A terrible accident which threw gloom over this city and Washington occurred on the Washington black ridge bout 8:45 Tuesday morning. Mrs. Charles Bastian being killed and her son injured in a runaway. Mrs. Charles Bastian and her son, Arvil, were returning home from Leeds, where they had been visiting at Harley’s. On coming down the west side of the Washington black ridge one of the tugs became unhooked causing the horses to bolt and become unmanageable. Arvil was driving; he is about 16 years old, and on account of a gun accident last Thanksgiving day, whereby a part of his left shoulder was blown away leaving him in a weakened condition, he was unable to exercise the same control over the horses that he otherwise could have done. Judging from scattered articles, the horses ran down the ridge about 200 yards, when, near the point about 200 yards above the bridge across the wash, the buggy went over the dug way, going down about 40 feet. Mrs. Bastian was instantly killed and her son rendered unconscious. The buggy was upside down, the top being smashed at its side; one of the horses had two legs broken. In this condition the party and the outfit were found about five minutes after by J. M. Moody and family and Miss Hazel Olsen of Leeds, who were coming to the home of Mr. and Mrs. Moody in the city to spend the 4th. Mr. and Mrs. Moody, daughter, Miss Rachel, and the younger children were in their auto, their sons following in a buggy. Immediately one of the sons, Schuylar, saw the dead woman and her apparently dead son, he fainted, falling under the horses with the reins in his hands. Fortunately the horses stood still. Schuyler was for a long time in a serious condition of health, here, sometimes critical, with leakage of the heart, and he is rather delicate in consequence. The shock completely unnerved him, and was nearly as severe on his mother who is also a sufferer from heart trouble, but who did her utmost for the injured Bastian boy. The Moody party at once set to work to extricate the victims of the accident from the wreckage. Mrs. Bastian was found with her feet in one of the buggy wheels and her body bent over the axle, she was dead and had a large cut on the head from which a large quantity of blood had flowed and her neck was broken. Arvil was found tangled up in the top; his head was cut and he was badly bruised. He recovered consciousness soon after being found, his first words being: “Where is mother, is she hurt?” He said his back hurt him and was spitting blood. Moody asked him to go to Washington but he said he could not stand the ride. Moody then went to Washington and phoned to Dr. Woodbury, this city, who responded in a remarkably short time, being at the scene of the accident about 45 minutes later. The horse with the broken legs was shot to end its misery. The people of Washington were all out in holiday attire and were just about to ring the bell for their Fourth of July program, instead of which they went to the scene of the accident to see if they could be of service. It cast a gloom over the town as it did here and the program was abandoned. The grief-stricken husband and his two daughters arrived on the scene as quickly as possible after receiving the sad and terrible news. The body of Mrs. Bastian was brought in, and the son was taken to the local hospital. Dr. Woodbury said this morning that Arvil shows no unfavorable symptoms and is doing as well as can be expected. Besides her husband and the son, Arvil, Mrs. Bastian leaves two daughters, one about 20 the other 14 years old. Needless to say, that these sorrow-stricken fellow citizens have the fullest sympathy of the community. Funeral services for Mrs. Bastian will be held in the Stake Tabernacle at 3 p.m. today. Interment will be made in the family grave at the Washington cemetery. (taken from the Washington County News, 1917)

As told by daughter Verda B. Seegmiller, "They moved to Washington. My father had worked hard, had a small home in town and a good farm in the Washington Fields. He had worked hard to help pioneer Washington, built the Washington field dam at its old site and also where it is now. He did much freighting because he always drove good horses. He took very good care of his horses and expected a lot of work out of them. The winter before I was born he spent several months in Kingman, Arizona haling ore. April 20, 1897 I was born in Washington, Utah, the third child. To my mother and father, I was a tin wonder, I guess. They had two sons born before me, one lived 14 months and died with whooping cough and another born one year later, lived five weeks and died with the same horrible disease. I was indeed sheltered and cared for as no other child. I remember my mother telling me every year when the locusts blossoms were in bloom it make her think how happy she was to be in bed with me on her arm and the smell the sweet perfume that came in through her window. She also told me one day when she was asleep that my father sneaked in and laid a large stick of striped candy on my pillow when I was only three days old. When I was four years old we moved to St. George on May Day. The doctor told my father that my mother's health would be better away from Washington because at that time Malaria was a terrible malady there. There is much written about this in the history of Washington. We bought a home where the Whittwer Motel is now. Lafe Carter had built it. He moved to White River, Nevada and had never finished it. It was a large house and a good home. My father was always good to his younger brothers and sisters helping them to go to school and on missions. They have many times told me this and related specific instances. He believed firmly not to let his left hand know what his right hand did. This also has been proved to me by stories which people have told me. Widows and missionary wives and children were his speciality, but because they were his secrets they will also be mine. When I was a child my father ran the mail by hack (team & horses) from Cedar City to St. George. then it changed from Modena to St. George. He never charged a missionary or a widow a fee for riding on the stage,but many a person cheated him out of ride who could really afford to pay. At times roads were closed and only the mail went through. In our isolated area we suffered many shortages. One winter there was a coal oil famine. (This was of course before electricity.) Dad could not haul much freight on his mailhack, but every time the mail came in, it brought a crate of coal oil. The crate consisted of two five-gallon cans in a wooden crate. The door yard was full of people waiting for just a quart or even a pint. If there was not enough to go around they went without lights or used a hitch light (grease & rag).