Robert L Bybee

1838 - 1929

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Robert L Bybee

1838 - 1929
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The Life of Robert Lee Bybee Son of Byram Bybee and Betsy Lane The first to the Bybee people that I have any record off, left England early in the 16th century and settled in the state of Virginia, and the natural migration of the families led them into the surrounding states, and on May 4, 1838; I
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Life Information

Robert L Bybee

Born:
Died:

Rose Hill Cemetery

2355 Rollandet Street
Idaho Falls, Bonneville, Idaho
United States
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Carol_Wilson

May 5, 2012
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letab

June 7, 2015
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josephryanlaird

July 26, 2021
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Tyler

July 25, 2021
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mbpetey

April 27, 2012

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Contributor: Tyler Created: 5 months ago Updated: 3 months ago

The Life of Robert Lee Bybee Son of Byram Bybee and Betsy Lane The first to the Bybee people that I have any record off, left England early in the 16th century and settled in the state of Virginia, and the natural migration of the families led them into the surrounding states, and on May 4, 1838; I was born on the banks of the Eel River in Clay County, Indiana, the son of a family of 10, and my first experience in life was on the farm. The land, we were killing was not open for entry, but was held as a vote “squatters right." The house was of logs, a dirt roof and without a floor, built on the bank of the river. Father was not healthy, and mother was taking responsibilities, generally, and as I view the happenings of the immediate future, we were near the stage waiting for the cue to enter and play our part. This cue was furnished by the humble Mormon missionaries, and the entire family, with one exception, placed themselves under its influence, and in 1842, the family moved to Nauvoo, Illinois, and immediately we felt the heavy hand of the oppressor as he waged war his war without mercy on the people. During my three years residents in and around Nauvoo, I received two years schooling, the balance of the time we were moving from place to place either driven by mob, or in fear of them. Joseph Smith, the Prophet was a military man in no small degree, and it was his interest in the youth of Nauvoo that prompted him to ask the parents of the community to allow their sons to subject themselves to the conditions and discipline of military training. It was touring one of the sermons he preached appealing for the support of the parents and their sons, that he said in effect, if they would allow their sons to come to him and subject themselves to this training and discipline, he would promise them that they would never be killed by the bullet of an enemy. In our own family, this was readily accepted and as a result, I received some of the early experiences of the wonderful teachings of the Prophet Joseph, and this is more vivid in my mind than many of the things that were, seemingly, of greater importance. There were only two of my brother's old enough to take part in the organization. The companies were formed of different age groups; my brother David and myself were the fortunate ones. I recall very distinctly, the uniforms we used. They consisted of practically anything that would cover our nakedness. The only thing in the line of a uniform was a cap. It consisted of two stripes of pasteboard fastened and so arranged so that it would slip over the head, with blue yarn tassels on both ends, and one on top. The difference in the uniforms of the two companies was, in the red trimmings on the caps of the older company. I've regretted, and do now regret that I did not use every care I knew to preserve this headpiece. I now recall just what happened to that cap. My mother's love for the cap was equal with my own, and it had its place in the bottom of mother's wooden chest. I was about 16 or 17 years of age and living in Uintah, Utah when I was prevailed upon by Malan Chase, a neighbor of ours, who had aspirations toward the stage, and always wanted the cap, and felt more successful when he had it on, to trade it to him for an old slate. A good slate in those days was considered quite a valuable piece of property, they were being not tablets or blackboards in use in the homes are in the schoolrooms. Myself and my younger brother Byram, spent much of our time during this period watching the progress of the work on the temple as the men raised the large stones to their places on the top of the high walls with the crude implements at their command. The old block and tackle rendering the mechanical advantage. I recall the men after the stone was ready to hoist, they would sing, in time with their movements, "Rolling, a bolling the ship is a rolling, Ho! Ho! Ho! Rolling, a bolling the ship is a rolling, Ho! Ho! Ho!” Following the last Ho! They united their efforts and up went the stone. Another form of amusement that we enjoyed very much, was to watch the progress of the steamboats on the Mississippi River. A little distance below our home in Nauvoo, a projection of rock, in the channel of the river produced a rapid, above which the larger vessels could not go. There were some side-wheelers, a boat built with the power wheels on either side that could pass up over the Rapids. There were also some stern wheel boats. I think one or two of them could pass over also, and one the "Warsaw", we were especially interested in, because it not only carried the mail either up or down the river from Nauvoo, but it always appealed to us because of the ease with which it did come and go. While again, the name of the vessel reminded us of a community by that name whose people were embittered against the states. There was very little work in Nauvoo that winter. The work on the temple was all donated. Aside from this there was a Cooper institution making barrels and cakes for the transportation of whiskeys, etc. There was some employment offered by this company and getting "hoop poles" which were used to hold the status of the barrels and cakes in place. These "hoop poles" were made from the second growth of Hickory, perhaps in their second season, and very tough and pliable. He was during the late spring and early summer of this year, 1844 that the activities ever enemies made it necessary for us to locate a home elsewhere. While the exodus of the Saints was not undertaken at this time, it was nevertheless a paramount subject for discussion and the route and the direction had received considerable attention. With those helps in mind, and the pressure of our economic problems, it was a relief to start on the western trek. The activities of our enemies around us and the effect of driving the Saints into the city of Nauvoo where they remained as a body until the enactment of the terrible tragedy of June 27, 1844. When I review this period of my life from my advanced age, I can recall the clearest and most impressive fashion of my boyhood memories the person and personality of the Prophet Joseph Smith. I remember very distinctly hearing in case the people on Sunday in the beautiful grove in the eastern part of the city. My father was sick at home, but mother took weak children and help to impress the lessons taught there, on our memories. I remember the excitement that prevailed among the Saints when the news of the assassination reached Nauvoo. My mother took us to see the bodies, my father still ill at home. I'm thankful I saw and heard these men in life, and that I was permitted to view their remains. Their teachings in their manner of living have been ideal to me and after seeing and hearing the many trials of their brief lives, and the manner of suffering, it has made my cross easy to bear. I can recall how beautiful he appeared at the head of the parades and drills of the Nauvoo Legion, seated on his beautiful bay mount, in the uniform he war which was as neat as in new pin. I remember him as he would call on visit our company when we were training. The prophet always spoke to us, urging us to always be good, clean boys. The last time I recall seeing the prophet a live was on the one of the parades of the Legion. It seems to me now that the remaining months of 1844 and the early spring of 1845, my life was somewhat uneventful, unless it was the fact that we labored under a false impression in regard to the preparations necessary for our trip west. There was a general impression that there was a scarcity of fuel for use in crossing the planes, and we were told to cook and prepare as much food as we could before starting across. So we parched all the corn we could spare for the trip. We found out in plenty of time that this bit of information was not well founded, that with care of there was plenty of fuel, so the practice of preparing food was discontinued. If I remember correctly the first move of our migration was made about this time. The general move of the Saints was not yet a reality, but when we cross the Mississippi River in May 1845, we always considered it the first of the moves we were to make with the Rocky Mountains as our goal. I remember that the leaves were just coming out on the trees, and the plants just coming in flower, the birds were returning from the south and their cheerful songs rang out merrily through the woodland. When our preparations were completed we all assembled on the east bank of the Mississippi and waited our turn for the ferryboat. This was a large flat-bottomed boat with room enough on it for two teams and two wagons at the same time. It was a very sturdy affair, surely not easy to sink, and not at all likely to capsize. No cables were used in handling it, ores in sets of one, two or three pairs were with each boat and manipulated by manpower. A man at the stern of the boat with the rudder would guide it to the port intended. At this point the river was 1 mile wide, and to offset the current of the stream the boat was toed up some distance above the proposed landing on the other side. Needless to say it did not have the speed of our rocky mountain streams. Levi Hammon, who married my sister Polly, and who joined us at Nauvoo in 1843, was with us here and the boat would accommodate both our outfits at once, so we were loaded on and the crossing made without accident. We landed at Montrose, Iowa, almost opposite Nauvoo. At this point the river forms the boundary between the present states of Illinois and Iowa. My father often remarked about the cloudy future of the Saints, and anticipated the mobbings and sufferings of them, and it was these things that urged us on to the west, even ahead of the main body of the Saints. While we were preparing to cross my father was in contact with one Dr. Todd who owned a large tract of land in Iowa, near Montrose, he wanted it fenced. The fence was known as the "worm-fence", the rails in other materials for the fans were to be gathered from the land in question, and it was with the intention of doing this work that we settled on the place. Father and Levi Hammon had contracted the work, so that we made the trip to the property from Montrose together, and made our home together, such as it was. We didn't have a house to move into so we arranged the best we could and that was none too good. There were many things that served to make things hard for us, the presence of snakes and insects made it impossible to sleep on the ground so we cut steaks long enough to stand about 3 feet above the ground when in place, with crosspieces on these we could place the wagon boxes on them and maintain sleeping quarters. In the new arrangement Levi and his family lived in a tent nearby, protected as well as could be done. To my knowledge father was never able to do any strenuous labor, so in this case all the heavy work fell on David who was 15 and John who was 17. Doctor Todd furnished our axes, and a crosscut saw, and two or three iron wedges. The wooden wedges or gluts we made our-selves. The rail in the fences were to be 12 feet long and made of the wood easiest to obtain. The boys preferred walnut. It split easily and straight and made a nice uniform rail. David was an excellent worker, and his work was to start splitting the trees after they had been sawed into sections by John and Levi. Like most any work there is an art to splitting rails, and the boys mastered that art, the placing of the wedges and of the gluts at proper distance, according to the size of the log, making even rail splitting interesting. The piece of land we were fencing was a small portion of the entire tract.. It was one half-mile square, which meant we had two miles of fence to build. Our supplies, particularly corn and pork, were furnished by Dr. Todd as part pay for our work. I do not know the particulars of the contract but when we completed the work just before September, after paying for our summer’s provisions, father left there with a good wagon and a good young yoke of oxen. Dr. Todd was certainly a fine friend to our family, and I believe that father could have made his home with him there, but father's aims and desires were to go west with the Saints, and nothing was permitted to interfere with the plans. I enjoyed the stay at Dr. Todds, Byram and myself were free to roam the woods, going and coming when we would. About the only duty we had was to carry water for mother from a nearby spring. I remember on one occasion I took a couple of hours to get a turn of water and as father went to his work he found me and told me to tell Mother to punish me. I returned to camp but hoping father would forget it, I said nothing. When father returned about the first thing he asked me was if I told mother, then he administered the whipping. I liked this arrangement – two from father is better than one from mother. She has a process that commanded respect, and no efforts on her part were misdirected. When Byram and I were alone, our greatest pastime was hunting quail nests. It not only afforded us great fun, but the eggs could be used by mother in her cooking. Sometimes we went with father in the woods to hunt squirrels, there were a great many of them there, principally of two kinds, the gray and the fox squirrel, either was very fine meat. Father owned a small bore Kentucky rifle and prided himself in his marksmanship, often dropping the clever squirrel from the top of the highest tree where he thought himself hid. The squirrel meant more to our family than meat. My mother had very poor feet and only leather pelt of the very softest kind was used in the making of her shoes. The squirrel pelt when properly tanned made good, tough, endurable leather, and her shoes were always made of them by father. The ash hopper was made about two feet long and two and one half feet deep and in shape like the letter “V”, open at the bottom, and a trough to catch the liquid. In this hopper we place the ashes and when the time came to make soap, we would moisten the ashes and as the water passed through them and into the trough at the bottom it became charged with a strong solution of lye, and this was used in making the household soap. Besides this we used the ashes for tanning the different hides that we used for leather. We would bury the squirrel pelt about three or four inches deep in the ashes, keeping them damp. In about three or four days, or until the hair would slip, then after removing the hair it was thoroughly washed and placed in some soft soap. After 3 or 4 days it was again washed, then worked by hand near a fire until it was entirely dry. It was then very soft and pliable. Another thing that happened in our lives worthy of note, maybe more so then than now, was one of mother's Johnny-cakes. After we crossed the Mississippi into Iowa we were rarely ever out of corn meal, our supply of white flour increased also. Mother was an expert on the well-known corn Dodger. But the times mother made Johnny-bread everyone would sit up and take notice. The ingredients used to make both the dodger and the cake were practically the same, but the method was quite different. The corn meal and the salt and the water was mixed as for the dodger, but the big thing happened when the cracklings were added. The cracklings are the portion left when the fat of the hog has been rendered. Johnny cake days were certainly rare days to us then. They usually came during the winter holidays and usually represented grand occasions, and were out of the ordinary for us. I believe in my boyhood days I never enjoyed any bread and cake better than these. It was quite a trick to cook these cakes, for they were not cooked like the dodgers. Our cooking implements were of the very simplest. The dodger was cooked in the Dutch oven, but the Johnny cake was cooked before the open fire. We had no dripping pans, so we used an oak board about 1 and ½ inch thick, 15 inches wide and 18 inches long, with sides of wood to hold the cake on the board. It was then placed before the fire to cook, at an angle of course, and then the cake was cooked on one side it was turned over so the other side would cook. Except that we were fulfilling an ambition of my father's life in moving westward, it was with real regret that we moved from Dr. Todd's place. Our plans for the move West were constantly spoken of, and revised and kept up to the minute. We went from Dr. Todd's place to Daniel Smith's place somewhere in the vicinity of Kainsville, Iowa. We moved slowly so we could take advantage of all the work we could get so we could get all the money and property we could. I do not recall a great deal that happened on the way to Kainsville, but I know that we reached there a mighty little in advance of winter. We were fortunate here in that we could move into a house, and that near where Daniel lived. Daniel had moved west from Nauvoo about one year ahead of us, and had gone to the place near Kainsville some fifteen miles North of the town as fast as he could. He and his family were industrious and when we joined them they were very comfortable. I am not sure as to who owned the house we moved into, but I am inclined to think it was one built and abandoned by some pioneer in his westward flight. We were very comfortable here and enjoyed the winter very much. When Daniel first came to Kainsville he located on the first stream north of the town, then known as Little Pigeon, and some 8 or 10 miles farther north was Big Pigeon. He located in the district on account of the supply of wild game, making it easy to secure his meat. Wild bees were plentiful also. When we reached his home he had many gallons of wild honey. It is interesting at this point to note an observation by Levi Edgar Young in “The Founding of Utah” - "This was the age of new American inventions, when the McCormick reaper, the plow, threshing-machine and the sewing machine were changing the entire industrial history of America ---Always on the frontier the Mormons had learned inventiveness and resourcefulness; … They had felled trees and reclaimed thousands of acres of land …They had entered on that period of industrial and social life … and the church and school were the centers of social and religious activities! The thought we were living in this wonderful time, and doing our bit in the great program of affairs, and eventually to found the greatest commonwealth of all time, has been a source of no small degree of satisfaction to me, and was so to my father whose vision of the west was in keeping with the wonderful things that have taken place. We moved from Kainsville where we had spent the winter, early spring of 1846, up onto the headwaters of Little Pigeon where there was a large beautiful spring. Conditions were more favorable here where we located and father, with the help of Levi Hammon, Daniel Smith and the boys built a house. We arrived here early enough in the spring to plow and plant four or five acres of corn and garden. Levi Hammon, who had been with us continually since 1843 at Nauvoo, did not move with us to the headwaters of the Little Pigeon, but where we had spent the winter, near Daniel Smith. When our work was taken care of in the spring, the corn and garden planted, and everything as well arranged as possible, Levi Hammon, with his family, my father and my brother David, went down to Missouri with their wagons and teams to get work. Our home life was quite uneventful during father’s absence. We cared for the corn and garden as best we could, Byram and my self did about as we pleased most of the time. Levi and his family, my father and brother David spent the winter of 1846-47 in Missouri, where they were working. After our corn was harvested, and the vegetables were gathered we moved from this location about one half mile down the creek, nearer to the home of Daniel Smith, and it proved to be our farewell to the place. Just before the corn was ready to gather, we discovered the tracks of an Indian in the field. Mother was not surprised at the news for she had heard him in the night, but said nothing about it. It was because of this that we moved nearer to Daniel Smith’s home. At this time the name of Robert Lane, is introduced into my Father’s record, as the cousin of my father, and was about the age of father, and was with him on the Little Pigeon, and was with him when they discovered the tracks of the Indian in the cornfield. Where he came from, where his people were, how he came to be there is never mentioned. The Indians in this locality were known as the Omahas, and while they were not particularly unfriendly, they would steal anything that was loose. If the Indian had appeared in the daytime, we would have likely have taken it as a matter of course, though our neighbors were from a mile to five miles from us. About a quarter of a mile above our new home, on the banks of the creek was located a log house, used as a community center, for Church gatherings, dances and socials. The music for these entertainments was furnished by my brother-in-law Daniel Smith, who was a first class “fiddler” if not a violinist. School was held there five days a week. I never did attend school there, though, for I had no shoes and whenever I left the house I had to wrap my feet in rags, and other clothing was not too plentiful. Perhaps the most cherished piece of property we owned at this time was a cow. I do not know where we got her, or how, but she was the center of our livelihood. Her food would have been a problem for us, had it not been for Daniel Smith. He allowed us to gather fodder from his cornfield, which was located across the creek and about a half-mile below us. The creek at this place was about 5 feet deep, and just below the house we had a bridge, and under this bridge and in the bank of the stream we had dug us a cellar, and mother’s stone jar was a part of the fixtures. In the early spring a freshet of unusual size overtook us and the contents of the cellar disappeared in the flood. Mother was quite sad of the loss of it all, but especially that of the stone jar. At this time Robert Lane established himself in the family circle, and esteem of my mother by carrying the stone jar home from its landing some distance below, unharmed. In spite of the inconvenience mother managed to keep a few chickens in the yard. There were so many enemies of the breed that it took “eternal vigilance” to save even a part of them for our own use. In this connection we had our troubles with a sly red fox. He visited us so often that something had to be done, so mother told Robert Lane that if he would capture the sly old fellow, she would give him a chicken dinner. Robert set himself to the task in a business like way; mother was only to furnish a piece of broiled meat. The plan was well laid and we had promise of success before we retired the first night. Three logs were laid side by side, close together. The middle one was raised and a figure (4) was placed between the outer logs and the bait of broiled meat fastened to it, with the hope that the fox would try for the meat, and in so doing he would disturb the mechanism of the figure 4 and the log would drop to the ground between the other two logs and Mr. Fox would do well if he avoided serious injury. There was about one foot of snow on the ground at the time. In the early part of the night we heard the log fall, and there to our joy we found Mr. Fox, dead beneath the log. The pelt was removed as best we could and we tried our luck at preserving it. Some time before the pelt was sold, for the part I played in the performance, I was promised a book, something I had never possessed. When the time came to sell the pelt, Daniel Smith took it to Kainseville, Iowa and sold it, and when he returned he had with him a “Parker's Second Reader" for me, the first book I ever owned. I was as proud as my capacity would permit, and in a few months I had memorized everything in it. Some of the writings I recall today after a lapse of seventy years. Some beautiful thoughts were expressed. With father away in Missouri, and no man in our home to guard us and offer his guiding influence, and mother taxed to the limit at all times, it seemed this was sufficient, but along with all our cares in making a living, and trying earnestly to save enough to get us across the plains and with the body of the Saints in the Salt Lake Valley, some difficulties arose between our own United States and our neighbor, Mexico, on the South, and war was declared, already there had been a few skirmished fought in Texas. There was a large track of land in the West that belonged to Mexico and the United States wanted it. It embraced territory now included in several of our Western States. This was in 1846. Though the Saints never did receive the protection they were entitled to from our Government, they were not in the least bitter toward the Union. Even at this time they were asking aid from President James K. Poke in moving themselves to the West. The plan of the Saints at Washington was to hold the Western country for the United States, in return for what help was given. In the month of June 1846, an officer of the United States Army came to Iowa. He was representing the Government and was there to enlist 500 men from among the Mormon people to help secure the land in question with Mexico. This was entirely new and unexpected condition of affairs. Instead of receiving aid from the Government the Saints were called upon to furnish aid to the Government. Among the Saints this was received with some misgivings. They feared it was a conspiracy to usher in their utter destruction. They had never received any protection from Washington, but had learned to expect nothing, and everything. There was no question in the mind of President Young, however and he promised the men as soon as they could be recruited. He felt that it was a test of the loyalty of the Saints to their country. The Battalion was organized at Council Bluffs, Iowa, the Church leaders offering all the aid possible in recruiting. This work was completed in 3 days. The following from the "Founding of Utah" by Levi Edgar Young presents a vivid picture of some of the sacrifices that were made: "Imagine the feeling of the Pioneers when they received word that the fathers and sons must enlist to go to war! The mothers of the young wept to think of the sacrifice; the young wives were brokenhearted. They did not say a word or do a thing to discourage the men. In fact, they were willing that the men should give all for their country, and they determined to place their Faith in God and suffer, and be strong. It was a time of bitter trial for the Saints and when the time came to part, the sorrow at leaving their families was almost more than the men could stand. The soldiers were poorly clad, and could they have foreseen the long journey, over desert wastes and mountain passes, we sometimes wonder if they could have met their trials. But their courage was equal to the task before them, and the men set out unafraid." The word of this movement reached us where we were living sometime in the month of June. My brother John was then in his 18 eighteenth year and as making preparations to join the battalion, needless to say it was against the wishes of our mother, especially since father was from home and had been for nearly a year. His departure was certainly a sad affair for us, especially for mother, and I'll never forget it as long as I live. Late in the spring of 1847 we moved again to a building nearer to Daniel Smith's home. Father was still in Missouri and we depended a lot on the kindness of Daniel, and indeed we were never disappointed, and when father returned in the fall, I think October of 1847, we were delighted, and we were sure Daniel was relieved. He was very fortunate in his work in Missouri, especially when we remember the attitude of the people in Missouri toward the Mormon people. He had an additional team of oxen, a good supply of provisions and clothing for winter. About September of 1847 my brother John returned to us from San Diego, California where the Mormon Battalion had been disbanded. The winter of 1847-1848 found us well with the exception of my father, whose health was not good. After the assassination of the Prophet Joseph Smith, and Brigham Young had been chosen to lead the people, active preparations was carried on for the westward movement of the Saints. We were out of communication with the main body of the Saints, but we hear often from them and endeavored to keep in touch with the changing situation, but thru it all the Saints were admonished to prepare for a home in a new and undeveloped section of our great commonwealth. Nauvoo was practically deserted in 1846. Nearly every home was engaged in making something helpful for the journey west, from wagons for transportation, to food and clothing for their bodies. The fortunes of the Saints varied considerably during the winter of 1846-47 as they wended their way across the present state of Iowa, then only a haunt of many Indian tribes. The whole territory was filled with trails, but no roads, but the one that the Saints were to blaze was to be used for many years to come. The extreme cold of the winter caused much suffering. By the concentration of their efforts they established Winter Quarters on the west bank of the Missouri River. This location served its purpose well; for it was at this point that all the organized companies of Saints were effected for the westward migration. Father's life long ambition to go west with the Saints failed to materialize in the year of 1847, mainly because of ill health, but after the Saints left it was always foremost in his mind to follow them to their retreat, while our conditions, generally were improving, father was fearful to undertake the trip with the equipment he had. At this time Heber C. Kimball was one of the leading members of the Church, and was a friend of Daniel Smith. He called him his Nimrod, and was at this time was making preparations to go West with the Saints, and in his arrangements he wanted the use of two yoke of oxen and a driver to help him as far West as the upper crossing of the Sweetwater River, somewhere in the present state of Wyoming where the old Mormon Trail leaves the Sweetwater to cross the Rocky Mountains. Daniel