Soon shots were fired, I cannot say how many. All was confusion, women
were screaming, some were praying. Men were talking, trying to quiet
them. I never took my eyes from the Mormon boats, and when the smoke
cleared away I saw the men hurriedly push their boats off and jump into
them, taking their oars and pulling with all their might. Then I saw our
men coming towards the house carrying a man who seemed to be dead, as
blood was streaming down. The form looked familiar to me. I ran to the
door and saw it was my brother Lewis. They carried him home, laying him
down and examined his wound. He was shot in the calf of the leg. It was
a flesh wound. The place was small where the bullet went in, but the
flesh was badly torn where the bullet came out. Excitement was great;
the men wanted to follow the Mormon boats. At the river there were but
two boats at the time, our own, which was too small, and Captain
Morrison's, which was a large, heavy boat.