The summer was passing, it was late in August. Cholera was raging at
Mackinac Island. Fifty-two deaths had occurred there and three deaths
occurred at Beaver Island. A lady was boarding with us from Mount
Clemens. Her two youngest children died from cholera in our house. My
father and I both had it but recovered. Also a captain of a small vessel
died. After the deaths our clothing was all washed and the Mormons came,
taking everything they could find. They took several boats and all the
fish from the fish houses between Cable's dock and the harbor. It was
now becoming serious between the Gentiles and the Mormons. Peter
McKinley had moved his family to Mackinac Island, not considering it
safe to carry on business any longer. Mr. Cable had also left and gone
to Indiana. His uncle, Mr. Alva Cable, came with his vessel, taking C.
R. Wright and family, with several others, to Charlevoix, then called
"Pine River." All the Ohio, Canada and Detroit fishermen had gone home.
My two brothers had gone to Detroit to school for the winter. Our
family, and seven others, were the only Gentiles left on the island, and
we were preparing to leave as soon as possible. One morning about the
first of November a messenger came to every Gentile family with a letter
from the king, saying every Gentile family must come to the harbor and
be baptized into the Church of Zion or leave the island within ten days
after receiving the notice signed by the King, James J. Strang. Within
twenty-four hours after receiving the notice every Gentile family had
gone but ours. They had taken what they could in their fish boats. Our
boat being small, father thought best to wait for a vessel to come and
take us away. The fourth day no vessel had come. Father feared the
message to the captain of the vessel had not been delivered, which had
been sent by an Indian family going home to the Old Mission. Winds were
ahead, the weather rough. Our goods were packed, and every day some
Mormon men could be seen walking along the beach, each carrying a gun,
but none ever spoke to us. These were anxious days to us, watching and
waiting for a sail. Father had made up his mind if the vessel did not
come we would take what we could in our small boat and go to the Indians
for protection until we could get to the main land. The evening of the
ninth day had come and no welcome sail in sight. John Goeing, our
faithful friend, was with us and cheered us with his strong faith that
the vessel would come in time.
I had laid down and fallen asleep. I was wakened by hearing low voices
talking. I listened a few moments and knew it was Mr. Bower. He was the
man who had doctored father when he was sick. He had stolen away from
his home in the darkness and came to sympathize with us. He then told us
he was going to leave the island the next spring if possible, as he was
tired of the life he had to live among the Mormons, saying. "There are
many excellent people here that would be glad to go, but they have no
means to go with and fear to try to go." With a warm clasp of the hand
and a good-by to all, he was gone.