was in Kainsville shopping when he chanced to meet Heber C. on the street and he at once asked Daniel to go for he knew he had the equipment. He told him it would be impossible for him to make the trip but that father had the necessary Oxen and wagon, and time to do the work, but advised Heber C. that father was sick in bed at the time. He asked Daniel to see Father on his return home and tell him he wanted him to come and see him at Kainsville, and this in spite of Father's illness. Reluctantly father made the trip on one of Daniel's best saddle horses named Jim. Father was prevailed upon to make the trip and when he returned home he sat about at once to make the necessary arrangements. I think he left us some time in the month of May to join Mr. Kimball in Kainsville, and about July 1, 1848 they crossed the Missouri River for Winter Quarters where Mr. Kimball’s family were waiting. Father returned to us about the middle of September and I recall the stories of the many wonderful things he saw, especially the ones relating to the countless number of buffalo that were roaming the country along the Mormon Trail. About this time they were returning north from their winter range in the South, the buffalo being a migratory animal. They ranged, in summer as far as the Dakotas of today. Another item that impressed father was seeing the great, high tips of the Rocky Mountain peaks, above the clouds. We spent the winter of 1849-50 on Mr. Palmer's property, but due to some misunderstanding, the nature of which I do not know, we moved from there about 3 miles up the Missouri River on the property of Mr. Henry Catlit. Levi Hammon moved with us. We were engaged in burning charcoal, just as we were on the Palmer property. We made this move sometime in April in the spring of 1850 so we had the time, and did, plant some corn and garden. Another accomplishment of Levi Hammon was that he could construct a wagon in all its parts, except it to be to “iron” it, he was a first class wheelwright and much of his time, and all his spare time was spent in building a wagon for himself and on for father. The experience of those who had made the trip to the west had taught them that the wagons were not strong enough, and were not built to withstand the rough roads and the excessive heat, and dry sands of the plains. These Levi endeavored to overcome, and in our experience of the following year we found he had succeeded very well indeed. The wagons were completed by fall and taken to St. Joseph and there they were “ironed” and made ready for the trail. We were at last creating a favorable condition for our departure to the Rocky Mountains. The ironwork on the wagons at St. Joseph was done by one Mr. Litz and paid for in charcoal by Father and Levi, and while Mr. Litz was doing that work Levi was working as a carpenter for and with Mr. Litz in St. Joseph. On the Catlet place, I had my "first" and only experience with “tobacker” as a chew. A neighbor of ours, whose name I have completely forgotten had a boy I recall as Jack, and he had mastered the art of chewing the weed. Byram and my self were with him about all the spare time we had, and watched him, as he would spit here and there and we finally asked him if he were chewing tobacker. He said he was and wanted to know if we wanted to learn. I took it up and took a life sized chew and what I did not spit out I would swallow. I had not been told what to do with it and what happened to me is all history, for it has happened to too many boys before and since then. We were in the woods gathering berries, especially mulberries, raspberries, strawberries and blackberries which were plentiful near our home. Things were not rosy very long. The trees started cutting up capers, and I became so dizzy I couldn’t navigate. I called to the others that something was wrong with me, I wanted water and finally got it, but that did not improve conditions at all, so we started for home, Jack on one side of me and Byram on the other. Within about one hundred yards of the house we happened on to David, burning a pit of charcoal. Here I fell on the ground and waited the outcome. As soon as David saw me he called to mother that I was poisoned, which brought her to me at once. Jack had his wits about him too, for he left for home without any ceremony, and well he did, for mother discovered the trouble at once. As a result I spent the next two weeks in bed, and very sick at that, really poisoned. Before Father left Heber C. Kimball at the upper crossing of the Sweetwater, they had an understanding about the time, as near as they could calculate, when we should start West. Heber C’s advice to father was to return to Kainsville, Iowa and take his family to Missouri where he thought we could prepare our-selves in about two years for the trip. As stated, father did move us to Missouri, but just before we left Daniel Smith's place we were joined by Lee Bybee, my father’s uncle and his three sons, Alfred, Absolom, and Lee Jr. and their families for they were all married. Here also lived Alexander Beckstead, the father of Henry Beckstead, who married my sister Lucene. This gathering was made in anticipation of the move West. We intended to travel together, and when we left them at Kainsville, Iowa, to go to Missouri they received the impression that we would return for them to start the move in 1850. It was in our minds that we would start when we were able, tentatively in 1851, and when we were satisfied that we could make it by then, Father and I started for Kainsville to make sure we understood each other correctly, and to see if they would be ready by then also. Father had a scheme to help raise a little more money also, so we started out. This was suggested by one Mr. Burns, a neighbor who lived near us; that we take a supply of bacon which we had on hand and sell it to the families going west, both Mormons and the gold seekers off to California, as we might contact them enroute to Kainsville. Mr. Burnes propossed to pay father a wage for his service. It seemed a lot of bacon, but not a load, but when we reached Kainsville we had only a small supply left. When we were about to Kainsville, and traveling along the river, paralleled but some distance from it, father saw quite a number of wagons, and decided it was a good prospect to dispose of his bacon, so we went over to them. To our complete surprise it was our people from the Little Pigeon, above Kainsville. They were ready to start west and were waiting for us to come from Missouri to go with them. It was of course out of the question for them to wait for us, so after a careful discussion of the whole situation, they decided to go ahead without us, and they did. When we reached Kainsville we found my brother John there at Daniel Smith’s and preparing to go West with Lee and his people. My father and I stayed long enough at Kainsville to see our people safely across the river, then started for home. This trip was made in the month of June and our return to our people, on the Catlet place, was about July 1st. At one of our camps on the way home, Father was approached by a stranger who evidently lived near and asked father if he would sell him a yoke of oxen. Father thought a few minutes and then decided to sell for $35.00 and the offer was accepted. I guess the reason I remember it so well was from the fact that the entire amount was paid in fifty-cent pieces. Everything was ok, when we reached home, but the folks were disappointed because our people had gone west without them and the trip could not be made with them, this was especially true of mother, who thought things were so unsettled that it was best to stick together. Then Lucene and Elizabeth and John had gone on and this had quite a lot to do with mother’s feelings. About the time of our return one of Mr. Catlet's slaves, a negro boy about 16 years old, put on a show that we enjoyed a lot even if it did cause Dick some inconvenience. He was working in the cornfield with a horse that knew the meaning of the dinner bell as well as Dick did, and it he wanted to go to the house with his horse he must show considerable speed. So Dick unhooked the horse, climbed on, and was off for the barn. The corral, or barnyard, was guarded by a set of bars, the top one of which had been left up for some cause. Dick's failed to notice the bar for he made no effort to free himself from the horse, and the horse was on a high trot and the bar caught Dick about midsection and pulled him to the ground. Mr. Catlet saw the whole affair and asked Dick why he didn’t get off, or fall off, and Dick said, "How the Debil could Ah fall off, when all Ah could do was to hang on." It was in September when we burned our last coal pit. Levi was spending his entire time on the wagons, Dave was working most of the time for Mr. Burns, while the rest of us were caring for the details and also for the stock, all we thought of was to get ready for the spring move. We were saving everything we could find that promised to be of any help, and saving every penny. Talk about pinching pennies, we were surely good at it, and it was well that we were. Then we moved on Mr. Catlet's place we camped near a grove of sugar maple trees. For some reason these trees had never been tapped. Father asked about them and was given permission to tap them, and asked to do them as little harm as possible. The month of March is the best month for this work, and we took advantage of this opportunity during March of 1851 so when we left we had a nice quantity of sugar and several gallons of syrup. I recall the race we had every morning with Mr. Catlet's pigs to be the first to the syrup that dripped out during the night. Mother discontinued her butter business, it did not pay to go to the market for it alone, and the travel on the highways seemed to be at a standstill. It was always a family custom in the fall of the year to gather a plentiful supply of nuts for winter. They grew in abundance in the woods near us, and the pleasure was not entirely when we ate them in winter, but was great fun to go as a family into the woods and gather them. There were black walnuts, butternuts, and hazel nuts; no winter was complete without them. Associated with these pleasant evenings cracking nuts, I recall a very large negro slave belonging to one of our neighbors, his master was very kind and good to him, but the slave liked Father very much and spent as much time with him as he possibly could, nearly every evening he was there to help with the nuts. He was always asking father to take him west when he went, but Father told him we could not, for he was the property of another man, and it would be stealing to take him. He then proposed that he run away a few days a head of us and join us at Kainsville, Iowa, but father refused to have any thing to do with the matter. (as he belonged to someone else) We never saw him again after we left the Catlet place. While we were living on Mr. Catlet's place, in fact soon after we reached there, one of Polly’s little girls contracted some ailment, some fever, and passed away and we buried her there, I can not recall her name. Everything moved nicely with us our preparations to move west, and the excitement increased as the time approached to leave. Some three or four days before the start we were all taken to St. Joseph, Missouri to take a last look at the city, and to purchase supplies for the trip. In looking back to the time I can see Father in one of his stunts. The money we had saved was all put together in a meal bag large enough for several times as much money. We had no paper money at all, and with a few exceptions for the gold we had, our entire fortune of over $200.00 was in silver. We had been advised by the Church Authorities to bring sufficient flour to last at least six months after we reached Salt Lake Valley, so all our cash was put into provisions except for the fare on the ferry and other incidentals, as we could estimate them. I remember Father as he sauntered in the Riddle Store and the Bedeford, carrying the sack containing the money over his right shoulder. He tossed it to the floor and at the same time telling them it was his last trip to St. Joseph for provisions, and it was. I remember very little about the prices of the goods there, except sugar, which was sold for eighteen pounds for a dollar, ordinary brown sugar, for this was long before the appearance of the beautiful white sugar of today. After completing our trading we returned to the Catlet place. The arranging of our load and all details occupied the last three or four days on the place. Finally the day arrived for the start, and one beautiful morning early in June 1851 we took to the trail. Levi Hammon did not leave here for a week or ten days later, owing to some uncompleted business between him and Mr. Litz. Levi was supposed to meet us in Winter Quarters as soon as he had cared for his affairs. We took things easy, traveling short hours and caring for the stock, on which so much depended. We spent enough time so when we reached the Ferry we did not have long to wait for Levi. Immediately on his arrival we made arrangements to cross the River on the Ferry. We made the trip first, and Levi followed us, and we went into camp at Winter Quarters for about a week while the arrangements were completed for our place in the train with which we were to travel. I wish to say a something about the organization of the train, and some of the conditions that obtained during the trip. There were one hundred wagons, formed into the companies, of 50 wagons each. These two companies were under the control of a captain, a captain was also placed over each of the 50 wagon trains, and they were responsible to the head captain. Each 50 wagon trains were divided again into five divisions each, and a captain placed over each of them, responsible to the captain of fifty. In every division of ten, there was also appointed a man as its hunter, whose duty it was to supply his company with meat. My brother David was the hunter for our company. It was also enjoined on every able bodied man to take his turn doing guard duty at night. The departure of the two companies was so arranged so they would be about two weeks apart. This lapse of time was to safe guard the feed for the cattle. It could not always be depended upon on account of the roaming herds of buffalo, when they passed over the fee, often there was none left. In order to avoid dissatisfaction in the companies as far as possible, the wagons changed positions every day, and it was my lot to be in the lead but once as we crossed. This order stood good for the five companies in each division also, the leading company falling to the rear of the organization each day. When we made camp for the night the leading wagon would turn in a half circle to the right and be followed in turn up to the 25th wagon and including it. The 26th wagon would take a course from the same point, only to the left and when his half circle was made the circle was complete. Each driver would stop his wagon with his left front wheel close to the right rear wheel of his pal ahead, thus forming a corral into which our stock was placed at night if it was thought necessary, and we were placed at an advantage in case of an attack by an enemy. The man selected as captain of our company was one Alfred Cordon, and it was our lot to leave Winter Quarters first, and in advance of the other company about 10 days. I cannot recall the captain of our “ten.” We broke camp at Winter Quarters about July 1st 1851. Our trip was a very quiet one in comparison with some of those who made the trip before us. Outside of the daily duties connected with traveling we had but little excitement. We had men out on guard at night around the camp, as well as two or three men with the horses and cattle, so in spending our evenings around our camps in whatever capacity we chose, we felt quite secure, and really enjoyed ourselves very much, singing and dancing and always hopeful of a better future. Every company had its "fiddler" and when the work was done for the day we would clear a piece of land and have a dance. I did not fiddle at these dances, though later I did became a "fiddler." Our company never tried for long pulls each day, ten to fifteen miles being satisfactory. We never traveled on Sunday, except where the feed for the stock was scarce. Before we left St. Joseph, Father sold all the young stock to Mr. Burns, our neighbor, as we were advised not to try to make the trip with them, as they would not stand the strain and would be lost or have to be carried in the wagons. But Mother insisted on the cows, so we had six cows with us. Mother made what butter we needed as we went, by placing the cream in the “stone jar” and when we camped again the action over the rough roads had churned it to butter and we not only had this butter, but the butter milk also. My brother Byram and I had a spat one day at lunch and he threw all the buttermilk there was, on me and I was a mess. We have laughed about it a lot since we became men. An interesting part of the routine was our "post office" as we called them. They served us only in one way, in that they informed those who followed only. Very frequently we found information of the company ahead of us. Nearly anywhere along the way we could find the bleached bones of the buffalo, and upon these we would write our message, as to date, location, conditions etc., then the bone was placed in some conspicuous place to be found by the man behind. At times when we were crossing, we were forced to stop and made way for the buffalo, for in their travels and in search of food, they always follow their leader if it is in any way possible. Some of their earlier companies made the serious mistake of taking the right of way from the buffalo. It usually resulted in a stampede among the company stock, as well as among the working cattle. So when we encountered them we stopped while they went by. Now and then along the Platte River were they were drinking, we sometimes waited for three or four hours. If I remember correctly, it was two or three days travel east of Fort Laramie, that we passed a column of rock extending into the air about 25 or 30 feet, called "Chimney Rock." It was on the south side of the river, perhaps 2 or 3 miles from the road, which was on the North Bank. We were all quite curious about it as we passed for we had been able to see it for considerable distance, it was the only outcropping of rock in this locality and this made it all the more interesting. Covering the distance from Winter Quarters to Fort Laramie, we saw but one white man, outside of our own men. This was the man in charge of the ferry at Loop's Fork. We swam our cattle across the stream. Neither did we pass, or meet, a single company or outfit in this distance. When we reached Fort Laramie, we saw many Indians living in their tepees near the fort. The majority of them were of the Sioux Tribe, and a mighty fine race of people, large in stature, and brave as any man. There was no way to scare a Sioux. The trail we were following, Fort Laramie was about half way between Winter Quarters and Salt Lake City. We spent no more time here than was necessary and took to the road to complete our journey. The needs of the journey had been so well thought out, that it was unnecessary to purchase any supplies at the fort and we left there, as I remember it, about the middle of August. From Fort Laramie we traveled up the North Platte River about a week. We crossed the North Platte the north bank about this time. As I remember, the next water that we reached of any importance was the Sweetwater. In the distance between the North Platte and the Sweetwater we saw the place where the Old Oregon Trail left the Old Mormon Trail, its general direction was northwest. Not all the people in our company were Mormons. They had joined us for protection in travel, and expected to part with us when we reached the Oregon Trail at this point. Here about 8 or 10 wagons left us and took the Oregon Trail to the Northwestern part of the Oregon Territory. We reached the Sweetwater in the due course of events, all O.K. It was, at this time, well toward the latter part of August. We traveled up the Sweetwater River to a point called the South Pass, where we were to start over the Rocky Mountains. I remember one of the first natural wonders we came to. It was called the Devil's Gate, and it was on the Sweetwater River. With all the pioneers who passed through this section of the land, the Devil's Gate was the most conspicuous landmark. Many scenes were recalled, and memories refreshed by a mere reference to this place. The water of the river ran through this gate, which was, approximately, 100 feet high. We were approaching the Rocky Mountains and traveling nearly straight west, possibly a little to the north. The mountain, which the Gate was in, was somewhat smaller than the main range, and was a spur running out into the plains in an almost eastward direction. The walls of this Gate were almost perpendicular, and were of solid rock. The next remarkable exhibit was that of Alkali Lake. This was not only a curiosity to us, but one of concern as well. This lake did not seem to be fed by a stream from the surface, and in the latter part of the summer, the water disappeared entirely. The lake covered perhaps 25 or 30 acres. We noticed indications of alkali as we entered this district, and at the lake we found the headquarters. There was so much alkali in the water, and the feed for the stock was of the same variety, that it was necessary to feed and water our stock with care. Many of the cattle that had fared quite well up to this point, died of the effects of the feed and water. In and around the central part of this locality we noticed the ever-increasing signs of the misfortunes that befell some of the pioneers who had blazed the trail for us. We found piles of wagon irons, and always in the immediate vicinity we found the bones of the livestock, victims of the feed and water. Indeed from here to the end of the alkali district we saw evidence of misfortune. During the season of the year when the water was gone from the lake, it was the custom of the settlers to return and haul quantities of the substance, known to them as salaratus, to be used largely as we use common baking soda to day. When it was dry it could be scooped up with the hands and wagon boxes loaded with it, if desired. A large mass of rock, known as Independent Rock was the next curio to claim our attention, located farther up the Sweetwater. It was likely three hundred feet high, and covered, maybe four acres of ground. Its position, out in the open valley, away from any similar formation, and miles from the mountains, made it all the more attractive. We were camped near it and we boys took some of the old wagon tires from the wrecks of the pioneers, and climbed Independent Rock, and rolled them down. Out of 8 or 10 that we turned loose only two reached the bottom, and they were so badly bent that they would hardly roll. It was now about September 1st as we reached the Upper Crossing of the Sweetwater River, and the last crossing of the stream before we started across the Rocky Mountains, and it was estimated that we were two-thirds of the way to the Salt Lake Valley. The roads leading over the mountains were rough, and our progress slow. The strain on the wagons was taking its toll, though the crossing was made without incident. When we were over the Mountain Pass, the first stream of water I can remember that we reached was called Big Sandy, though we must have traveled down other streams before we reached it. Good fee for the stock and plenty of good water were reached without difficulty now. After a few days travel on the Big Sandy, we reached Green River, which we forded. We traveled in a southeasterly direction and the next place we reached was Fort Bridger, and we camped there one night. We entertained this thought now that the crossing of the plains was almost accomplished, and we were up early and on the road each day, for we felt each day was now an important time, and we longed for a view of the valley of the Great Salt Lake. Soon after we left Fort Bridger we met Henry Beckstead, who, acting on our understanding of the previous year, to leave in 1851, was on his way East to meet us. We were just breaking camp for the day’s pull when Henry happened along. He was driving a span of good horses, and his main object, aside from knowing all was well with us, was to care for Mother, and shorten her time on the road. He took her and Byram, my brother, with him in his wagon and went on ahead into the valley, and we did not see them again until we reached Beckstead's home on the Weber River, near Ogden. Our company, up to the time we reached Independent Rock had submitted gracefully to the discipline of the officers over us, but dissension and dissatisfaction had appeared and was quite manifest from the Rock on. The main cause for the “split” was that the non-Mormons that were with us wanted to travel on Sundays and Captain Cordon would not consent to it. His instructions were to travel on Sunday, only in case of absolute necessity. By the time we reached Echo Canyon, the next land mark of our trail, our company was pretty well scattered, some ahead of us and others in the rear, as for Father and his people, we were all together and with Captain Cordon. We entered Echo Canyon in the early part of the day, and were obliged to make one camp in the canyon, and I remember the night very well on account of our little dog "Clip." He was more or less just a common dog, but a very smart little fellow. He was entirely black, and while he might not have been able to whip his weight in wild cats, he was not afraid to try, and would tackle anything once. The walls of the canyon near the camp were just right to produce an echo to the best advantage, and Clip, either for amusement or anguish spent all the night barking at himself in echo. The next day’s travel took us through the canyon onto the Weber River. We were greatly interested in Echo Canyon, it was strange to us. One feature was that the cliffs of the canyon were practically all on the North side of the canyon. Some of them tower 3 or 4 hundred feet above the bed of the canyon, almost perpendicularly, and extend almost east and west. To the south the hills are smaller and run out to open country. As we went down the Weber River, the mountains were much larger. Our first camp after we left Echo Canyon was on the Weber River on the north bank, nearly opposite the mouth of East Canyon Creek, which I think was the name it was known at that time. The river here was not very large so we had no difficulty in fording, the next morning after breaking camp; our way led up East Canyon Creek. The road in places was quite steep and rocky, in other places it was sliding, and our progress was slow. The mountain we were climbing was known to the pioneers as Big Mountain, and is known by that name today. The last of our wagons reached the Summit of Big Mountain about one or two o'clock in the afternoon and we went down the west side of the mountain before we had dinner. By this time the daylight was spent and we camped there for the night, with but one mountain between us and the Great Salt Lake Valley, it was known and is known today as Little Mountain, and we were on a stream between there. Early next morning we were on our way over Little Mountain which we scaled without any trouble, and at the foot of which we emerged into Immigration Canyon, and followed it a short distance, and then in a northwesterly direction we finally reach the Salt Lake Valley and Salt Lake City. From a point on Big Mountain I had seen the Southern end of the valley but could not see the city, now as we left Immigration Canyon, in Oct. 1851, I saw for my first time Salt Lake City itself. We drove into the city and stopped in the road in front of several residences. Father had helped Heber C. Kimball on his way West as far as the upper crossing of the Sweetwater and had received an invitation to call when he could get to the city. He had no difficulty in locating Heber C. at his home and straightway went into a conference with him, the result of which was; He advised Father to go directly to East Weber, a settlement on the Weber River about 17 miles south of Ogden. He was to take a surveyor with him from Salt Lake City and locate on the best piece of land he could locate. He also told Father there were some men there doing all they could to hold large tracts of land, but to not be discouraged but stand for his rights. Heber C. asked him if he remembered that he told him to go to Missouri with his family and prepare himself for the trip West and come as soon as he could. Father replied that he certainly did. Then Heber C. told him because of his faithfulness in this matter, his life had been lengthened approximately 15 years. Father could not get the surveyor but we went on up there any way. It was our intention to spend the winter of 1851-52 with our people who had preceded us into the Valley. Here we found Henry Beckstead, who married my sister Lucene, my brother John who was married now, having married one of Daniel Smith's daughters, by his first wife. Joseph Hardy, Abiah Wadsworth, Gordon Beckstead, Daniel Smith, and others from the East. Daniel Smith married my sister Elizabeth. Here we spent a very enjoyable winter with Henry Beckstead, and in the spring we rented a small farm from Gordon Beckstead near East Weber. The wheat was planted when we rented it, and we received the privilege of renting because Gordon wanted to spend the summer with his father in South Jordan. There were about 15 families to make use of this limited supply of water, so our yield was light, and for our share we received one half the total. We spent the winter of 1852-1853 in Gordon Beckstead's house, and outside of our social and religious activities, the winter was uneventful. In the spring we moved over to South Weber (1853) about 2 miles down the river on the opposite side of the stream from the East Weber settlement and on eighty acres of land. About this time Mr. Fox, the territorial surveyor came down and surveyed the South Weber District. The tracts were laid off in eighty-acre plots. During the summer we plowed and planted about twenty acres of crop, principally wheat. We also planted some corn and potatoes. During our spare moments we built us a log house of one room, and from the timber found on the banks of the river, on our land. In the spring of 1853, Abiah Wadsworth, Henry Beckstead, and Nelson Arave, built a small sawmill in East Weber, using the water of the river for power. The saw was of the upright type; the blade was in a frame and moved up and down. It was not very efficient, as we know efficiency today; in fact one neighbor remarked he would be pleased to live until they could saw enough lumber for his casket. It was slow but quite successful. We got some boards and slabs to complete our house with. We spent the winter of 1853-54 on Father's homestead. Here we spent the usual quiet life, and a happy comfortable winter. In the spring of 1854 we planted we planted about forty acres of wheat, oats, and corn in addition to our garden. Some 15 or 20 families of this settlement met and decided that inasmuch as we were in need of water and there was plenty in the Weber River, it would be best to build