At this time a considerable change had taken place in the spirit and
feelings of the Indians of Southern Utah, since the settlement of the
country in 1861-62. Up to that time, our visits among them and our long
talks around their camp fires, had kept up a friendly feeling in their
hearts.
After the settlement of St. George, the labors of the Indian
missionaries, from force of circumstances, became more extended and
varied, and the feelings of the Indians towards the Saints became more
indifferent, and their propensity to raid and steal returned.
The great numbers of animals brought into the country by the settlers,
soon devoured most of the vegetation that had produced nutritious
seeds, on which the Indians had been accustomed to subsist. When, at
the proper season of the year, the natives resorted to these places
to gather seeds, they found they had been destroyed by cattle. With,
perhaps, their children crying for food, only the poor consolation was
left them of gathering around their camp fires and talking over their
grievances.
Those who have caused these troubles have not realized the situation.
I have many times been sorely grieved to see the Indians with their
little ones, glaring upon a table spread with food, and trying to get
our people to understand their circumstances, without being able to do
so. Lank hunger and other influences have caused them to commit many
depredations.
When our people have retaliated, the unoffending have almost invariably
been the ones to suffer. Generally those that have done the stealing
have been on the alert, and have got out of the way, while those who
have desired to be friends, from the want of understanding on the part
of our people, have been the sufferers. This has driven those who were
well disposed, to desperation.
The Navajos and other Indians east of the Colorado River have taken
advantage of these circumstances to raid upon the settlements, and
drive off many hundreds of cattle and valuable horses and mules.
In 1864 I visited the Indians east of St. George, accompanied by
Brother George Adair. They had gathered between St. George and
Harrisburg, for the purpose of carrying out their threat to destroy
some of the settlements the first favorable opportunity.
I was asked how many men I wanted to go with me on my contemplated
visit. I replied only one, and that I did not want any arms, not even a
knife, in sight.
When we arrived in their camp I asked them to come together, and bring
their women and children, and all hear what we had to say. They had
prepared for hostilities by secreting their women and children, as is
their custom.
By talking with them, a better influence came over them, and the spirit
of peace triumphed over irritation and a sense of wrong.
About seventy-five miles west of St. George, a band of Piutes had
confederated with a band of Indians that had been driven out of
California, and they threatened the settlements of Meadow Creek, Clover
Valley and Shoal Creek. Brother Andrew Gibbons accompanied me on a
visit to these Indians. It was summer, and they had left their corn
fields to dry up, and gone to the mountains. Our people had manifested
as much hostility as the Indians, having killed two of their number.
We sent out word for all to come in and see us. We made a feast by
killing an ox, and, in a general talk, they told over their grievances.
They said that they felt justified in what they had done, and also in
what they intended to do.
I could not blame them, viewing matters from their standpoint. In the
talk I rather justified them in what they expected to do, but told them
that in the end it would be worse for them to carry out their plans
than to drop them, and smoke the pipe of peace. That the grass upon
which the seeds had grown which served them for food was all eaten up,
and from that time would be; but if they would be friendly, they could
get more food by gleaning our fields than they had before we came into
their country.
The talk lasted for hours. The difficulty was settled and we returned
home.
Early in 1865, the Navajos stole a few horses from Kanab. I was
requested to go over the Colorado, and, if practicable, have a talk
with them, and recover the stolen horses. I was also to have a talk
with the Moquis, and invite them to move over into our country.
We did not succeed in recovering the stolen horses. We were informed
by the Moquis that the old Navajo chief, the friendly Spaneshanks, had
been discarded by his band, that his son had succeeded him as chief,
and that he was disposed to raid at any favorable opportunity.
For these reasons we thought it would be useless and perhaps dangerous
to go into their country. We had a meeting in the Oriba village, with
the principal men of that place and one of the largest of the Moqui
towns. It was an interesting interview.
We told them we did not expect to visit them much more where they were,
and we wished them to move over the river into our country, live with
us, and build cities and villages the same as other people.
They again told us that they could not leave their present locations
until the three prophets who had led them into their country should
appear among them again, and tell them what to do. They predicted that
our people would yet move into the country south of them, and would
travel with wagons up the Little Colorado.
Aside from their traditions against moving across the great river, they
could not see the utility of going over to live with us when we would
yet move into their country. They were quite anxious that we should
not be angry with them, as they desired that we should be friends, and
thought that we might sometimes visit them.
On our return home we were disappointed in not finding water in two
places where we had always found a supply on former trips. At the
second place we camped for the night. On account of thirst our animals
were very uneasy, and we tied them up and guarded them until morning.
The nearest water to us was ten miles distant, over a sandy desert, and
directly out of our way; that is, we would have to travel twenty miles
to get water, and again reach our trail for home. It was nearly two
days' travel on our way home to water, and both men and animals were
already greatly distressed.
I ascended a hill near the camp, and earnestly asked the Lord in my
heart what I should do under our difficult circumstances. While thus
engaged I looked towards the Colorado, which was about forty miles
distant, and saw a small cloud, apparently about the size of a man's
hat. It rapidly increased, and it did not appear to me more than half
an hour before we were enveloped in a heavy snow storm. The snow melted
and ran into the cavities of the rocks, until there was an abundance of
water.
When we started on our journey we found the ground dry in less than a
mile and a half from our camp.
I thanked the Lord that He had sent us relief in our great need, but
there were those in the company who did not appear to see the hand of
the Lord in it.
In the autumn of 1865 Dr. Whitmore and I made a trip to Las Vegas
Springs and the Colorado River. We visited the Cottonwood Island
Indians and the Mohaves.
In the winter after our return, Dr. Whitmore and his herder, young
McIntyre, were killed near Pipe Springs, about fifty-five miles east
of St. George, by the Navajos, who also drove off their sheep and some
cattle.
I started out after them with a company, was taken sick, and turned
back to go home.
I stopped over night on the road in a deserted house, without food,
bedding or fire. Having an opportunity, I sent word to my family about
my condition. I got into the town of Washington, twelve miles east of
Santa Clara, and could go no farther.
In a day or two my wife, Louise, arrived with a team and took me home.
My health was very poor for about a year. At one time my friends
thought that I was dying. At first I told them that I was willing that
it should be so, for I had only been in their way for nearly a year;
but my little children were crying around me, and the question came
into my mind: What will they do if I am taken away? I could not bear
the thought of leaving my family in so helpless a condition.
I then asked God, the Eternal Father, in the name of His Son, Jesus
Christ, to spare my life long on the earth, and I would labor for the
building up of His kingdom.
I afterwards felt a desire for food, and asked for something to eat. I
was told that I had eaten nothing for two days. Some boiled beef and
tea were brought me; I thought that I had never before eaten anything
that tasted so good. From that time I slowly recovered.