindictive and unlawful. They resemble very nearly, in
occupation and temperament, the wild Bedouins of Asia and the wild
tribes of Arabs or Berbers of northern Africa.
Between the years of 1840 and 1850, England transported many skilled
laborers and artizans to Australia to build up and colonize her
possessions in the southern seas. Numbers of the husband's countrymen
were going down to the "new country," and he resolved to go too.
Mary objected; she wanted to go to America. I think, between you
and me, that she used sometimes to remind her husband sharply of
his unfulfilled promise. But his was a calm, kind, but essentially
self-willed disposition, that listened good-naturedly to all Mary might
and did say, but was no whit moved thereby to give up his own way. And
so, after much controversy, the removal to Australia was decided upon
and accomplished.
The young couple had determined to engage a farm on shares, and so
went, immediately upon their arrival, to a country part near Botany
Bay. Here they remained a short time and then went up to Camden, which
is about one hundred miles from Sydney. William took a farm and then
commenced a long career of farming in Australia. Most of their children
were born there.
And now let me tell you something of the character of this same Mary,
ere I relate to you two strange dreams which she had while living at
Camden.
She was a medium-sized, well-built woman, with kind, gray eyes and
a pleasant but firm mouth. Her step was quick, and her manner was
full of warm-hearted simplicity. She it was who ruled the children,
administering with firm justice the rod of correction. Her husband
contented himself by controlling his wife, leaving the whole of the
remainder of the domestic regimen entirely in her hands. She was never
disobeyed by her children. But withal "father" was a tenderer name
to their large flock of girls than was "mother." But with all her
firmness, she was far too womanly to possess one grain of obstinacy.
When it was her duty to yield she could do so gracefully. With these
qualities Mary united a sound business capacity, economy, thrift
and extreme cleanliness. She was, and always has been, a remarkably
healthy woman. With these gifts she had something of the visionary or
semi-prophetic character of her great-grandmother Harris.
She has been a dreamer, and her dreams have been of a prophetic
character. Most of them require no interpretation, but are simple
forecasts, as it were, of the future.
One dream, which was indelibly impressed upon her mind, occurred to
her just before the birth of her eighth daughter, Elizabeth. It was as
follows:
She dreamed she had to travel a long way. At last she reached a stately
white building, with projecting buttresses and towers. Going up the
broad steps she entered a room filled with beautiful books. Seeing a
door ajar, she walked into the adjoining room. There sat twelve men
around a large table, and each man held a pen. They were looking up as
though awaiting some message from above. She drew back, so as not to
attract attention, when a voice said distinctly to her: "You will have
to come here to be married." The thought passed through her mind, "I
_am_ married and why, therefore, should I come here to be married?"
She went on out of the building and walked through the streets of the
city that were near the building. The streets were straight and clean,
with little streams of water running down under the shade-trees that
bordered the foot-paths. Everything was clean and beautiful to look
upon. Footbridges spanned the little streams, and the houses were clean
and comfortable. She saw just ahead of her a woman driving a cow, with
whom she felt a desire to speak, but before she could reach her, the
woman had gone in at one of the gates. She walked on, pleased with all
she saw. Raising her eyes she saw in the distance, coming to the city,
what looked like an immense flock of sheep. But as they came nearer she
saw they were people, all clothed in white raiment. They passed by and
went on to the white building. "Ah!" thought Mary, "if I was there now,
that I might know what it all meant!" But she felt compelled to go the
other way. And so the dream ended.
When she awoke she related the strange episode to her husband and told
him she believed her coming confinement would prove fatal. She thought
the beautiful place she had seen could only be in heaven, as she had
never seen anything like it upon the earth. William comforted her, but
the spirit of the dream never left her.
However her little babe was born and she resumed her household duties.