a canal and get the use of the water. We went about a mile above our home to take the water the channel, and when canal was completed, it had a splendid fall and was about 5 or 6 miles long, and carried about two thousand inches of water, and was about half completed this year. A number of families had by this time settled on the river below us, and wanted to use this same canal, they were not ready for water but working on the ditch in their spare moments. The canal was completed to us in plenty of time for the first irrigation of 1855. It was in the summer of 1854 that the grasshoppers were so bad. They came from the northeast, it was said from the Dakotas. They were countless in numbers, at times it seemed they dimmed the sun. They would come flying across the country and all at once as if by command or understanding they would all light at once and proceed with their destruction. Almost invariably when they lit they would stay until the following morning, then fly on to the southwest, they seemed never to return, but the next ones would again come from the northeast. I have seen the north shore of Great Salt Lake covered six or seven inches deep with dead hoppers. They made a short work of grain fields, and those that were missed were very fortunate. In spite of the havoc wrought there was wheat enough for food and for seed the next year. As for us, we suffered but slight damage. There was a school in the East Weber settlement during the winter of 1854-55 and David was living with Henry Beckstead and attended the school, but we had no school in South Weber so Byram and I did not get to go. There was no text books other than some histories of the United States but the Church works were used for the three winters following. I was now 16 years of age, and quite able to read because of the help of my Father and Mother, and up to this time they had taught me faithfully. As soon as it was possible for the Saints to do so they had secured a provincial form of government from the United States and the country throughout the valley had been organized into counties, precincts, etc. This action placed us in Davis County and Father was appointed a Justice of the Peace, and had been sent the Constitution of the United States, as well as all the laws enacted by the Territorial Legislature. These books and the Deseret News were what I had for my winters reading. During this, the fall of 1854, word was received from the Authorities of the Church that the activities of the Indians, through this territory, were becoming more and more unfriendly, and they advised that the people organize and form in communities where they could build forts for their protection, and it was suggested that the people of South Weber go over to East Weber and join the people there. The people of East Weber didn’t want to go to South Weber, and South Weber did not want to go to East Weber, so they fortified each community as best they could. East Weber built a series of houses square, surrounded by a large mud wall. It was always Father’s contention that the advise of the Church Authorities should be considered in every instance, and this alone led him to go to East Weber, then again, Daniel Smith at East Weber had been after Father to trade farms with him in South Weber, so all in all the trade was made, in the winter of 1854-55, but we spent the winter on our farm and in the spring of 1855 we moved to East Weber and into the house of Daniel Smith, which had been moved from the farm to the Fort. The Fort at South Weber was built like the one at East Weber, except the mud wall was not built. Our new home at the fort was about one mile from the farm, where we planted about 25 acres of corn and wheat. We always lived in the fort, and never on the land for which we traded, until as such time as peaceful conditions were restored. We lived in the Fort, but as a result of this common defense idea, the land around the Fort was divided into small pieces or divisions, or lots and when we finally moved from the fort, it was on one of these lots. This group of lots became commonly known as the town site. Alfalfa was unknown to us at this time, and the problem for everyone alike was to raise enough feed to take care of the livestock. However, between where we lived and Great Salt Lake where the Weber River emptied, there was a large area of land, unclaimed, and it was covered with a very heavy growth of grass, where we wintered our stock unmolested. With the locality, and in particular with some springs of fresh water, we associate the name of W. H. Hooper. Mr. Hooper was the owner of a portion of this grass land and was recognized by the Church as an honest, trustworthy man. He was also the owner of a good number of cattle. It was customary for the Saints, at least some of them, to pay their tithing in kind. This placed a large number of cattle in the care of the Church every year, and it was here with Captain Hooper as he was known among his associates, that the Church kept its livestock. The nearest market for the cattle at this time was Sacramento, California, and each year, commencing in June, they were driven to the market, and Captain Hooper was always in charge of the Church stock along with his own, and for that matter any settler could send his animals to market. There were Church members, non-church members and apostates among those who were seeking a market, and also a passage to California. This variety of men were all included in his company to the coast. Hooper Springs, as this particular part of the range was called, was on the South side of the river and when the start was made it was necessary to cross the stream, and the company included about 15 or 20 wagons. This was Captain Hooper’s company for June of 1855. The Weber River, as is characteristic of the streams into the Great Salt Lake, was comparatively short, and the high water season lasted about one month, and included the month of June. It was a wicked stream at this time of the year, and as there were no bridges the outfits were obliged to ford, and the cattle had to swim. It therefore called for judgment and skill, based on experience, when this duty was to be performed. At this time, it was found not safe to try to ford the river below East Weber, so in following the advice, Captain Hooper with the cattle, and the wagons eventually reached this place. Captain Hooper called on father and asked his advise about crossing the stream. Father told him it was a very dangerous undertaking, for the bed of the stream was filled with large rocks but they decided to try it. Some two or three of the heavier wagons, drawn by heavier oxen successfully completed the task. It was a real thrill to watch the faithful animals match their skill against the relentless surge of the stream. Following this splendid display of courage and success, we were astonished when the owner of a light wagon, and a light team of horses presented himself on the bank. His wagon contained all he had on earth, his wife, his three children, including a babe in arms, and his household belongings. Captain Hooper objected at once, strenuously, and their comrades cautioned him, but to no avail. As soon as the oxen reached the heavy current they were swept away in the path of the wicked waters, and when they reached greater depth the wagon box left was floated clear of the wagon and down stream. I was standing at a point on the river where I could see well and watched the entire crossing. The mother was now alone in the wagon box with her children, and I remember only too well the cries of distress of that woman as she passed by me as I stood on the bank. Just below me, and in a treacherous current, the box was completely capsized and with all they had, the four were emptied into the water, but in some manner the Mother and the current righted the box and when we could see her again she had her child in her arms but the other two had been carried away and we were never again to see them. Her cries were the most mournful and terror stricken I have ever heard. She still kept her head, for a little later, when the box was dashed against some driftwood, she succeeded in getting onto the wood, from which she was taken later by rescue parties. The Oxen crossed and pulled the wagon to safety. In cases of this character there is nearly always someone impressed, either by sentiment, sense of duty, or courage and confidence in their ability to help, that steps forward and endears himself to the helpless on-lookers in some act of heroism. Indeed, it may nothing more than the noble spirit that prompts a man to offer his life for a friend. In this connection, we introduce Rodney Badger, a deputy sheriff traveling with the company. When the woman was set adrift in the wagon box, he was thrilled by her cries and hurriedly removed his boots and jumped at once into the treacherous stream and made for the woman. He was reported as a very fine swimmer but was helpless against the river’s current, I saw him disappear twice in the water and I think it was the last time he was ever seen. We were greatly touched by this incident. During the summer of 1855 the grasshoppers were very bad again, though the damage to our crops was slight. The days we were not needed on the farm we spent working on a road we were building through Weber Canyon, a distance of about six miles. This road would join Salt Lake Valley with Upper Weber Valley. Here, too, we spent as much time as possible gathering wild raspberries, which were so plentiful here. We did not do too well with the road, because of the rocky formation. We harvested our crops alright this fall, but the process was necessarily slow, on account of the methods in vogue. Our grain was cut with a cradle, an implement with a handle and blade somewhat like the present-day scythe, another fixture was attached in an upright position, behind the blade, in such a manner that it caught the grain as it fell from the blade. It had five fingers with small sticks placed between them to keep the grain from falling through. When the stroke in the swath was completed, the left hand was released from the handle of the scythe, and while the cradle was yet in motion it gathered the grain, and while the right hand returned the cradle to position for the next stroke, the left had dropped the grain in a pile, all heads the same way, where it was bound in a bundle by the help following. The binder was made by taking a small bunch of grain and after making the heads even it was divided and held snugly with the left hand near the heads and the right hand wrapped half of the straw around the other half, and after crossing the strands, placed it around the grain on the ground, held one end of the straw lightly in the left hand by the thumb, and drew the other end as tightly as necessary and twisted the two ends together and bending the tie, tucked it beneath the band where it would dry and remain intact while the bundle underwent the necessary handling, stacking etc. Our threshing was done by what was known as a “chaff piler.” It was not unlike the completed or improved machines of today. It had a cylinder with teeth attached that passed between and close to a similar arrangement of teeth in a stationary frame beneath the cylinder, known as a concave. By whirling the cylinder rapidly the grain was beaten from the heads and by the same operation carried through the cylinder to the rear, where a man stood with a hand rake and moved it back. From here another rake moved it back again, and even again if necessary, until the grain became too high to work over, the operator would call: "Cave Up" which meant to move the grain to one side so they could run again. Chaff and wheat were now in one pile, and the straw in another. The grain was left in the field and a fanning mill used to separate the chaff from the grain. We then moved the grain to our granary on the town site. This splendid servant was developed in what was known as the Sessions Settlement near Salt Lake City. In caring for the grain after harvest my brother John and I were hauling the bundles for stacking them. As we were loading, in the after part of the day, John called out to me on the wagon to lookout, at about the same time I caught sight of a snake which John said was a rattler. I left the wagon faster than the snake came on, and we unloaded nearly all our load before we found him and disposed of him. I was looking forward to the winter of 1855-56 with the greatest of hopes, for it was to be my first and only chance I had to attend school since I had attended in the City of Nauvoo when I was six years old. My teacher's name was David Osborn. I found there had been but one change in textbooks and that was the addition of the old "Blue Back Speller" by Webster. After the harvest of 1855 was completed it was discovered that some localities had a surplus of wheat while others were in need. The situation was canvassed by the Church, and those with plenty were to anticipate their wants for the winter and for seed the next year, and then pass the surplus on to those less fortunate. After Father had made this calculation he had about two hundred bushels left. He was asked by the Authorities if he would be willingly to give this wheat outright for those in need, and he said he would, which he did and I know my self that he never received a penny for that grain. It demonstrates the feeling of good will, and unselfishness that was part of the Mormon pioneers. The wheat we kept for our use was all we had any legitimate use for, a tribute to father’s judgment. Before winter we moved our grain to the gristmill at the south of Ogden Canyon, owned by Loran Farr. In drawing the flour from the mill, it seemed to Mother that it was going to run us short and she became more careful. It was not what we used ourselves entirely, but some of our neighbors were without and constantly asked for just one more mixing. Mother thought we should refuse, but Father thought it was a duty to share as long as he had it. It was often a subject for discussion, but when the summer was past, and the harvest ended, we had never scraped the bottom of the flour box. After school was dismissed in the spring of 1856 I helped put the crops in. We planted about ten acres more of wheat, about 35 acres in all. I also spent a day now and then on the road through Weber Canyon. There was an abundance of water for the crops, and we raised the best harvest we had up to this time. The “hoppers” were not so bad and we had made another ditch on the north side of the river, so while no particular improvements were made in harvesting machinery, we kept the things we had gained, and completed a very pleasant and profitable year. I planned to go to school again, but was disappointed, but I will say, not discouraged. At this time a firm named Gilbert & Garrish, leading in the mercantile business in Salt Lake City had contracted with certain parties to freight some of their goods from the Missouri River near where Omaha now stands, to Salt Lake City. The men were late starting west with their freight, and were caught in the snow east of Salt Lake City, on Bear River, a short distance west of old Fort Bridger. They did not seem to have the courage to carry on under such difficulties. They had deserted everything but their cattle, and came on to Salt Lake City. They left no one to guard the goods, and did nothing to protect them from the weather. The yokes of the cattle were thrown in the most convenient places, and the snow was about seven inches deep when the rescue party reached the wagons. There was a prominent at this time, in connection with conditions of this nature, in Salt Lake City, named Judson L. Stoddard. Mr. Stoddard was a cattleman and was acquainted with the country east of Salt Lake City. Arrangements were made with him by the merchants to salvage their goods, and Mr. Stoddard asked for seventy oxen and eight drivers with wagons and boxes. I was recommended to him as a “bull-whacker” and he offered me a chance to go with him, which I accepted, and we left Salt Lake City Dec. 1st, 1856. We were about four days in reaching the wagons, camped by them for the night and commenced the return journey next day. We had some difficulty with some of the cattle in getting started but we reached the upper crossing of the Sweetwater at the foot of Big Mountain without any inconvenience. But here our difficulties began, the snow over the mountain was deeper and road conditions bad, so we were obliged to place eight yoke of oxen on each wagon to make any headway. Poor road construction up East Canyon Creek made our work dangerous. At one place the road was around a high point of rocks just over the creek. The road was filled with snow and ice and sloped to the outside. The first wagon up was driven by Larry Robinson, and as we looked the situation over we made sure we were in for trouble. I suggested that we cut a trench, or trail in the snow and ice on the upper side of the road, but the man in charge said to drive on, after some words with the boss. Larry drove on, he was just starting nicely around the point when the wagon slid completely off the road and turned upside down in the creek, which was frozen over. I was next in line, and told to drive carefully, but just as Larry did I refused to do this, and the boss threatened to report me to Mr. Stoddard. After all, we dug the trench, as another precaution, we tied a long rope to the rear of each wagon and the boys pulled to the upper side to keep the wagon in the trench and by this method all of the wagons reached the summit in “apple pie” order. This process was repeated without incident. When we had all four wagons over the point, we salvaged the goods from Robinson’s wagon and found room for them in the remaining wagons, and we then made the trip to Salt Lake City without delay. We delivered the first wagons to Gilbert and Garrish and after a night’s rest at the home of Father Chase, the father-in-law of Mr. Stoddard, we returned immediately for the other wagons. We had no difficulty in bringing the other wagons over the slopes of Big Mountain, and into the City. On our way up East Canyon Creek we were preceded by some of the last hand-carters, and were followed by others. They had no handcarts at this time, they had been abandoned when the relief reached them, that they had been sent from Salt Lake City. We were preparing for the descent into the valley below when the last of these people reached the summit of Big Mountain. In all my boyhood days, and perhaps not since, have I beheld a sadder and more forlorn spectacle. It did not need a second look to see the mark of suffering on their faces. Their features were drawn and plainly showed the effects of their hunger. Their bodies were poorly clad and were barely clothed sufficiently to cover their nakedness, not to mention any warmth. When we delivered our second set of wagons to the firm we received our money and started for our homes. I walked from Salt Lake City to Mr. Stoddard's home in Centerville, about 12 miles and stayed with them that night, the next day I walked 18 miles to East Weber and home. At home we were obliged to practice the strictest economy. Up until now and for several years to come, Mother and my sisters had made all the clothing I had every worn, except under garments, the material for those was bought for the purpose of the store. We had a few sheep of our own and we always cared for the wool, washing, carding, and spinning it our selves. Mother and the girls making the clothes for each of us. If we wanted any color, other than the natural color of the wool, we had to buy dye, with the single exception of a brown color we obtained from the bark of a tree called Tag-Alder. If a family happened to have black sheep in his flock, it was possible to spin a grayish yarn. We were repeatedly warned by Mother, that if we wanted clothing we must do our part toward the purchase. In our travels from place to place I had made an effort to learn all I could about the violin. I have mentioned that Daniel Smith was with us in Nauvoo, and that he played the violin very well. He married my sister Elizabeth and was a great friend and financial help to the family, and was with us all through the preparations and travels west and was still with us. During all this time he was helping me to an understanding of the violin. He played for parties on the way west, and after we reached there he was a real social help in the line. I had now reached a point where I could play for a party. After my return from the expedition with Mr. Stoddard in December, I entered school, that is after Christmas, and along with my school work I played for the community parties. I did not seem interested in the social part of it all, but I was interested in picking up some change. I recall one time I was asked to play for a wedding dance of one of the prominent girls of our community, and I felt quite honored. I had to walk five miles so by the time I reached there the ceremony was over and so was the supper. They insisted that I eat, however, and I did and then went directly to the dance hall and everything went according to plan and they enjoyed the evening. When I presented my bill as the close of the do, I asked for $l.50. The man who paid me said this was not enough, so he paid me $3.00 and was I pleased when I started for home five miles away. And I was surely proud when I handed the money to my Mother. It was the custom of the family to place all our earnings with mother. I had already giver her the money from the Judson Stoddard trip. I was still in school and Mr. Osborn was my teacher. There was not much change in our home life, in this instance, until the month of March, 1857. The school year was over and I was helping David clear a piece of land Father had given him. One evening when I returned home from work I found the family in a most curious frame of mind, and I was soon that way too, when mother handed me a letter from President Young. I opened it at once and was certainly surprised and thrilled. I then handed it to the family and let them read it. It was a notification that I had been selected by Judson L. Stoddard as a member of a party to go East with the mail. Some two or three years previous to this President Brigham Young had secured a contract from the United States Government to carry the mail from Salt Lake City to Independence, Missouri and return. President Young had selected Mr. Stoddard to take charge of the party, and Mr. Stoddard had selected eleven others to assist him. Among them I was chosen. I have been brave enough to think that my previous services for Mr. Stoddard were satisfactory, and that was a factor in this selection. The contract provided that the mail would leave either end of the route the first of every month. The party I was with was to leave Salt Lake City April 1, 1857. I was also advised that I was to come to Salt Lake City and receive my endowments before I could go east. Some eight months previous to this time I had met and learned to care for a young lady named Jane Miller. In fact as we did come and go we had considered marriage. The events of the last few days and the possibilities connected with them, in doing and not doing, presented quite a serious situation to me. I had quite a time reaching the final decision. I wanted to make the trip, and in a way I considered my duty to do so, and I disliked very much the idea of leaving Jane behind. At this time I was also puzzled to know what to do about my endowments. I was not sure that I wanted them at all for there seemed a possibility that maybe I was not just fit for such a sacred ordinance, and I thought there might be some covenants to enter into that I would not care to enter. I consulted Father, and after due consideration and a night's rest, I decided to receive them. Now that was settled, I had to decide what to do with my fiancée! Father solved the problem for me when he suggested I marry her and leave her with them in East Weber while I was gone. With these arrangements in mind we made the trip to Salt Lake City, were married, and received our endowments. Levi Hammon made the trip with us, and drove Father's team and wagon. We left East Weber March 17, 1857. We went as far as Centerville the first day and spent the night with an old friend named Goldsbrough. We reached Salt Lake City the 18th of March just before noon and went to the home of Alexander Watson, who had married one of Jane's sisters, named Maggie. We stayed here until 19th. By this time I had made arrangements with Heber C. Kimball to perform the ceremony, at Father’s request, and he consented. We were married in the old Endowment House March 20, 1857, by Heber C. Kimball, after which we started for home at once. On the way we stayed at Centerville with Mr. Goldsbrough the night of the 20th and reached home the 21st about noon. While I was at Salt Lake City I visited Judson L. Stoddard and with the other arrangements we made, he was to call for me at East Weber on his way East about April 1st. It was almost impossible to pass over Big Mountain so early in the season on account of snow. The road was now was completed up through Weber Canyon and we were to go out that way. I was busy all the while helping Father and David on their places. I cannot describe my feelings as the day approached to leave. All my life up to this time, had been spent at home, always with my people. I had always been, so to speak, within seeing distance of the smoke from my home fires, and the prospects of leaving a home I had always loved, didn't brighten the future any. Not many ever lived who had a better mother than I did. I wasn't what she wished for many times, I’m sure. I loved my father too; we never had any misunderstandings or disagreements. I hold his memory in sincere reverence. He was always honest and upright in his dealings and a gentleman always, with the strongest of home ties. As for mother, she was always interested in any thing that would be of a benefit to her family. She always did the right thing at the right time. I know I will always insist that I had as good a set of parents as ever lived. Everything considered, I was not too anxious for the first of April to come. The party arrived on the Weber River in time to establish camp for the night. April 1, 1857. Mr. Stoddard came over to the house and invited me to join them next morning ready to leave for the east. Next morning when the time came to say goodbye, I made pretty good headway, even with my mother and my young wife, but when it came father, I simply broke down and had a good cry. When it was over, I mounted the mule I had been given to ride and joined the party. We had about sixty-five mules and horses; they were to be used as pack animals, in carrying the mail. There were more than we needed really, but we intended to establish several mail stations in localities best suited to our purpose. Camp the first night was made at the lower end of the Upper Weber Canyon. In crossing the mountain between upper Weber Valley and Upper Weber Canyon we met with our first accident. W had with us, four young men from Salt Lake City to help us with the mail, and four passengers without responsibility of course. Two of the helpers were sons of President Young, and four of the mules and one of the wagons belonged to him. At first he refused to allow the mules to go with us, but consented and cautioned the boys as to their use. As we were passing over the mountain separating the upper valley and the canyon, without warning the wagon slid off the sloping dugway and turned completely over. In the fall the wagon tongue split, and the sharp end that remained in the hounds of the wagon struck one of the mules back of the front legs and passed out through the brisket to the front. We had quite a time to get the mule off from the splinter, but he was finally brought to camp. As a kind of protection a small piece of tobacco was placed in the wound. I never saw the mule again, and we left camp next morning without the wagon or mules. And the four helpers from the City all returned there too. The four passengers were now riding horses, which they rode to Fort Bridger. At our camp at Fort Bridger I was introduced to the work of guard duty. It was the program to have two guards with the stock, and one at the camp. I was assigned to the horses, and George Grant, a lad about my age was to stand it with me. This was the beginning of a friendship that was very dear to me. We were much alike in our likes and dislikes, and also in reaction to our experiences. The duty of the camp guard was of course, to watch the camp and protect it from marauders, to make the camp at night, and break camp in the morning and have all things ready for the road, which was to be between daylight and sunup. The stock guard was to keep the horses from wandering too far from camp, and have them in easy reach when wanted. Our progress was slow. We encountered a great deal of snow and at this time of the year, the feed was poor. We were on the road about a week before we reached Fort Bridger. When we went East with Mr. Stoddard for the merchandise wagons, I recall we were four days getting to Fort Bridger with wagons and cattle, so we were really slow this time, with only horses and one wagon. I was destined to learn a lot on this trip, and here at Fort Bridger I was taught how to pack and unpack a pack mule, and how to fasten the pack on properly with a rope, using the famous Diamond Hitch. Mr. Judson L. Stoddard and Mr. George Dalton assumed the responsibility of instructing us. They were also assisted by a Mexican, who was our camp cook. We spent three days at Fort Bridger, arranging things and purchasing equipment. Among other things we bought some harnesses for four mules and a three-inch Schuttler Wagon. The mail was placed in the wagon and seats arranged for our passengers also. I do not remember the date we left the Fort, but we traveled slowly, eating three meals a day, such as they were, sometimes quite slim. Wild game was scarce along the trail but we were not suffering. When we reached Green River and made the necessary adjustments to ford, the wagon with the mail and the passengers were sent in first. Every man in the company was armed as well as far as he could be, even to the passengers. One of them had an old percussion cap gun and had loaded it then placed it in the wagon at the head of the load, and put a cap on it and let the hammer rest on the cap, as the wagon went into the stream, the load shifted to one side and then replaced itself when it reached the bottom of the bank and landed on the hammer of the gun and it was discharged. I was following about three rods behind, but the angle of the gun directed the charge just over my head and I escaped injury. An investigation was made by Mr. Stoddard and measures taken to prevent a recurrence of such an incident. Foremost among the instructions given Mr. Stoddard by President Young was that he should not fail to engage in prayer as a group, at least twice daily, and this we always did. We mad our way slowly until we reached the Big Sandy, and here I was to meet another feat for which I was not wholly prepared. Mr. Stoddard was making the practice of asking the men to lead in their turn in prayer. Some way I had not been asked, but this morning we were breaking camp on Big Sandy and he called on me. In our home we never failed to have family prayer but father had always been the spokesman and the experience had never come to me. I couldn’t refuse and I was so upset and nervous I could only speak with difficulty. Of all places, out in the wilds, before a group of men. We were kneeling in the sand, and my knees were trembling until they had about buried themselves—I wonder if the imprints are there yet. I didn’t suffer any ill effects for I ate a hearty breakfast and took care of my end of the work. In a few days we reached the South Pass, which was also the continental divide, and we were surprised that we could not see the Sweetwater River from the summit, but pressed on. When we were part way down the slope we discovered we were on a drift of snow about fifty feet deep and we made the crossing of the river before we fully realized the conditions. The snow was frozen so there was no difficulty at all. We traveled considerable distance before we saw the waters of the stream at all, and part of the time we were over the stream. We were now on the Old Immigration Trail and we were soon at the Devil’s Gate. Here we were obliged to spend a few days to give our horses a chance to recuperate, the feed had been poor for a week or more and they began to show the effects. There had been a mail station established at Devil’s Gate by the party ahead of us, and it was left in charge of a man who acted as Blacksmith, so that the rest we had our mules shod. This man put the shoes on sixteen head of mules in one day, which we thought was stepping right along. Our progress had been so slow and so much time consumed on the way, that while we were not suffering, we were feeling the need of supplies, and had to exercise the strictest economy for the next supply depot was at Fort Laramie, some five or six days travel from Devil’s Gate. In due course we reached Fort Laramie and took on what supplies we needed to take us to Fort Kearney. From sports at Fort Laramie, we learned that the pioneers and other travelers were being harassed by the Indians along the route. Before leaving Fort Laramie, Mr. Stoddard applied for a detachment of soldiers to accompany us to Fort Kearney, and was given 16 well-equipped and well-armed soldiers with an officer to go with us. When we left Fort Laramie we were on the North side of the Platte River. We had covered about half the distance to Fort Kearney when someone of the party spied an object in the distance and it seemed to be coming toward us. There was a deep wash near and we were in there in a few minutes and ready to protect ourselves. We soon discovered that they were horsemen, and later that they were Indians, but we knew they were friendly because they had their squaws and children with them. They had been out hunting and were returning with their meat. Before they left our camp we bought some fresh buffalo meat, the first fresh meat we had since we left Salt Lake City. After a few days travel we reached the upper end of Grand Island. We were to cross over the Platte at this place but we were too late in the day to risk a ford so we camped for the night. During the night, a very cold storm came up from the West. It was sleet and rain. With all the equipment we had, we did not have one tent. George Grant and I slept under the wagon, and water ran through our bed all night, and everyone suffered considerably. The men on night guard drove the stock near camp as the storm increased and the next morning we found six of the mules dead within a stones throw of camp. There was no wood on this side of the river so we had to get our camp ready and move to the other side before we could attempt to dry our clothing. We were crossing to the Island, first where there were plenty of wood and feed, but ill luck was with us yet. The North Platte River was known as having quicksand in its course, and for that reason was not a good risk in fording. The Mail wagon had crossed to the island alright and we were just getting started nicely where the water was about knee deep to the stock. Six of the mules were caught in the quicksand. After a struggle or two they would give up and would sink deeper without an effort, and we were in the trail the other stock traveled. In spite of all we could do, these six mules drowned in the crossing. It was so cold and stormy, and there was not much we could do, other than get what stock we had left and ourselves on some firm ground somewhere. We soon had a fire going and dried our clothing, and we remained on the island two days. The first night on the island was my turn to stand guard with the stock, with George Grant. The storm had ceased, and we were within about 3 or 4 hundred yards from camp when just before midnight we heard an animal coming across the channel. We thought we could see an Indian on him. We hid ourselves and waited for him to reach the land, and when he did that, the mule brayed and we discovered one of our animals had strayed and was just returning. We made the rest of the crossing from Grand Island to the south side without difficulty and continued on to Fort Kearney. At Fort Kearney we lost our guard, but continued on the last lap of our journey. I visited the training grounds at the Fort and saw the recruits learning to ride. It was amusing to say the least. Mr. Stoddard told the officer he had just half enough men, he said each one needed a man to hold him on a horse. Mr. Stoddard was with us only one day after we left Fort Kearney. He then took the mail, and the passengers, a driver and the Mexican Cook and went on ahead. Food for the stock was now plentiful and we took our time so our horses could regain their strength. They reached Independence, Missouri between May 10, and 15, and we in the latter part of May. When we reached Independence, we found that Mr. Stoddard had located a camp about three miles southeast of Independence of the property of Mr. Saunders. There was plenty of grass for the stock, excellent water, and everything for an ideal camp. In this particular time of the year, Independence and its surrounding country was one of the most beautiful localities I have ever seen, and I would not hesitate to say in the world. Spring had just returned, and everything was at its best. All the flowers were in bloom, and the shrubberies and wild fruit of the countryside, besides many orchards, that some pioneer had been forced to leave after he had planted it. Wild plumbs and crabapples in full flower everywhere. There are so many short streams in this locality, varying from two to five miles apart and their banks were lined with trees and wild foliage. Between these streams the rolling hills were as green as a well-kept lawn, and flowers were everywhere. Of all the beautiful places I have ever seen, I cannot recall one so beautiful as this. From the manner in which we were received in Independence we seemed to feel that the bitterness of the Missouri period of Church History was gone. We found everybody agreeable and friendly, and when the trials and hardships of the last two months were recalled, you will remember how much we appreciated this feeling. As I recall that two months now, I cannot see how we endured such privations. The pack outfits and the equipment were inadequate, and our supplies insufficient. Then too, we were traveling at the worst time of the year; there was much snow to hinder us, and the feed for our stock, on which our lives depended, was poor quality and scarce. The Indians were a source of anxiety and worry; every river we crossed was full of danger, and lurking in their depths were perils and hazards constituting a constant danger to the lives of men and beasts alike. Many times, at the same moment, we were suffering the pangs of cold and hunger and no immediate chance for relief. I recall now, that just before we reached Fort Laramie our last five or six meals consisted of boiled corn, plain and simple, and we were thankful for it. Sometime before we left Salt Lake City, a certain Supreme Court Judge of the Territory of Utah, had found it convenient to leave. He went to California, down the coast to the Isthmus of Panama, across the Isthmus and up the east coast to Washington. His attitude toward the Saints while he was in Utah was anything but friendly, and his visit to Washington was for the purpose of reporting to the President on conditions in Utah as pertaining to the Mormon people. His report was packed with cruel lies and misrepresentations calculated to arouse the Government against the Saints. He stated the people were in rebellion against the United States, and that all the public records had been burned. The President, without investigation, ordered an army of 2,500 men to Utah and take the necessary steps to restore peace and order. The army was to leave from Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, and we were now camped within 25 miles of that place. Another thing that created a new sentiment against us, was the presence of Eph Hanks, whom rumor with the aid of local publication had associated with the murder of Captain Gunnison and his men south of Salt Lake City about 150 miles on the Sevier River. I think this happened in 1856. Advance rumors from the Judge and Mr. Hanks served to start another wave of bitterness. The Judge was more or less discreet but Hanks often doing things contrary to better judgment. When we reached Independence Hanks was living with a man of poor reputation, this made it uncomfortable for him when he heard of us he wanted to live with us, and Mr. Stoddard finally permitted him to do so. His conduct around the camp was most unbecoming. He would remove all his clothing and behave in the wildest Indian fashion. We could not impress upon him that his life was at stake aside from the embarrassment we suffered ourselves. Finally they hunted him to hang him, and for fear he might be held in disfavor if he was found in camp, Mr. Stoddard compelled him to leave, and that was the last I ever saw of him. The first afternoon George Grant and myself spent roaming among the woods and flowers near Independence, we saw a great many interesting things, and spent the afternoon among them. At eventide we tried to return to camp but in spite of all we could do, we could not locate ourselves. Finally we came to a small opening in the trees were a man was working and asked him if he would please tell us where Mr. Saunders’ property was, and he said this is it and your camp is right there in that grove. It was about 700 feet away. Next we visited the Temple lot. I had heard so much about the place where the Temple was to be built in which to receive the Master when he deems it proper to come and assume the reigns of Government, that I felt it would be a mistake to not visit this historic and sacred place at this time. It is located about two miles from the River in the western part of the town. It was east of the Court House about one half mile. We had been encamped in Independence about two weeks when the feel of things suggested to Mr. Stoddard that we had better seek another campground. For several nights before we did move we had heard men prowling around in the woods near camp. They never bothered anything or anybody, but we feared they were looking for a chance to justify some violence. Mr. Stoddard had been in pretty close touch with a friend of his in northern Independence, and often acted on his suggestions, and headed his warnings. He was an apostate from the Church, but held no enmity for Mr. Stoddard. Many times he warned us of the efforts of our enemies to get hold of Mr. Hanks, and it was at his suggestion that Mr. Stoddard sent Hans away. Mr. Stoddard told Hanks to take the Mexican cook and go to the stock and get a horse for each of them and a mule for a pack animal and go west into Kansas and cross the Caw River and wait there for us. The morning we left Independence we were together in front of the courthouse and a group of bystanders either to cause some trouble or some embarrassment, laid claim to some of our mules. Mr. Stoddard refused to consider their demands and let it be known that we were unafraid. There was considerable argument but when we attempted to leave were not molested. From Independence we went in a northwesterly direction toward Fort Leavenworth. We had to cross the Caw River, and we landed on an Indian Reservation, the Delaware tribe, and after some explanation we were permitted to camp on their ground. Travelers, as a rule were allowed to remain over night only, and we were to cut no more of the trees than were necessary to cook our food and keep warm. We gained these privileges when the Chief found we were waiting for mail to be taken west. We were now about 9 miles below Fort Leavenworth. At this camp we had excellent water and good feed for the stock. We found the Delawares were fond of whiskey, and almost everyday they would pass our camp on the way to the Fort for another supply. As soon as we were located in camp Mr. Stoddard at once became interested in the preparations the army was making to go west. His dress was that of a typical mountaineer. He wore a small leather cap, and his face was covered with a heavy long beard. His jacket and trousers were made of buckskin, with three or four-inch tag-locks hanging on each sleeve, and as far down as his knees on his trousers. He wore good heavy shoes and leggings. Perhaps the most conspicuous part of his dress were the large Spanish spurs he wore. He was a character to always command attention and possessed the faculty of easily making friends. He had not made many trips to the Fort until he had made friends with the officers in charge of activities there. When they asked him where he was from he promptly answered that he was from California. He was asked many questions about his travels and experiences especially when he was in Utah. Always careful to keep his connections with Utah concealed, but in other matters answered correctly. The officer was very much surprised to find that the Saints in Utah had not robbed, and plundered, and otherwise molested them. Mr. Stoddard told him that as far as he knew everything was alright in Utah. With this advantage, he soon became in possession of the whole campaign of the army and what their intentions were. He made these trips to the Fort every day and at night he would tell us the happenings of the day. Other men were operating for the benefit of the Saints as well as Mr. Stoddard and one evening told the following incident. A man by the name of Williams was buying mules for the government to be used in the campaign against the Saints. He was not a member of the Church but was evidently friendly, if not friendly it was because of the fact that his father and mother and many of his friends were in Utah. He had early established a reputation for buying the best of mules. One day the commanding officer, in the presence of Mr. Stoddard asked how he secured such good mules. Mr. Williams told him in as few words as possible that he had many good friends in Utah, who were no doubt in need of more good stock, and in as much as they were going to get everything the army took out there, he wanted them to have the best. In breaking the mules the boys had their problems and nearly every day an outfit out of control would come down past our camp, otherwise our camp life here was uneventful. Here we maintained our guards, both night and day. And here also, our Mexican cook returned to camp. After about ten days in this camp, we were joined by a party from St. Louis consisting of A.O. Smoot and Mrs. Parley P. Pratt. They were to be our passengers West to Utah. At about this time also we were joined by a company of converts from Texas also headed for Utah. A man by the name of Box was in charge of the party. He was a very wealthy man. Mr. A.O. Smoot came east with the mail about two months earlier and had gone to St. Louis to attend to some business matters. It was there that he found Mrs. Pratt, and she made the trip with him to Independence to connect with the mail, and from there found our location and came to our camp. Meeting the Box party was purely incidental, but finding us so near ready to leave decided to travel with us. It was very fortunate for us that they did. We had been joined by this party but a day or two, when a certain man came to Mr. Stoddard and demanded payment of a note he held against President young for $3,500.00 the idea seemed to prevail that this army preparing to enter Utah would practically annihilate the Saints, and they had better grab what they could. Mr. Stoddard knew nothing of this note and protested, but Mr. Smoot knew of the existence of the note, and after a few minutes council they decided that if possible at all they would pay the note. All our stock and provisions and wagons were not worth the amount. I am not positive but from my observation I really believe they intended to take all we had and leave us to it, had it not been for Mr. Box. After we had pooled all we had of value, we were still about $500.00 short of the amount. Among the possessions of Mr. Box was a negro woman who was his slave. She was a very splendid specimen of the race, and as a final gesture in the settlement she was offered for a settlement in full, and she was accepted. From this kindness on the part of Mr. Box, we were allowed to retain our belongings and go our way. As for the Box party, it developed that it would be impossible for them to travel with us, so they departed ahead of us, leaving about July 1st, we had also intended to leave with the mail on the 1st of July, but when Mr. Stoddard had made all the preparations and went to Independence for the mail he was told that the U.S. Government had cancelled its contract with Brigham young and refused to give him the mail. Mr. Stoddard returned to camp and prepared to leave for home. I did not know at the time, neither do I know now, how five new Schuttler wagons came to be delivered to our camp for our use at this particular time. I am sure they were to be delivered in Utah, but who purchased them, and delivered them to us, I cannot recall. We wee assigned our wagons and mules and we set about to fit the harness and break the mules to work in the time we had to spare. During this time up to the trip to Independence for the mail, Mr. Stoddard had been in touch with the developments at Fort Leavenworth, but when he relaxed and turned to his own work, the Army was ready, and departed to Utah. At a conference of the entire personnel of the camp we decided to make ready and leave for Utah at once. We did not want the army to know our intentions, nor our activities and inasmuch as they were ahead of us we had to arrange to pass them by and reach Utah ahead of them. The mail from Utah reached Independence July 1, and we were glad to call and sure enough we had mail from our loved ones and friends. We met the crew and exchanged greetings with them and news items also. From our friends by letter and from the mail crew we learned that the Saints were holding a celebration July 24, in Big Cottonwood Canyon. We were ready now for the start and on July 3, 1857 we left for the Salt Lake Valley, and we felt sure we were carrying advanced information on the approach of the Army, and we were all filled with the keenest of interest and determined to report to President Young at the celebration July 24, concerning the approach of the Army. The Young Express Company was organized for the express purpose of obtaining a mail contract from the Government for what other purpose I do not know. Mr. Stoddard had in his care a branding iron belonging to them with the letters YX and when we wee refused the mail and the contract was cancelled and the iron was of no use, so he said, and he entrusted me to take it and hide it where it never would be found, so I took it and placed it in a hole just below the source of the spring we were camped by, that I dug for the purpose, about two feet deep and let it stay there. Among the new wagons we had there wee two or three that had iron axletrees. These fit very closely into the hub of the wheel. We were careless in greasing them and they became dry, and before the first day was over the wheels locked tight and would not turn. After a little care and a little wear they were perfectly satisfactory. Mr. A.O. Smoot and Mrs. Parley P. Pratt were assigned to my wagon and they rode with me continuously until we reached Fort Laramie. We were late in the day leaving Missouri for the West and were soon obliged to pitch camp. Perhaps it was our anxiety, but our progress seemed too slow, but we discovered that it was much faster than that of the Army, for before noon July 4 we sighted them a short distance ahead. We were careful not to contact them in any way, not even their outposts. By nightfall we had laid our plans to pass around them, so under cover of darkness we made the detour and came back to the road in the lead. We traveled all night July 4 and all day the 5th until night fall, and as we were looking for a place to camp we unexpectedly happened onto the Box Party and we camped with them and enjoyed a much needed rest, and a supper prepared by them. Here also we did not stand guard over our stock, the first time since we left Salt Lake City, and this because the guard from the Box Party did it for us. I had formed acquaintance with a young lady in this party and we were very good friends, so much that when supper was served she invited me to eat with her and her people, so I did, and was treated with respect. Up until the time I left Salt Lake City for this trip I had never tasted tea or coffee; they were unknown in my father’s home. But on this I drank coffee with the rest of them, but sugar was scarce so I took mine almost without sugar. At this particular meal I was served coffee well sweetened, it was much too sweet, and although I used it for a number of years afterward, I never used sugar. We were up and gone early the next morning, and with an exception or two, I never saw the members of the Box party again. We traveled as fast as we could, consistently, spending just what time that was necessary at Fort Kearney, and in three days were on the South Platte River and forded over at once and then pitched camp. Here we found a Mr. Murdock headed east with the mail for June. In his party was a man named Porter Rockwell, he was a very sincere friend of the Prophet Joseph Smith and associated with him, and his activities in behalf of the Prophet made him a number one man as far as our enemies were concerned. Even at this late hour the people where we had been would like to get hold of him. Mr. Stoddard knew the conditions at Independence as to Mr. Rockwell and when he found out he was in the Murdock’s party, he tried to induce Rockwell to turn back with our company. Mr. Rockwell thought Mr. Stoddard was too talkative and treated lightly the warning of Mr. Stoddard. However, when Murdock broke camp next morning, Rockwell remained and returned to Utah with us. I recall one morning that Mr. Smoot was walking along by the wagon, when he picked up a pocket knife, and when he found I had no knife he gave it to me. We were making very good time, about the only time we had lost was waiting an hour for a herd of buffalo to cross the trail. We knew better than to force them, or try to scare them, so we waited. In a few days we were at Fort Laramie, but we could see that the progress we were making would not place the news in President Young’s hands by the 24th. We were positive we were the first ones to have any definite information of the movements of the Army, so we felt duty bound to get the word to Utah as soon as was physically possible. At Fort Laramie we decided to divide the party, giving the best of the equipment and animals to the leaders and send them on. The remainder of the party was to bring what was left and gather the stock at the various camps. The leading party consisted of Judson L. Stoddard, A.O. Smoot, Porter Rockwell and Mrs. Parley P. Pratt. George Dalton, about the best hand with a four-mule team I ever saw, was taken along as teamster. And the Mexican cook was also with them. They left us at Fort Laramie July 12 or 13. We had no occasion to hurry so we enjoyed the regular campers life, reaching Salt Lake City August 9 or 10. As soon as I was released from the service, I went at once to Farmington, where I spent the night with Mr. Stoddard, and he furnished me with a horse and a saddle to finish my trip to East Weber. It was understood among us that when this company was formed, that those who were called upon to carry the mail were to become shareholders in the company, in effect, depending upon the profits of the company for their remuneration. Well, when we returned to Salt Lake City, we found we had no company, and there were no profits, and I do not know what became of the livestock. I do know, however that I never received a cent in money, and all I did receive was a suit of clothes, a hat and a pair of shoes for my four months of service. These were paid for out of company funds by Mr. Stoddard while we were in Missouri. I was allowed but a few days at home, which I spent in helping to harvest the crops that were ready. President Young, on receiving the news of the advance of the Army commenced at once to make preparation to prevent the army from entering the valley. He called for volunteers, and nearly every man answered the call. I left home about August 20 with the men from East Weber, for Echo Canyon where the main body of the men was forming. The camp there was under the command of Colonel C.W. West of Ogden, and we received the usual army discipline and training. Our drill Sergeant was Dan Campbell, who was a very efficient man. He was a quick-witted Irishman, and considerate of his men. In the latter part of August I was allowed to return home on account of poor health. About two or three days after I left the camp for home, I received word of the accidental shooting of one of the volunteers from East Weber, named William Simmons. Most of the guns we had were muzzleloaders, and their destructive force was rather under estimated by the men, they entertained the idea that a rifle would not throw a ball over the cliff facing the camp in Echo Canyon. During the quiet of the afternoon Bill Simmons and Henry and Larry Robinson climbed the cliff. This was accomplished by starting some distance up the canyon and finally passing through a ravine to the rear, then to the top. From here they could see over the surrounding country, and they noticed a small group of the boys in camp cleaning their guns, and they called to them what they would give them a shot at if they wanted it. I do not recall the man’s name that did the shooting, but as soon as the gun was loaded, he fired at William Simmons, who gave the dare and was standing between the Robinson boys. The bullet landed in Simmons left temple, and he would have fallen over the face of the cliff, had it not been for his companions. Next day, Sunday, the body was wrapped in a wagon cover and taken to East Weber in a wagon. Here I saw the body the evening of the day it was brought home, a silent reminder of the uncertainties of life. We were on our way to the evening meeting when the body arrived. The first reaction of the people was that the army had arrived and there had been a battle, and excitement ran high until the facts were known. I was curious to see the body, so I went to the wagon where it was and uncovered it until I could see the head and shoulders, and I saw the wound on the left temple. Within the next 24 hours I wished I had mastered my curiosity. A few days before Mr. Simmons death, Colonel West, who was in charge of the camp, turned the command over to Colonel Jones of Salt Lake City, and he returned to Ogden. Bishop Osborn, of East Weber, had spent the Sunday that the body had arrived in Ogden, and had see Colonel West, and he asked the Bishop if he had someone that he could trust to take a message to Colonel Jones at Echo Canyon. The Bishop told him I was at home and would take the message. It had not been more than a few minutes since I saw Mr. Simmons’ body when the bishop asked me to take the message to Colonel Jones. I was furnished about the poorest horse and saddle any one ever rode. I did not go to Sacrament Meeting, but took my wife home and set out for Echo Canyon. There was no moon, the sky was clear and the stars glistened but with it all, it was dark and the walls of the canyon only served to intensify that darkness. I was instructed to go to the upper end of Weber Valley and there make application to Ben Simonds, an old Delaware Indian, who was very friendly, for a fresh horse. I was forced to cross the Weber River the second time before I reached the Weber Valley. My horse was terrible; I used about twenty kinds of persuasion on him and couldn’t impress him with the idea that I was trying to hurry. I coaxed a little, then a lot, then whipped a little and then a lot, but the difference in speed was negligible. I had him on a full gallop but once, soon after I crossed the river in the valley. I was just congratulating myself on my speed when the old critter centered a badger hole with his right front foot and threw me farther than I could see in the dark. I have no idea how long I laid there, but when I became conscious of myself, I was lost as to which way was which. I finally placed myself and was ready to go, but I had no horse. I located him nearby and he acted as if he was waiting for me for sometime. I regained the saddle and was on my way. Within the hour I was at Mr. Simonds’ home, and though I had to call them from their beds, they showed me every attention, and with the help of one of his men I was soon on my way. While they made ready the horse, the folks at the house fed me so I was in fact, ready to accept the chances of the night. From Ben’s place I went up through the Upper Weber Canyon. In all the experiences of my life I know there has never been any time so completely lonely as that night. If I had not seen Mr. Simmon’s body at East Weber, it might have been much the same as any other night. My new horse was not much improvement over the old, but I constantly tried for speed, but the time seemed to hold as if it hated to desert me. Of course I realized I was alone in the canyon, and the remembrance I had of Mr. Simmon’s body, and the loneliness of the night served to make me quite uneasy and nervous, and I expected the worst at every turn. I was well along with my trip through the upper Weber Canyon, having just passed the Devil’s Slide, when in the distance ahead of me I noticed a faint light. Here again my imagination and the conditions of my mind caused me to wonder what was to happen next. Naturally, the first thought was of a detachment of soldiers out to prevent just such communications as I was bearing. I advanced slowly and with caution. From what I could see there was a camp there of a few persons and off the road to the left. The light was dim but from what I could see the road was clear beyond the camp. When I rode as close as I thought proper, I urged my horse to the best speed possible, and rode straight through their camp. As I reached the opposite side I heard someone say that it was someone riding through camp but made no effort to stop me. I was surely relieved when I was well on my way and made all the speed I could consistent with my “power plant,” for he was to last me all the way. As I approached Colonel Jones’ tent I was met by a guard and after I explained my mission and that I was cautioned to deliver the message to no one but Colonel Jones personally, I was soon presented to the Colonel and delivered my message. The day before I left East Weber to make this trip, a request had reached Colonel Jones, from Lot Smith, for fifty men, and the men had all been selected from the volunteers, and this morning there was a great hurry to get the men on their way. I asked the orderly where the men from East Weber were located, and I went to them at once and found my brother David, Gordon and Henry Beckstead, Joe Wadsworth, and Jim Laird and others from our community making ready to go to help Lot Smith, and when I found Colonel Jones had no further use for me I went with them. I do not recall that anyone in particular had charge of this detachment. We traveled in a body as fast as consistent and that night we joined Lot Smith on Ham’s Fork. One reason that Lot wanted more men was to care for the cattle he had stampeded belonging to the soldiers, to round them up and take them to Salt Lake City. The men assigned to care for the cattle were up and gone early the next morning. Our camp on Ham’s Fork was made on the trail of the Army and just below where they were camped. Orders to Lot Smith were to do nothing but impede the progress of the army, and his activities up to this time had done very much to take the joy out of their undertakings. Our purpose now was to follow the army and stampede their remaining animals at the first opportunity. We were close enough now to keep a good check on their movements. We always kept a vanguard in the field and from the surrounding cliffs and points or vantage we had men with field glasses to study their operations. During the day we could keep track of them by a column of dust, from their horses and wagons. As they moved up the canyon we followed. Provisions were never too plentiful, barley supporting us in our work. With our minds continually trained on the activities of the army, and our duties and desires in connection with them, we really craved a little excitement. So on the evening of the third day out we ventured a little closer to their camp. We knew we were too close to them, but did not have their exact location. In a certain place in the canyon near them, the road detoured from the stream and up a small hill. As we very carefully rounded the point of the hill we were surprised to find their camp at the foot of the hill below us, and we had encountered their guard, but instead of using their firearms, we could hear them running down the hill and through the loose rock. From the light of their fires we could see the camp before the alarm was sounded. We discovered that they made use of a night guard and kept their stock in their camp during the night. We had found no opportunity to get at the cattle so we followed our trail back to our camp of the night before, about a mile below. In our council around the fire we decided that no movement should be undertaken next day until a reconnoitering party could be sent out to find in which direction they were ranging their stock. We were all lined up next morning while all in camp, and Mr. Smith talked to us. He said if there was a man in the company that had a dread of being in a tight place, or was afraid of a bullet, and perhaps death, he wanted him to drop out of the line then and there; he wanted no man to go home and report that he had arbitrarily sent them into danger. He said he wanted six men to remain in camp with the pack outfit, and be prepared at a moments notice to act under orders. And he called for volunteers. Not a movement was made so all Smith could do was to appoint his men. I was assigned to the reconnoitering party and we prepared to leave at once. We did not follow the road, but climbed to the highlands. When we reached the locality where we were the night before, we went down the hill toward the creek and into the road. Just then one of our party called our attention to the braying of a mule. The soldiers were going down the stream, but we found ourselves between them and their camp. We found the mules were on top of the hill, and not with the men we had located on the stream. So we made a dash for the top of the hill to do our stuff. When we reached the top we found the mules all right but a man at the side of every mule and ready to battle. We were sure short sighted when we did not find out the number of men with the mules before we charged them. There was 96 of them, and everyone had a gun and standing on the opposite side of the mule from us. Captain Marcey of the Army held a short conversation with Lot Smith, and when Smith returned to us we were all puzzled to know just what to do, but it was evident that we must do something and do it suddenly. So we made a good job of going down the hill to the camp of the night before. I am telling you we lost no time getting on the trail of the mules again. We now went up the mountain on the opposite side of the canyon. Perhaps if you could see the mountain you would say a man and a horse could not go up that way, but I know there were fifty-two of us who went up there, and made a nice quick trip of it too. When we reached the top we landed on a level plateau, and we went straight across it for about a mile when we reached the brink on the other side we went right down into the canyon. When we were about 300 yards down the slope, we heard a few sharp rifle reports. We were very much surprised indeed, and turning around we found the soldiers with their mules had overtaken us and were amusing themselves shooting at us. They left the ridge on the north side of the canyon the same time we did, while we were going down to our camp and up the hill, they went down to the stream and crossing it crept to a ravine and flanked us all the way. They reached the top just as we started down on the other side, and rushing across they took us completely by surprise. When we ere nearly across the plateau Lot Smith told us to uncap our guns for he thought we had seen the last of the soldiers for that day, so there was nothing left to do but hurry. As far as I am concerned the number of shots fired at us was not definite, but in my opinion there must have been sixty shots fired, and all of them fired by the soldiers. During the shooting and we were all doing what we could to increase the distance between us and the soldiers, the horse Jim Laird was riding centered a badger hole and spilled Jim and dazed him somewhat, but in a few moments he was coming at full speed. When this happened the soldiers shouted as if they were pleased. We later found it was because they thought they had shot Lot Smith. The horse he rode was quite like the one Jim was riding at the time and they were satisfied that they had shot him. As a matter of fact there was not a shot fired by the soldiers that took effect in man or beast. Mark Hall carried the only reminder, that of a bullet hole through the crown of his hat. He remembered when it happened, but thought at the time it was a twig from a tree. As soon as this affair was over, that very day we started for Fort Bridger. Our provisions were low and we were suffering from the cold. We did not have one tent in the company and David and Joe Wadsworth and I bunked together, and we had only three small quilts. In fact when we started for Fort Bridger, we were without provisions, and nearly all we had on the previous day was beef. On the first day toward Bridger we were overtaken by six inches of snow and very cold weather. And that same storm also turned the soldiers back. They did not go any farther up Ham’s Fork, but in a week or ten days came to Fort Bridger for the winter. Through all my experiences of the last few months, I had been without a coat on my back, and when I reached Fort Bridger I was exhausted, and very badly chilled. As soon as we reached there I took shelter in the blacksmith shop, and as I warmed a little I could see things, as I know they should not be. I was so hungry and weak I couldn’t stand, and so cold I was numb. When I warmed up good I became unconscious. I fell in a heap and was removed to a manger in a nearby barn, where I was revived through the kindness of some friends. My brother David had left the Fort with a party about the time we arrived, for Fort Supply, twelve miles south of Fort Bridger. The next day the remainder of our company went down there, I rode my horse. When we reached Fort Supply I was surely sick, and Lot Smith found a bed for me in one of the houses. There was quite a number of the boys sick and the room was pretty well taken when we arrived. I stayed here for two or three days and recuperated sufficiently to join the company that Lot Smith had decided to send home on account of ill health, about 75 men as I remember it. A man by the name of Milo Andrus was in charge of the company. About two thirds of the men had horses and the balance was on foot. It was necessary to carry what provisions we had on the horses and on this account most of the men were obliged to walk. We progressed very well up to where the road crossed the Weber River to climb Big Mountain. It was the intention of Mr. Andrus to maintain as strictly as possible a Military Camp. Where guard duty was required it worked a hardship on the men able to do it and on the men unable to work. We were now 75 or 80 miles from the soldiers, and guard duty was not necessary at all, but we were forced to do guard duty anyway, taking the same precautions as if we were liable to be attacked at any moment. We proceeded as best we could, a weary and tired outfit. In a few days we reached the forks of the road, one leading over Big Mountain to Salt Lake City and the other down the Weber River to Ogden. Here we were confronted with a geographical situation, it was about 35 miles over the mountain to Salt Lake City and about the same distance to Ogden and its vicinity, and if the men going to Ogden went down the Weber they would reach home about the same time as the Salt Lake men going over the mountain. Under ordinary circumstances this was the thing to do, and it appeared even more important to us to do it on account of the weather conditions and our health as a company, but Mr. Andrus insisted that the company must proceed as a company to Salt Lake City and be disbanded there. He went so far as the threaten court martial for those who did not respect his command. We thought we had been imposed on anyway, so the men from East Weber and the vicinity of Ogden counseled and decided to go down the Weber and home, and we did and there was no further ado, after the man who took charge of us told Mr. Andrus that if he wished to enforce his court martial we could be found at our home. We camped at the forks of the road that night and the next morning one company went over the mountain and the other down the Weber. The great home coming event and the event of the trip was the supper we received when we reached Mountain Green. It consisted of bread, butter, milk, and was a feast indeed when we thought of the meals we had been receiving in camp. This banquet was the outcome of the generosity of Mr. George Higby, a brother-in-law to my brother David. He was at Mountain Green feeding his stock some wild hay he had cured there. We camped here over night and reached home the next day after a months absence. The crops were practically harvested and about all we had to do was to gather our winter wood. I helped some, but my health was impaired, so I stayed close to home. Home life at this time was quite uneventful for us. About the only entertainment we had was a dance occasionally, and the part I enjoyed most was that I earned a few cents. I was waiting and planning to enter school when the term opened well along in the winter. I was taught by William Winward. He had written my copy for penmanship practice in my copybook and in some manner he made the use of the name Jacob, but had commenced the name without a capital letter. I called this to his attention and he endeavored to maintain his action and referred to me as a smart Aleck, and said that I had better take the school. He finished the day but did not come again. That night he reported to Bishop Osborn that he was through. The same evening Bishop Osborn came to see me about taking the school, and the next time I went to school I was no longer the pupil, but the teacher, having scaled the heights in one evening. Needless to say, I encountered many obstacles. We had a swell neighbor, a refined and educated gentleman in the person of John Parson, and he owned an excellent library and was a great help to me in disposing of my difficulties as they presented themselves. The school term ended March 1, 1858. I got along very nicely, with varying degrees of success, of course. The year 1855 was one of friendly relations with the Indians, and all around prosperity for the Saints. President Young seized the opportunity to forward the plans of the Church in colonizing the surrounding country. He called for the forming of a company to go to the Salmon River Country to establish a settlement there. This company consisted of 25 or 30 families. They located under favorable circumstances. Everybody was friendly, even the Indians, and the Saints prospered. I believe the Salmon River Indians were of the Bannocks, and up until this time had proved themselves worthy of our friendship. But things must change as all things human change and we introduce, at this time an old mountaineer, named Powell. For reason fancied or other wise he had formed a dislike for the Saints and used his influence to arouse the Indians against us. He engendered distrust by telling them we were there to take their land, kill their game and destroy their forests. He succeeded in arousing the Indians, especially the young warriors, and they attacked the people and drive their stock away. At the time of the first attack the stock was grazing near the Fort and they were surrounded and started away before the Saints noticed them. They rushed out at once to try to save them, but as they approached, the Indians fired on them and killed two men, a Mr. McBride and Mr. Miller. Three others were wounded, I do not recall the names of two of them, but a third was Thomas S. Smith, he was shot through the wrist, but not an Indian was injured in the whole affair. The Fort was located on the Lemhi Road, and was known as Fort Lemhi. News of this unfortunate affair was carried to President young by a young Indian Brave named Arimo, in company with a settler or two from the Fort. This action prompted President Young to call for volunteers to go to the rescue of the saints. The number called was available at once. We were to have 15 baggage wagons, and plenty of provisions. We were equipped with the best we had and we were to travel as cavalry. There was a driver with every wagon and 150 cavalrymen. Including the officers, the company consisted of about 175 men. Colonel Cunningham of Salt Lake City was the officer in charge, and was assisted by Captains Layton and Belnap. Most of the men were from the vicinities of Daysville, Ogden, and Farmington. We commenced the trip about the middle of March. We went up through Brigham City and crossed over Bear River at Hamton’s Bridge. North through Malad Valley, over the divide Onto Marsh Creek, and followed that stream down to the Portneuf, and the Portneuf down nearly to the Snake River, over the ground where Pocatello now stands. There was nothing there then to indicate that such a place would ever exist. I am not positive, but I believe we were the first white men to ever take a wagon down the Portneuf River Canyon. There was simply no indication that a wagon had ever been there before. The trail was beset with difficulties and dangerous places. In one place it was necessary to lower the wagons over a small precipice. We decided on a place, removed the lead team, tied a rope to the axle of the wagon, the men holding the rope lowered the wagons, one after another, down the grade. This rope idea was more effective than a brake system under the conditions. But an absolute necessity at this time for the breaking system on our wagons of today was not a part of the equipment at this time. We crossed the Snake River on the ice a short distance above the mouth of the Portneuf, and continued about straight north. We passed the Big Buttes, west of what is now Blackfoot, continued north and reached Birch Creek, up this stream to the divide between the Snake and Salmon Rivers. We crossed the divide and when the sun was about down we located camp on a small stream tributary to Salmon River. All of our officers were leading us down the stream when, without warning they came upon a camp of Indians. Without investigating they returned to us and told us to climb a small hill near us and on the top of it to arrange to defend ourselves, for we were in the midst of our enemies. We formed a corral, put our stock in it, and in a short time we were ready to do our bit. We had no supper that night and no breakfast the next morning for we were afraid to start a fire. It was a very cold bleak night and I am sure no one slept. The wind blew quite hard and we suffered without fires. Not only the cold and discomfort, but we would not be surprised to hear the “war whoop” of the Indians at any moment. But daybreak then the “scarlet shafts of sunrise” and still we were unmolested. A little later we discovered that the “wigwams” belonged to three old bucks and their squaws, the laugh was on the officers. We pulled camp, got back onto the road and went to Fort Lemhi, on the Lemhi River. We entered the Fort and slept inside, locked in, man and beast alike. The people were pleased, beyond words, to see us. There had been many anxious hours in the lines, and this bunch of men offered them a feeling of security they had not enjoyed for some time. While I was at the Fort I was entertained by an old friend of mine, William Smith, a brother of Lot Smith. The people in the Fort were very kind to us and did all they could for our comfort. Each family cared for as many as they could and the remainder did their own cooking I the Fort. We appeared more like a company of cavalry on this trip, and we were much better armed and supplied than on any expedition I had ever been on. We stacked arms and made a very good job of it, and our camp in the Fort looked like a pretty well trained company. At the council, next morning, it was decided to locate the Indians and hold a conference with them. They were generally known to be about ten miles below us on the Lemhi River. There was, at this time, in the Fort, two Indians who were very friendly, and they were detailed to carry the message to the camp below. They did their part and returned as was expected with them, in due time. About the middle of the afternoon of this day, a company of ten Indians entered the clearing outside of the Fort to the East. The Fort was built on the north, east and south, by logs set on end in the ground, and was about eight feet high. The wall on the west was made there to keep the stock within the Fort. The entrance was on the east side near the southeast corner. The Indians came across the clearing up to the fence or gates as fast as their horses would carry them and shouting as loudly as they could. The Fort gate was open and they came rushing into the inside, but there was a difference in their behavior when they saw the increased number of men and our display of guns. Then adding to their predicament, when they turned toward the gate it was closed. It was the intentions of the officers to hold the Indians until the next day after the conference as a matter of precaution. Our interpreter had some difficulty to get them to see that we meant them no harm. They were very shy and nervous. We divided our blankets with them to make beds for the night and fed them food like our own. With our beds all made and the men at leisure, some lying on the beds and others engaged in conversation, our colored friends seem quite at ease. But when the bugler sounded his first not of “Taps” they all jumped to their feet and were frightened, but at a total loss as to what to do to deliver themselves. From what we noticed during the night, we were sure they did not sleep at all, and when reveille was sounded next morning, it only served to increase their anxiety. One nimble youth decided the time was ripe to deliver himself, at least, and he made a rush for the North wall and succeeding in getting a hold on top of the post, and pulling himself on top, jumped to the ground outside and disappeared across the clearing in record time. I think there was not a white man in the crowd that could have kept pace with him as he cut across the country, his blankets flying in the breeze. The others made no effort to escape but were ill at ease. I think it was about one o’clock p. m. that the company, with the officers and the Indians, started for the camp down on the Lemhi. The messengers that carried the message to the Indians were asked not to make known the presence of the extra men, and they did not know until they reached the Fort that we were there. Had it not been for the escape of the one Indian, we could have taken the camp on the Lemhi by complete surprise. But as it was, they were ready for us. But to our job, they were entirely friendly, and after a conference between our interpreters, the Indian Chief and his counselors, we found that the trouble had all been caused by those young braves, out of his control, and under the influence of the old mountaineer Powell. The Chief was very sorry over the affair, and when he was told we had come to take the settlers away with us, he tried in every way to get them to stay. On our way to and from the Indian camp we saw very plainly what had happened to the best of the stock they had stole. We recovered a few of the poorer horses, and some of the cattle, the better ones had been driven away into the mountains by the braves who had stolen them. We returned to camp that day and commenced preparations to start for home. The settlers had considerable repairing to do on their wagons and harness, and their belongings to care for. They had quite a supply of wheat on had and it was decided to take it along, though it was very smutty and had to be washed before we could use it. The Squad of ten, to which I was assigned, was detailed to wash wheat, after which it was ground into mill shorts, bran, and everything together, and was for bread as we traveled. It had long been known by the white people that an Indian had a mortal dread of a cannon. They were quite superstitious and the fear of a cannon headed the list. It was likely with this in mind that Mr. Collett, the company blacksmith decided to build a cannon, and he actually thought he could build one that would be serviceable. He applied himself to the task and the finished product was a very neat piece of work. It was about a two-inch bore and was made from the old wagon tires and scrap iron. The barrel was about three feet long. It was a solid cylinder on the side of which was a chamber arranged with a percussion lock for the firing of the gun. It was freely believed that it was this gun that discouraged the Indians from coming to the Fort after the trouble started. We had never shot it, and as we could not take it with us we decided to see whether it would shoot or not. As a company we were advised to conserve our supply of ammunition, especially powder, but after all we were permitted to give enough powder among us, for one round. Before the gun was loaded, each of us was permitted to **** and pull the trigger, so we could say we had “cocked a cannon.” The gun was then loaded and at the command of Colonel Cunningham, it was taken outside the Fort, placed against the wall and trained on a nearby hill. A string was tied to the trigger and brought through a crack in the wall. Finally everything was ready and the string was pulled. The firing mechanism worked perfectly, but the charge of powder was too powerful for the strength of the chamber. A modest estimate of the number of pieces into which the gun was blown would be in excess of forty-nine thousand. It was fortunate indeed that we had taken the precaution to place the gun outside the Fort, otherwise someone would have been killed. The gun had been loaded with scrap iron and from what we could find out, the most of it was imbedded in the hillside. We were about ten or twelve days at the Fort before we were prepared to start home. When the start was made a detachment of ten men was organized to go before us and reach Salt Lake City as soon as possible and let Pres. Young know of our coming. As a matter of fact they left one day ahead of the main body. They did not take a wagon with them, their bedding and supplies being carried on four or five pack animals. I can now recall the names of five of the men in this advance guard. They were, Bailey Lake, George Barber, John Blanchard, George Ill and Balda Watts. The others I do not remember. Their instructions were that if they encountered any Indians to not molest them. We did not see them again until we reached home, and then but nine of them, for misfortune overtook the one at Bannock Creek. We followed about the same route back as the one we came north on, until we reached Snake River. I am not positive as to where we crossed the river, but it was below where Blackfoot now stands. This crossing was made on the ice also. Colonel Cunningham had, previously to this, been up in the neighborhood of Blackfoot and left a cache of flour. As soon as we crossed the Snake, a party of several men, a four-horse team and a wagon was sent for the flour. The main Company traveled on, and this group overtook us before we reached the Portneuf River and were perhaps four or five miles up Bannock Creek, when we met our advance guard coming back to us, quite excited, and in a hurry. They reported they had found the body of a white man a short distance up the creek. It was evident that it was the work of Indians. We corralled our wagons at once and formed camp. As soon as the safety of the women and children was insured, we went up the creek to investigate. At first we were afraid the entire vanguard had been killed. An old packsaddle here and there, and a saddle blanket, and if I remember correctly one gun. Evidently the Indians had shot from ambush. The body we had found was that of Bailey Lake, and he had been shot while crossing the creek. He was quite a large man, and had ridden his horse clear of the water before falling off. The boys were taken by surprise, but had the presence of mind to retire to a wash through which the stream passed and conceal themselves until they could locate the Indians. A few shots were fired by our men, but as far as we could tell none of them took effect. The Indians had stripped Mr. Lake’s body of all clothing, and removed his scalp, then turning him face downward had shot three arrows into his back. A scouting committee was sent out at once by our train, and after a careful search of the country surrounding us, they returned and reported no Indians were in the locality and the remaining nine of our Vanguard were alive and gone on their way. Now we had to care for Mr. Lake’s body. None of us wanted to have it buried here. It was finally decided to distribute the blacksmith tools among the other wagons and take his body in it. We filled the wagon box with snow and packed it as best we could by tromping it down with our feet. Then a place for the body was cut in it, and the snow repacked around it. This was successful, for when we reached home the body was in a state of excellent preservation. This was the first and only time I ever saw a person scalped, by an Indian or anyone else, and to me it is a very cold-blooded thing to do, and someone else can see the rest of it. The following day we went on up Bannock Mountains and into Malad Valley. Here we found out that the nine men of our advance guard were O.K. and ahead of us. We reached Bear River, and crossed on Hamton’s Bridge, with no other than the usual routine. As we re-entered the Territory of Utah, the first homes we encountered in Box Elder, was deserted but for a detail of men whose duty it was to care for things until the return of the Saints, or the destruction of the property, in case they were not permitted to return. Every place had been “strawed” so fire could be started at once. The people, before leaving had made caches of all food they could not take with them. The same conditions existed in Willard and Ogden. When we reached Ogden we disbanded and I left at once for East Weber, where I found that all my folks, except my wife, had joined the exodus. I spent a few days at home, and meanwhile the team and wagon David had sent back for my wife, myself and his Mother-in-law Mrs. Penrod, and we at once loaded our belongings and started to join the rest of our people. We overtook them about thirty-five miles South of Salt Lake City. It was while I was in Salt Lake City this time that I attended the meeting of the Army Officers and the Church Officials. Before this time we had discovered why the settlements had been deserted and preparations made to destroy everything and anything of value. It had been the mind of President Young and his council, that the Army would force its way into the valley from Fort Bridger as soon as conditions were favorable in the spring. Anticipating this possibility the President ordered a general exodus of the people to the South. And the invaders were to find the country as barren and useless as it was when the Saints first settled there. Just as these arrangements were completed, a certain one Thomas L. Caine, had obtained permission from the President of the United States to come to Utah to investigate conditions and straighten things out, peaceably if possible. President Young had ordered the move, but Mr. Caine wanted the people held until a better understanding could be had between the parties concerned. This, President Young would not consent to, so Mr. Caine asked for an escort to go to Fort Bridger and bring the officers of the army to Salt Lake City for a conference. Lot Smith and about fifteen other men formed the company and in the next few days they returned with the officers of the army, and I think Major Alexander was in charge, and Mr. Cummings, the new Governor of the territory, was with him. On their arrival a meeting was held in the little old tabernacle, in the South West corner of the Temple Block. It was an open meeting and the house was filled to overflowing. I attended this meeting. In defense of the actions of President Brigham Young in the recent exodus, a review of the treatment the Church had received from its organization at the hands, or with the pleasure of the Government, was presented. It was explained that we were now acting in defiance of the United States Government, but it was thought that the Army sent out here was not a very friendly looking peace body, and it had been definitely decided that if we could not prevent the Army from entering Utah, we would destroy all our improvements, burn homes and barns, and leave the valley as near as barren waste as it was when we settled there. At this meeting it was decided that the army could come into the valley, and that the suggestions of President Young should be followed explicitly. Under no conditions were they to stop in Salt Lake City, but were to cross the Jordan River, go up the river on the West side, through the narrows, which were about 18 miles south of the City, then round the south side of Utah Lake, and there on a small spring they were to make their camp, and it was to be known as Camp Floyd. The exodus of the Saints was not halted until every condition of the agreement had been fulfilled. As soon as the army was encamped at Camp Floyd, word was dispatched to the Saints that they could return to their homes. This word reached us while we were camped on the Provo River, about 35 miles south of Salt Lake City. We camped here because, if we were permitted to return to our homes, we were far enough away, and not we had a good start. This word reached us about the 15th of July, and there was much rejoicing among us. When we reached our homes in East Weber we found our property in excellent shape. David and John had been left at home as members of the “burning detail” and they had cared for things very well. By the time of the affairs of the place and home had been put in shape, the volunteer grain was ready for harvest and we were blessed when we received one-hundred seventy-five bushel of excellent wheat. With harvest over and preparations made for winter there was not much for me to do. Ever since I had been married I had been almost constantly in some public service, for which I had not received one “red cent” of money, as a result I had no money and had accumulated very little or no property. My wife and myself had no clothing but what we wore every day. I did not have a second shirt to my back. Something had to be done but our problem was, what should be done. There was no work, the only hope seemed to be to get someone to create a job for my special benefit. I decided to go see Mr. Judson L. Stoddard, he sometimes hired some help, and try to get a few days work. He told me he could hire all the men he could that would work for their board. These men were mostly camp “followers” who had come to Utah with the army, and you can imagine their circumstances. Mr. Stoddard was sick in bed, and about all the work he had, undone was getting wood from the mountains for his winter use. He finally told me that if I wanted to get out his winter wood he would pay me $1.00 a day. So, as soon as I could go home and give my folks the line up I would be ready. When I told them the work I had to do and the hours I must work they were surely opposed to any such deal. Bit I was desperate, I needed the money and a dollar a day, if I did have to work 24 hours to get it, was much better than any prospect I had at home. I had often played for a dance for which I was to get a bushel of wheat, or potatoes, or something of that kind, but very little of it did I ever receive. I did not insist on being paid at the time, so the promises were never kept. While brown sugar was $100 a pound, and flour at Camp Floyd was $25.00 per sack, and other groceries in proportion, and the cheapest cloth $.60 a yard and upward, yet I was pleased to go to work for a $1.00 a day, hoping to provide myself and wife with at least clothing, for it was still the practice in our home to make our own clothing, and with Mother’s help it was a chance to help Jane, my wife, to a start. I returned to Mr. Stoddard’s the following Monday morning and started work. This was about the 1st of October. The ranch was about one mile from the foot of the mountain. I was provided with a card. This card was simply the front gear of a large wagon. I was given two yoke of oxen. I got up at 4 o’clock each morning and ate a cold breakfast placed on the table the night before. Then I was off to the mountains. I climbed quite high on the mountain just back of the present location of Centerville. There was an abundance of dry wood there and I would get the wood out, load the large ends on the card and let the small ends drag on the ground. At the foot of the hill I would unload and go on to Mr. Stoddard’s house reaching there about 9 o’clock at night. With the exceptions of Sundays I worked twenty-six days and received $26.00 in gold and silver. I left for home at once and in a few days my wife and I went to Salt Lake City and purchased some of the things we needed most, and returned with a few dollars. It was about this time that my wife and I decided to move out of the house of my father and live by ourselves. I remember that Mother gave us one plate, one fork and one spoon. Mrs. Robinson, with whom Jane used to live, gave us a duplicate of this, and we commenced life alone in this manner. Our cooking was done on an open fireplace. We had a very good straw bed, except for a tick and bedstead. I made a bedstead by using the walls and a leg at the outer corner. We had no bedsprings, the bottom of the bed was boards, and the straw was placed on them. We had no table so we ate our meals from a box in which we kept our clothing. Soon after my return from Mr. Stoddard’s I was offered the job of teaching the school at Mountain Green, which I accepted. I had about 20 pupils, and spent a very pleasant winter. The proposition they offered me was not so good but the best in sight. It was what they called a “subscription school,” that is the parents of the pupils were to give me so much, some provisions, some money, while others gave what they could best afford. I got along fine with the school, and I had moved Jane up there with me and we lived in a house near the school. School ended about the middle of February and we moved back to East Weber. Here, on March 1, 1859 our home was blessed by the arrival of a baby girl, and we named her Betsy. She was all a child could be to anyone, but she was taken from us by death March 19, 1859. These were indeed sad dark hours for us, in which we were deprived of our first-born. Levi Hammon made us a coffin, and Mother washed and dressed the child and placed it in the casket. No services were held, and the body was taken directly to the cemetery. Ira N. Spaulding, John M. Bybee, David B. Bybee and myself acted as the pallbearers, and Ira Spaulding dedicated the grave, unto the Lord. We placed the earth over the coffin carefully and returned home. The following summer I worked for Father on the farm in East Weber. We were all blessed with health this year and with an abundant crop. The summer and autumn went very rapidly and ere we realized it, winter was upon us again. We had many pleasant hours in our association together, but life was quite uneventful. Even the winter of 1859-1860 passed quietly and quickly, but with a prayer for Thanksgiving for the many blessings we enjoyed together. As spring gradually tapered into the early summer, we found ourselves with Father on the farm. Again this year we harvested splendid crops, and when the winter of 1860 arrived we were well prepared to receive it. On the 14, of September 1860, our second child was born and was christened Robert Lee. He was given my name. The mother and child did very nicely, and the father was well pleased. As soon as the harvest was taken care of we were off to the mountains for our winter wood. The wood that was best and easiest to get had been made use of, so we joined with Bishop Osborn and went up on Strawberry Creek in the lower end of Weber Valley. There the wood was of good quality and near the base of the hills. It was necessary to spend one night in making the trip. Our first trip, as we were returning with our loads, about where the road reaches the level land above East Weber, we were surprised to hear the Indians in the foot hills below us, firing their guns and shouting. They came directly to us and stopped us. Bishop Osborn was in the lead, and the leader of the Indians was called “Little Soldier.” He had thirteen in his band, and they were all under the influence of liquor, almost drunk. Little Soldier was not drinking. They were very hard to satisfy, and when they came to deal with Bishop Osborn they were almost cruel. Little Soldier said he did not keep his promise to them. And at one time we were all told to go, but Osborn must stay. I am sure that all that saved our lives at this time was the love they had for my Father. Father was always a friend to the Indians, and when he made them a promise he kept it faithfully, and was honest with them. Little Soldier always called father “Toas Pompa,” which to them meant White Hair. He knew all of our family as well as nearly all of the settlers of East Weber, and on this occasion he came to me and put his arm around me, and proceeded to tell the rest what a good man “Toas Pompa” was, and what good boys he had, that when he promised an Indian a shirt, he got a shirt. Then he said when Osborn promise a shirt, we no get em. We were all greatly relieved when they went on their way, but we were mindful, lest they change their minds and return to finish their job. On subsequent trips we were unmolested by them. They obtained their liquor from a man by the name of Park, who operated a “still.” Between East Weber and Salt Lake City there were two roads that were used most of the time. One was down through the open valley and was known as the Sand Ridge Road, and the other followed the foot of the mountain and was known as the Mountain Road. About two miles out on the Mountain Road a man by the name of Park lived and this was the man who made the “mule” and sold it to the Indians. A few days after we finished hauling our winter wood, Father’s horses disappeared, and search as we would we could not find them. About two weeks after they disappeared, Little Soldier came to our home on one of his friendly calls, and Father told him about the horses. He promised to help Father find them, and sent two of his men to look for them. It was not long before they located two Indians and they had Father’s horses. They were taken to Little Soldier and he brought them and the two Indians to our home. After asking whether they belonged to Father or not, and found out they did, they were delivered to us and Little Soldier took his quirt and soundly whipped the offenders. Father interfered, but to no avail. He wanted us to see their punishment and when he had finished he simply said “Bad Injuns.” I did not teach school this winter and except for a few dances I played to, the fall and winter was uneventful. The spring of 1861 was now with us. Father rented the farm by brother John which meant I was to look for something to do. There was nothing in East Weber by way of work. I had heard that Mr. Stoddard expected to do some extra work, so I went to see him. I found he intended to go to Carson City, Nevada with six wagons loaded with salt. He told me I could drive a team for him, in fact he had calculated to get me to go. This was April 15, 1861, and as there was work to do to prepare the equipment, I went to work at once. Each wagon was fitted with eight boxes, so arranged so as to use all the room in the wagon box. These were filled with salt. Mr. Stoddard was interested in the merchandise business at Farmington, and had accumulated 2,800 dozen of eggs, and proposed to take them to Carson City. In order to carry them, they were distributed in the salt in all six wagons. The possibility of the salt hardening in transit had not been discussed. As a matter of being prepared, Mr. Stoddard wanted to take some extra ox bows, and as there was plenty of oak, suitable for them at East Weber, he sent us there to make them. He also told me to look out for some butter, and to get all I could find. I told him about Mother’s ability as a butter maker, and I was to get all she could prepare, and he would allow her trade in the store. The butter was put in a tub, and there was 50 pounds of it. I returned to Farmington April 28, with 15 ox-bows and set about at once to complete arrangements for the start. We left Mr. Stoddard’s home May 1st, 1861 and five of the wagons traveled the Sand Ridge Road, while I went to East Weber along the Mountain Road. This arrangement was made to make it possible for me to get my bedding, the butter and the ox-bows. I joined the other wagons at Ogden. From Ogden on went North to Brigham City and crossed Bear River straight west of there. Our first camp was made a few miles north of Ogden. The second camp soon after we crossed Bear River. Our company consisted of 7 men. Herton Haight was our wagon boss and had charge of the company. I recall only three of the drivers, myself, Ed Pierce and a Mr. Cleveland. A man named William Carbine was a member of the party, but had his own cargo and outfit. We camped three or four days on Bear River because we heard the Indians were very bad on the Old Migration Trail. We were also told there were quite a number of people leaving Utah for California within the next few days, so we waited and joined them. We now had 36 wagons in our party and over 40 men. Nearly every wagon out side of our six had a family in it. The Company, as a whole, was very well armed with guns and ammunition. One day as we were preparing to pull Camp, and before we were joined by the other company, Mr. Haight was approached by an Indian and after an exchange of a “little white” it was found out he wanted to travel with us, and Mr. Haight let him go. The new party objected, strongly, but Mr. Haight let him go anyway. He proved to be a very good hand to have along. He took his turn standing guard, carried wood and water, and never evaded an opportunity to be of service. We were making good time and all was well, Mr. Haight had refused to act as Captain of the combined companies, so it fell to a man by the name of Mallory, of the second company. Mr. Mallory was a horseman of some repute. He proved to be a very good captain, and in most matters a fair-minded man. But in the affairs of the heart, like many of us, he was not so just. He had married a second wife, and they were the parents of a very clever little boy. When he decided to leave Utah she would not go with him, and he would not leave the child. I always thought he did wrong to ignore the pleadings of the Mother for her child. Going westward we saw many interesting, natural formations. The first of interest was the City of Rocks. From a distance they appeared like a city of large and small buildings. The next of particular interest was the Valley of a Thousand Springs, a very pretty sight. We always had good water for camp use. The first water of importance that we reached was Raft River, Goose Creek in the order named. From here we traveled somewhat South of West until we reached the Humbolt River. We were obliged to cross the river here but the banks were too high and the water too deep, even in the time of a normal flow it would have been too deep, but now with the extra flow of high water it seemed almost useless to try to ford. Immediately below us the river entered a box canyon, while not extraordinary, yet the banks were such that a fording was impossible, above us the mountains reached the bank of the stream. But near where we first reached the river the water passed over a low ledge of rocks in the channel and just below the water was almost motionless, and from 10 to 30 feet deep, and the banks not high. We had in mind to build some kind of a bridge, but we had no practical way of doing so. We could see pine timber to the East of us, which we estimated to be about 10 miles away. When we met or saw Indians along our way it was usually considered that they were friendly. We had seen none on our travels thus far, so we thought it unwise to leave our wagons, or a part of them while we went 10 miles for timber, so we tried our resourcefulness in another way. The opposite bank was well above the water, but lower than the bank on our side, so we dug holes in the banks on either side and in these we placed our ox-yokes and secured them. Then we took our log chains and fastened them from yoke to yoke across the stream in four lines. Willows were plentiful so we cut them and bound them in bundles, using all the spare rope we had, then we placed them on the chains across the stream and bound them as close together as we could. With the weight of the willows, the chains were two feet above the water at the lowest point, so we swam some of our oxen across and rolled one of our harvest wagons to the bank and headed for the “bridge.” We then passed a chain across and fastened it to the wagon and a yoke of oxen pulled it to the opposite bank. We followed this procedure and took all 36 of our wagons across without mishap. The chains never did reach the water, and the families in the wagons were permitted to ride across. We dismantled our bridge, took our chains and yokes and traveled down the Humbolt River on its banks, and at times in the bed of the stream. After several days travel we reached the Sinks of the Humbolt. Here the river spread over quite a little territory and formed what was sometimes called Humbolt Lake, and to this there is no visible outlet, hence, the Sinks of the Humbolt. From here it was necessary to cross the desert to the Carson River a distance of about 10 miles. The sand was quite course and the resistance great. So we spent a day at the Sinks resting our animals for the task. The heat of the day and the heat stored in the sand made it necessary for us to plan to conserve the strength of our stock. So we decided to start late in the afternoon and travel during the night. This we did and reached the Carson River at the break of dawn the following day. About two days travel East of the Sinks of the Humbolt we encountered the first Indian in our travels thus far. He rode into our camp early one morning carrying quite a supply of buckskin. He wanted to trade it for powder and bullets. We were just breaking camp, and as soon as Mallory heard what he wanted he made himself clear in a few words, to the effect that if any man in camp traded him powder and bullets he hoped that man was the first man the Indian killed. Needless to say the Indian was soon on his way. When we first reached the Carson River the first town we saw was Ragtown, one blacksmith shop, one cabin and a small haystack. Here we rested our stock for a day. When we reached Ragtown the Indian that joined us on Bear River near Brigham City, disappeared. He did not make known his intentions to anyone. This seemed to be where he was headed, or that we were as close to his place as we were likely to get, so he just left us. On our way up the Carson River we could see Virginia City at the foot of the mountains to our right. When we reached Carson City Mr. Haight located a Mr. Grant, a man he knew in Utah. Mr. Grant was interested in mining, and we sold our entire cargo to him except our eggs. We ranged our stock about two miles North of the city in Washoe Valley; the food was plentiful and good water. We were at Carson City about three weeks. Our greatest camp problem was to get someone to cook our meals, as no one wanted the job. Mr. Haight finally asked me to do it, so I was the cook at Carson City. During our stay we disposed of our eggs, or the most of them that was fit to use at all. After all our care in packing the eggs in salt, it proved to be a poor undertaking, in the swamps the salt absorbed the moisture and out on the desert the moisture evaporated leaving the salt hard. It was almost impossible to get the eggs out of the salt, and those we did get out were no good. We sold about 50 dozen of the two thousand eight hundred dozen we started with. We sold a few in Carson City, but our eggs soon lost their reputation and our market was gone. Mr. Grant and I started out for Virginia City to sell what we could of them there. We sold a few at Silver City and Gold Hill on the way up, and finished the job at Virginia City and returned to Carson City. As we passed through Silver City and Gold Hill coming back we were recognized as the egg men and while we were not bothered, we heard several sarcastic remarks about our eggs. We were in Carson City on the Fourth of July, and taken all in all, it was a memorable occasion. At this time the news of the outbreak of the Civil War was reaching us. Most everyone felt it a duty to celebrate the Fourth, and it was a good day for horse racing, drinking and fighting. I sat in front of the saloon that evening and saw six fights just about as fast as they could be pulled off. Another attraction at this celebration was the arrival of the first overland Stage, going East. In the crowd you could hear someone shout, Hurrah for Jeff Davis, then an answer in another part of the gang, Hurrah for Abe Lincoln, then the next was an exhibition of the manly art of self-defense. A day or two after the Fourth I went with Mr. Grant to his farm to help him put up his hay. It was wild hay, and we were about a week at the job. Mr. Grant told me that during the previous winter hay reached a price of $150.00 per ton. We are now all in Carson City, and as soon as we can dispose of what remains of our cargo and our outfits, we are to start for home. In the bargain we received four mules with harness and wagon and 25 Spanish Mares. The balance we paid in money. About the first of August we started to roundup our stock that we had sold, to deliver them. After about a week at task we found ourselves ready to start home. At Ragtown the “cook” problem showed up again, and Mr. Haight finally asked me to do it, and if I would I would be free from any other camp duty, so I became the cook. When we left Carson City, the telegraph line from the West coast was operating and the construction crew was working east of Carson City. We followed their lines as far as Ragtown the first day and camped. Here we were rejoined by the Indian who had deserted us when we came down. His advent was as much without ceremony now as his departure had been, but he wanted to return to Utah with us, so we let him travel with us. From Ragtown we took an entirely different route home. It was known as the Simpson Mail Route; the coaches of the Overland followed this route, and the telegraph company was following this line also. We were out of Ragtown about a day’s travel when we reached the end of construction at this time. It was at this time that the Pony Express was being run from St. Joseph, Missouri to Sacramento, California, to see how quick this fete could be performed. They too were following the Simpson Mail Route. The second night out on this route as we were making camp, the Pony Express rider rode into camp and to my surprise it was the little Mexican cook we had with us on our trip to Independence, Missouri. This was the first time I had seen him since our company was divided at Fort Laramie on our return trip. He was pleased to see me, but in a few minutes he was on his way again. I have not seen him since. Our party now consisted of seven white men and the Indian. Two of our original party remained at Carson City, expecting to go on to California. We picked up a man in Carson City to take to Utah. The wagon we had received from Mr. Grant was a very small and frail outfit, but we really did not expect to have any trouble reaching home, but it was too light for the load and the roads and as we were going down Egan Canyon the end of the right rear axle broke off. We were many miles from help, had but an axe ourselves, and pinion pine on the hillside. The situation seemed quite serious and after exchanging ideas for a spell, someone set out to get a piece of pie, while the others removed the broken end from the wagon’s skein. Then cutting the axle and the new timber to fit we were ready for the holes. I do not know who suggested it, but it was I who did the shooting. I took my pistol and got a short distance from the work and succeeded in shooting a hole through the timber. We finished the job by heating the bolt and burning the hole clear. We put the wagon back together, but the best we hoped for was to get to some blacksmith shop and have the work done as it should have been done, but we built better than we knew, for without any other labor we reached home in fine shape. Near the boundary line between Utah and Nevada we encountered a large marsh, at best it was 16 miles out of our way to go around it, and as this was the time of the year when the waters were pretty well drained from the soil, we decided to try for a crossing. We drove our loose stock into the swamp and they crossed nicely. We then ventured with our wagon and reached the other side in safety, about four hundred yards away. Our first day’s travel then was over a long dry stretch of country, and we suffered considerable, and our stock even more, for water. Sometime in the late afternoon we reached water, some distance from the road and at the foot of the mountain. We had to climb the mountainside to reach the spring for water for the camp, then we drive the stock there and we forgot our troubles as far as water was concerned. Between here and Salt Lake City we camped but once, near the southern end of the lake. It was here our Indian friend left us, and I have never heard of him since. The next day we reached Haight’s home about four or five miles northwest of Farmington. His home was known as Haight’s Grove throughout the district. I spent the night there and the next day I was given the special privilege of riding one of his race horses home, after a promise that I would not run her, and return her at a convenient time, well cared for. After three days at home I returned the animal, and took one of Father's to ride back. After a few days rest after the cares of the trip, I took one of my brother David's yoke of oxen and started to gather wood for my use during the winter. After hauling three or four loads of wood I was taken quite ill with Typhoid fever. I remained in bed for six weeks. For the first time in my life, a doctor had been in my home. Mother was always our family doctor, and we thought she was a good one, too, but this was something new to her so they decided to send for a good old-fashioned doctor. Mc Entire of Ogden. After a visit from him and a round or two of his medicine, I began to improve. The disease settled in my right leg below the knee and resulted in varicose veins, which bothered me considerably in my future life. I was over in Ogden one day and asked the doctor how much I owed him and he said about two and one half bushels of wheat. I was unable to do much the remainder of the season, and indeed during most of the winter, but the spring found me in a fair physical condition, and I made application to Mr. Judson Stoddard for work. He told me he had work for me as long as he hired men and I could go to work as soon as I wanted to. Mr. Stoddard owned a sawmill about three miles up Farmington Canyon and had contracted to supply lumber and shingles for a meeting house in Kaysville, and to individuals in Farmington. The mill itself was inefficient and did not pay well, but it was the purpose of Mr. Stoddard to fill these contracts. Mr. Stoddard pointed out a house I could move my family into and furnished me a yoke of cattle to make the move with. This move was not entirely for the work I was to get, but to clear an atmosphere of ill content that sometimes surrounds relatives living in a huddle. I don not wish it understood that any unpleasantness existed between my parents and my family. We always got along without misunderstandings, sharing in fortunes and misfortunes as they were encountered which had blended our lives together beautifully with a mutual understanding. I was really very sorry to make this move, but it seemed to me to be the proper thing to do. Jane had entered my Mother's life as if she were her own daughter. She had always waited on mother and cared for her and worked for her as she might need, washing, scrubbing, etc., and this brought her near to Mother and at the same time promoted some jealousy on the part of the other in-laws. I had no sisters at home, nor where they could care for Mother. To clear the slate, I made the move to Farmington about May 1st. As soon we were comfortably settled I went to work. The following Monday I went up in the canyon with my wagon and oxen with supplies for a week. Saturday night I was to come home for the weekend. There were three other men there with me, George Chase, Dick Welsch, and Ed Pierce. Welsch was the sawyer, Pierce and Chase felled the trees and logged them and it was my work to get them to the mill. By July 1st we had the work pretty well caught up. Mr. Stoddard sent me down to Farmington to prepare for cutting hay. I was joined here by John Sheridan, and as soon as we could prepare we started out on what proved to be a long job of haying. Our implements were the improved ones of this time, our arms were weak at first but gradually gained in strength. We moved with a "scythe" and "Snath," the scientific name for "Armstrong Mower." At this time I was making good use of my violin and gathered in many a dollar with its use. In 1865 I taught school in Smithfield, with Mr. Charles Wright, and helped to organize an orchestra of four pieces. In 1870 I taught in Providence, in 1871 in Logan until December when I entered the employ of Mr. M.D. Hammond to care for an implement house in Logan. From Logan I went to Salt Lake City for Mr. George A. Lowe and in 1876 I was sent to Manti to represent Mr. Lowe there. I was successful there until I tried to rush matters. I had my job and bought in a general merchandise store. I advertised well and was in the best way, when D.&R.G. Railroad advertised for bids on some grading in Castle Valley. I took 12 miles of it, bought my implements from Mr. Lowed, and my provisions and horse feed wherever it was convenient. I completed the grade, or nearly so when winter set in and the company did not come to receive any of it, and I found out they had selected another route and did not intend to receive my work. I tried to force them and a few months later received less than half of my outlay and more obligations than you could shake a stick at. I thought I had some very good friends in Manti, and I did have some, but I had started down and everyone wanted a share. I sold my equipment on time and I guess the time isn't up yet. Everybody bought, and promised but never paid a cent. I closed my books with Mr. Lowe and paid him all I could, including my home. I had become interested in the Snake River Valley country in Idaho through my friends and relatives, and in the spring of 1883, I mad a trip there and on my way home in May I stopped at Oxford and filed on the land. I left Manti with my household goods July 6, 1883 and reached my home in Idaho on the 31st of August of that year. I found myself on the frontier again and I had no solution for my financial affairs. I had seen the Valley from the west when I was with the expedition to the Lemhi but never thought I'd ever help to subdue its wonderful resources. I moved from Menan to the New Sweden District and spent the winter of 1887 in Idaho Falls, then Eagle Rock, and in the spring of 1888 I signed a contract to purchase a tract of 640 acres of land on Willow Creek which I completed, and I lived there until I retired from active life. Much has been said of me and my operations on this piece of land, but I know that if I had the few thousands of dollars it cost me to square my obligations in Manti, which I made on the farm, I'd still hold my property. (Robert Lee Bybee died of pneumonia in the L.D.S. Hospital at Idaho Falls Oct. 4, 1929, was buried in the Rose Hill Cemetery at Idaho Falls, Idaho) -This was submitted to ancientfaces.com by David Winker November 2005

Robert Lee Bybee Entry from "Pioneers And Prominent Men Of Utah"

Contributor: Tyler Created: 5 months ago Updated: 3 months ago

Robert Lee Bybee biography From "Pioneers And Prominent Men Of Utah" page 788 Bybee, Robert Lee (son of Byram Bybee and Betsy Lane). Born May 4, 1838, Clay county, Ind. Married Jane Miller March 19, 1857, at Salt Lake City (daughter of Charles Miller), who was born Aug. 12, 1840, in Scotland. Their children: Betsy Jane b. March 20, 1859, d. child; Robert Lee b. Sept. 14, 1861, m. Lydia Forbush; Francis M. b. Oct 2, 1862, m. Ann Ritchie; James A. b. July 2, 1865, m. Ozetta Eastman; Mary Alice b. Nov. 16, 1867, m. A.H. Boomer; Elizabeth b. June 17, 1870, m. C.W. Poole. Family home Uinta, Utah. Married Harriett Raymond (daughter of Almon P. Raymond, member Co. D. Mormon battalion and Clarinda Critler). She was born Oct. 3, 1852, West Jordon, Utah. Their children: Harriett R. b. Jan 20, 1872, died; Clarinda b. Oct. 1, 1876, m. John W. Nowlin Dec. 14, 1892; Rhoda L. b. Sept. 22, 1876, m. Roy Stockman May 26, 1897; Walter R. b. Oct. 25, 1879, m. May Thompson; Minnie b. Sept 28, 1881, m. A.C. Hancey Dec. 6, 1901,; Jessie May b. April 17, 1883, Alonzo b. 1878, later two died; Ida b. Feb. 8, 1885, m. John Thomas Dec. 8, 1904; Stanley b. March 14, 1889, m. Lovina Lee Dec. 6 1904; Venta b. Dec. 30, 1889, died; Leslie E. b. Jan. 5, 1892; Harold b. Dec 23, 1895. Mail carrier between Salt Lake City and Independence, Mo. Went with Y.X. company 1857. Missionary Salmon River 1858. Went south during general move. Bishop of Manti south ward four years; president of Menan (Idaho) stake four years; president of Bannock stake two years; moved to Bingham county, Idaho, where he was first counselor to President J.E. Steele 13 years and superintendent Iona ward Sunday School for four years. Senator in Idaho legislature 1901. Ordained patriarch 1908.

Robert Lee Bybee

Contributor: Tyler Created: 5 months ago Updated: 3 months ago

Oh how I wish I knew this man! My mother talked about him a lot! He has quite the life story. A book is published about him, an I feel I know him as a person. I love him and I love being his Great Grand daughter!

Rhoda Bybee Bair

Contributor: Tyler Created: 5 months ago Updated: 3 months ago

When the Grand Army of Republic reunion was held in Salt Lake City in 1908, the Bair brothers, their sister, Sarah Archer, and her husband, also a Civil War veteran, accompanied by their mother, Rhoda Bybee Bair, attended. Rhoda Bybee Bair was a sister of my grandmother, Polly Chapman Bybee Hammon, and was separated from her family when they came west with the pioneers and had not seen her family since. Rhoda, accompanied by her children, attended the State Fair and saw my father's name over his horses' stables. She found father, Lee B. Hammon, and made herself known to him. He invited them all to his farm home in Roy, Utah. After the Civil War reunion was over they came and what a family reunion we had. Aunt Rhoda's two sons, Byron and Isaiah L. Bair, and wife, Elmina, and daughter, Sara Archer, and her husband, came with their mother to visit her people. Byron was very prejudiced against the Mormons and scarcely left his mother's side for fear we would try to convert her. She had poor health and was very frail and bedfast most of her stay at father's home. All her brother and sisters came there to see her. It was a very touching sight when she met Uncle Robert L. Bybee and especially Aunt Elizabeth Bybee Smith. The sisters were so overcome with emotion they had to be held up. She never knew she had a sister named Betsy Cook until that day. Uncle Byram, Uncle John, Aunt Lucien Bybee Penrod, Uncle Rob's wife, Harriet, Jane Bybee, Byram's wife, and most of my father's brothers and sisters came one day to see her. This day we had a pot luck dinner under the trees with 68 present. All were her brothers, sisters and nieces and nephews of several generations. Aunt Rhoda and her family stayed at father's home for about a week before they left for home. She was a very proud and sophisticated lady and had no opportunity to let us actually know her because Byron constantly stayed at her side. We enjoyed Sarah and her husband very much. She was kind and considerate of her mother and both she and Isaiah opposed Byron's action. Isaiah was tall with dark eyes and greying hair. We corresponded for a number of years. The last letter I had from him was in 1915 after my father's death. Isaiah and Elmina lived in Bentonville, Ark. He sent me this picture of himself just before I received his last letter. Dad and I looked forward to receiving mail from him. His mother, Aunt Rhoda, died not long after her visit. (Written by Ethel Hammon McEntire, a great-niece of Rhoda Bybee Bair.)

Auto Biography

Contributor: Tyler Created: 3 months ago Updated: 3 months ago

The Life of Robert Lee Bybee Son of Byram Bybee and Betsy Lane The first to the Bybee people that I have any record off, left England early in the 16th century and settled in the state of Virginia, and the natural migration of the families led them into the surrounding states, and on May 4, 1838; I was born on the banks of the Eel River in Clay County, Indiana, the son of a family of 10, and my first experience in life was on the farm. The land, we were killing was not open for entry, but was held as a vote “squatters right." The house was of logs, a dirt roof and without a floor, built on the bank of the river. Father was not healthy, and mother was taking responsibilities, generally, and as I view the happenings of the immediate future, we were near the stage waiting for the cue to enter and play our part. This cue was furnished by the humble Mormon missionaries, and the entire family, with one exception, placed themselves under its influence, and in 1842, the family moved to Nauvoo, Illinois, and immediately we felt the heavy hand of the oppressor as he waged war his war without mercy on the people. During my three years residents in and around Nauvoo, I received two years schooling, the balance of the time we were moving from place to place either driven by mob, or in fear of them. Joseph Smith, the Prophet was a military man in no small degree, and it was his interest in the youth of Nauvoo that prompted him to ask the parents of the community to allow their sons to subject themselves to the conditions and discipline of military training. It was touring one of the sermons he preached appealing for the support of the parents and their sons, that he said in effect, if they would allow their sons to come to him and subject themselves to this training and discipline, he would promise them that they would never be killed by the bullet of an enemy. In our own family, this was readily accepted and as a result, I received some of the early experiences of the wonderful teachings of the Prophet Joseph, and this is more vivid in my mind than many of the things that were, seemingly, of greater importance. There were only two of my brother's old enough to take part in the organization. The companies were formed of different age groups; my brother David and myself were the fortunate ones. I recall very distinctly, the uniforms we used. They consisted of practically anything that would cover our nakedness. The only thing in the line of a uniform was a cap. It consisted of two stripes of pasteboard fastened and so arranged so that it would slip over the head, with blue yarn tassels on both ends, and one on top. The difference in the uniforms of the two companies was, in the red trimmings on the caps of the older company. I've regretted, and do now regret that I did not use every care I knew to preserve this headpiece. I now recall just what happened to that cap. My mother's love for the cap was equal with my own, and it had its place in the bottom of mother's wooden chest. I was about 16 or 17 years of age and living in Uintah, Utah when I was prevailed upon by Malan Chase, a neighbor of ours, who had aspirations toward the stage, and always wanted the cap, and felt more successful when he had it on, to trade it to him for an old slate. A good slate in those days was considered quite a valuable piece of property, they were being not tablets or blackboards in use in the homes are in the schoolrooms. Myself and my younger brother Byram, spent much of our time during this period watching the progress of the work on the temple as the men raised the large stones to their places on the top of the high walls with the crude implements at their command. The old block and tackle rendering the mechanical advantage. I recall the men after the stone was ready to hoist, they would sing, in time with their movements, "Rolling, a bolling the ship is a rolling, Ho! Ho! Ho! Rolling, a bolling the ship is a rolling, Ho! Ho! Ho!” Following the last Ho! They united their efforts and up went the stone. Another form of amusement that we enjoyed very much, was to watch the progress of the steamboats on the Mississippi River. A little distance below our home in Nauvoo, a projection of rock, in the channel of the river produced a rapid, above which the larger vessels could not go. There were some side-wheelers, a boat built with the power wheels on either side that could pass up over the Rapids. There were also some stern wheel boats. I think one or two of them could pass over also, and one the "Warsaw", we were especially interested in, because it not only carried the mail either up or down the river from Nauvoo, but it always appealed to us because of the ease with which it did come and go. While again, the name of the vessel reminded us of a community by that name whose people were embittered against the states. There was very little work in Nauvoo that winter. The work on the temple was all donated. Aside from this there was a Cooper institution making barrels and cakes for the transportation of whiskeys, etc. There was some employment offered by this company and getting "hoop poles" which were used to hold the status of the barrels and cakes in place. These "hoop poles" were made from the second growth of Hickory, perhaps in their second season, and very tough and pliable. He was during the late spring and early summer of this year, 1844 that the activities ever enemies made it necessary for us to locate a home elsewhere. While the exodus of the Saints was not undertaken at this time, it was nevertheless a paramount subject for discussion and the route and the direction had received considerable attention. With those helps in mind, and the pressure of our economic problems, it was a relief to start on the western trek. The activities of our enemies around us and the effect of driving the Saints into the city of Nauvoo where they remained as a body until the enactment of the terrible tragedy of June 27, 1844. When I review this period of my life from my advanced age, I can recall the clearest and most impressive fashion of my boyhood memories the person and personality of the Prophet Joseph Smith. I remember very distinctly hearing in case the people on Sunday in the beautiful grove in the eastern part of the city. My father was sick at home, but mother took weak children and help to impress the lessons taught there, on our memories. I remember the excitement that prevailed among the Saints when the news of the assassination reached Nauvoo. My mother took us to see the bodies, my father still ill at home. I'm thankful I saw and heard these men in life, and that I was permitted to view their remains. Their teachings in their manner of living have been ideal to me and after seeing and hearing the many trials of their brief lives, and the manner of suffering, it has made my cross easy to bear. I can recall how beautiful he appeared at the head of the parades and drills of the Nauvoo Legion, seated on his beautiful bay mount, in the uniform he war which was as neat as in new pin. I remember him as he would call on visit our company when we were training. The prophet always spoke to us, urging us to always be good, clean boys. The last time I recall seeing the prophet a live was on the one of the parades of the Legion. It seems to me now that the remaining months of 1844 and the early spring of 1845, my life was somewhat uneventful, unless it was the fact that we labored under a false impression in regard to the preparations necessary for our trip west. There was a general impression that there was a scarcity of fuel for use in crossing the planes, and we were told to cook and prepare as much food as we could before starting across. So we parched all the corn we could spare for the trip. We found out in plenty of time that this bit of information was not well founded, that with care of there was plenty of fuel, so the practice of preparing food was discontinued. If I remember correctly the first move of our migration was made about this time. The general move of the Saints was not yet a reality, but when we cross the Mississippi River in May 1845, we always considered it the first of the moves we were to make with the Rocky Mountains as our goal. I remember that the leaves were just coming out on the trees, and the plants just coming in flower, the birds were returning from the south and their cheerful songs rang out merrily through the woodland. When our preparations were completed we all assembled on the east bank of the Mississippi and waited our turn for the ferryboat. This was a large flat-bottomed boat with room enough on it for two teams and two wagons at the same time. It was a very sturdy affair, surely not easy to sink, and not at all likely to capsize. No cables were used in handling it, ores in sets of one, two or three pairs were with each boat and manipulated by manpower. A man at the stern of the boat with the rudder would guide it to the port intended. At this point the river was 1 mile wide, and to offset the current of the stream the boat was toed up some distance above the proposed landing on the other side. Needless to say it did not have the speed of our rocky mountain streams. Levi Hammon, who married my sister Polly, and who joined us at Nauvoo in 1843, was with us here and the boat would accommodate both our outfits at once, so we were loaded on and the crossing made without accident. We landed at Montrose, Iowa, almost opposite Nauvoo. At this point the river forms the boundary between the present states of Illinois and Iowa. My father often remarked about the cloudy future of the Saints, and anticipated the mobbings and sufferings of them, and it was these things that urged us on to the west, even ahead of the main body of the Saints. While we were preparing to cross my father was in contact with one Dr. Todd who owned a large tract of land in Iowa, near Montrose, he wanted it fenced. The fence was known as the "worm-fence", the rails in other materials for the fans were to be gathered from the land in question, and it was with the intention of doing this work that we settled on the place. Father and Levi Hammon had contracted the work, so that we made the trip to the property from Montrose together, and made our home together, such as it was. We didn't have a house to move into so we arranged the best we could and that was none too good. There were many things that served to make things hard for us, the presence of snakes and insects made it impossible to sleep on the ground so we cut steaks long enough to stand about 3 feet above the ground when in place, with crosspieces on these we could place the wagon boxes on them and maintain sleeping quarters. In the new arrangement Levi and his family lived in a tent nearby, protected as well as could be done. To my knowledge father was never able to do any strenuous labor, so in this case all the heavy work fell on David who was 15 and John who was 17. Doctor Todd furnished our axes, and a crosscut saw, and two or three iron wedges. The wooden wedges or gluts we made our-selves. The rail in the fences were to be 12 feet long and made of the wood easiest to obtain. The boys preferred walnut. It split easily and straight and made a nice uniform rail. David was an excellent worker, and his work was to start splitting the trees after they had been sawed into sections by John and Levi. Like most any work there is an art to splitting rails, and the boys mastered that art, the placing of the wedges and of the gluts at proper distance, according to the size of the log, making even rail splitting interesting. The piece of land we were fencing was a small portion of the entire tract.. It was one half-mile square, which meant we had two miles of fence to build. Our supplies, particularly corn and pork, were furnished by Dr. Todd as part pay for our work. I do not know the particulars of the contract but when we completed the work just before September, after paying for our summer’s provisions, father left there with a good wagon and a good young yoke of oxen. Dr. Todd was certainly a fine friend to our family, and I believe that father could have made his home with him there, but father's aims and desires were to go west with the Saints, and nothing was permitted to interfere with the plans. I enjoyed the stay at Dr. Todds, Byram and myself were free to roam the woods, going and coming when we would. About the only duty we had was to carry water for mother from a nearby spring. I remember on one occasion I took a couple of hours to get a turn of water and as father went to his work he found me and told me to tell Mother to punish me. I returned to camp but hoping father would forget it, I said nothing. When father returned about the first thing he asked me was if I told mother, then he administered the whipping. I liked this arrangement – two from father is better than one from mother. She has a process that commanded respect, and no efforts on her part were misdirected. When Byram and I were alone, our greatest pastime was hunting quail nests. It not only afforded us great fun, but the eggs could be used by mother in her cooking. Sometimes we went with father in the woods to hunt squirrels, there were a great many of them there, principally of two kinds, the gray and the fox squirrel, either was very fine meat. Father owned a small bore Kentucky rifle and prided himself in his marksmanship, often dropping the clever squirrel from the top of the highest tree where he thought himself hid. The squirrel meant more to our family than meat. My mother had very poor feet and only leather pelt of the very softest kind was used in the making of her shoes. The squirrel pelt when properly tanned made good, tough, endurable leather, and her shoes were always made of them by father. The ash hopper was made about two feet long and two and one half feet deep and in shape like the letter “V”, open at the bottom, and a trough to catch the liquid. In this hopper we place the ashes and when the time came to make soap, we would moisten the ashes and as the water passed through them and into the trough at the bottom it became charged with a strong solution of lye, and this was used in making the household soap. Besides this we used the ashes for tanning the different hides that we used for leather. We would bury the squirrel pelt about three or four inches deep in the ashes, keeping them damp. In about three or four days, or until the hair would slip, then after removing the hair it was thoroughly washed and placed in some soft soap. After 3 or 4 days it was again washed, then worked by hand near a fire until it was entirely dry. It was then very soft and pliable. Another thing that happened in our lives worthy of note, maybe more so then than now, was one of mother's Johnny-cakes. After we crossed the Mississippi into Iowa we were rarely ever out of corn meal, our supply of white flour increased also. Mother was an expert on the well-known corn Dodger. But the times mother made Johnny-bread everyone would sit up and take notice. The ingredients used to make both the dodger and the cake were practically the same, but the method was quite different. The corn meal and the salt and the water was mixed as for the dodger, but the big thing happened when the cracklings were added. The cracklings are the portion left when the fat of the hog has been rendered. Johnny cake days were certainly rare days to us then. They usually came during the winter holidays and usually represented grand occasions, and were out of the ordinary for us. I believe in my boyhood days I never enjoyed any bread and cake better than these. It was quite a trick to cook these cakes, for they were not cooked like the dodgers. Our cooking implements were of the very simplest. The dodger was cooked in the Dutch oven, but the Johnny cake was cooked before the open fire. We had no dripping pans, so we used an oak board about 1 and ½ inch thick, 15 inches wide and 18 inches long, with sides of wood to hold the cake on the board. It was then placed before the fire to cook, at an angle of course, and then the cake was cooked on one side it was turned over so the other side would cook. Except that we were fulfilling an ambition of my father's life in moving westward, it was with real regret that we moved from Dr. Todd's place. Our plans for the move West were constantly spoken of, and revised and kept up to the minute. We went from Dr. Todd's place to Daniel Smith's place somewhere in the vicinity of Kainsville, Iowa. We moved slowly so we could take advantage of all the work we could get so we could get all the money and property we could. I do not recall a great deal that happened on the way to Kainsville, but I know that we reached there a mighty little in advance of winter. We were fortunate here in that we could move into a house, and that near where Daniel lived. Daniel had moved west from Nauvoo about one year ahead of us, and had gone to the place near Kainsville some fifteen miles North of the town as fast as he could. He and his family were industrious and when we joined them they were very comfortable. I am not sure as to who owned the house we moved into, but I am inclined to think it was one built and abandoned by some pioneer in his westward flight. We were very comfortable here and enjoyed the winter very much. When Daniel first came to Kainsville he located on the first stream north of the town, then known as Little Pigeon, and some 8 or 10 miles farther north was Big Pigeon. He located in the district on account of the supply of wild game, making it easy to secure his meat. Wild bees were plentiful also. When we reached his home he had many gallons of wild honey. It is interesting at this point to note an observation by Levi Edgar Young in “The Founding of Utah” - "This was the age of new American inventions, when the McCormick reaper, the plow, threshing-machine and the sewing machine were changing the entire industrial history of America ---Always on the frontier the Mormons had learned inventiveness and resourcefulness; … They had felled trees and reclaimed thousands of acres of land …They had entered on that period of industrial and social life … and the church and school were the centers of social and religious activities! The thought we were living in this wonderful time, and doing our bit in the great program of affairs, and eventually to found the greatest commonwealth of all time, has been a source of no small degree of satisfaction to me, and was so to my father whose vision of the west was in keeping with the wonderful things that have taken place. We moved from Kainsville where we had spent the winter, early spring of 1846, up onto the headwaters of Little Pigeon where there was a large beautiful spring. Conditions were more favorable here where we located and father, with the help of Levi Hammon, Daniel Smith and the boys built a house. We arrived here early enough in the spring to plow and plant four or five acres of corn and garden. Levi Hammon, who had been with us continually since 1843 at Nauvoo, did not move with us to the headwaters of the Little Pigeon, but where we had spent the winter, near Daniel Smith. When our work was taken care of in the spring, the corn and garden planted, and everything as well arranged as possible, Levi Hammon, with his family, my father and my brother David, went down to Missouri with their wagons and teams to get work. Our home life was quite uneventful during father’s absence. We cared for the corn and garden as best we could, Byram and my self did about as we pleased most of the time. Levi and his family, my father and brother David spent the winter of 1846-47 in Missouri, where they were working. After our corn was harvested, and the vegetables were gathered we moved from this location about one half mile down the creek, nearer to the home of Daniel Smith, and it proved to be our farewell to the place. Just before the corn was ready to gather, we discovered the tracks of an Indian in the field. Mother was not surprised at the news for she had heard him in the night, but said nothing about it. It was because of this that we moved nearer to Daniel Smith’s home. At this time the name of Robert Lane, is introduced into my Father’s record, as the cousin of my father, and was about the age of father, and was with him on the Little Pigeon, and was with him when they discovered the tracks of the Indian in the cornfield. Where he came from, where his people were, how he came to be there is never mentioned. The Indians in this locality were known as the Omahas, and while they were not particularly unfriendly, they would steal anything that was loose. If the Indian had appeared in the daytime, we would have likely have taken it as a matter of course, though our neighbors were from a mile to five miles from us. About a quarter of a mile above our new home, on the banks of the creek was located a log house, used as a community center, for Church gatherings, dances and socials. The music for these entertainments was furnished by my brother-in-law Daniel Smith, who was a first class “fiddler” if not a violinist. School was held there five days a week. I never did attend school there, though, for I had no shoes and whenever I left the house I had to wrap my feet in rags, and other clothing was not too plentiful. Perhaps the most cherished piece of property we owned at this time was a cow. I do not know where we got her, or how, but she was the center of our livelihood. Her food would have been a problem for us, had it not been for Daniel Smith. He allowed us to gather fodder from his cornfield, which was located across the creek and about a half-mile below us. The creek at this place was about 5 feet deep, and just below the house we had a bridge, and under this bridge and in the bank of the stream we had dug us a cellar, and mother’s stone jar was a part of the fixtures. In the early spring a freshet of unusual size overtook us and the contents of the cellar disappeared in the flood. Mother was quite sad of the loss of it all, but especially that of the stone jar. At this time Robert Lane established himself in the family circle, and esteem of my mother by carrying the stone jar home from its landing some distance below, unharmed. In spite of the inconvenience mother managed to keep a few chickens in the yard. There were so many enemies of the breed that it took “eternal vigilance” to save even a part of them for our own use. In this connection we had our troubles with a sly red fox. He visited us so often that something had to be done, so mother told Robert Lane that if he would capture the sly old fellow, she would give him a chicken dinner. Robert set himself to the task in a business like way; mother was only to furnish a piece of broiled meat. The plan was well laid and we had promise of success before we retired the first night. Three logs were laid side by side, close together. The middle one was raised and a figure (4) was placed between the outer logs and the bait of broiled meat fastened to it, with the hope that the fox would try for the meat, and in so doing he would disturb the mechanism of the figure 4 and the log would drop to the ground between the other two logs and Mr. Fox would do well if he avoided serious injury. There was about one foot of snow on the ground at the time. In the early part of the night we heard the log fall, and there to our joy we found Mr. Fox, dead beneath the log. The pelt was removed as best we could and we tried our luck at preserving it. Some time before the pelt was sold, for the part I played in the performance, I was promised a book, something I had never possessed. When the time came to sell the pelt, Daniel Smith took it to Kainseville, Iowa and sold it, and when he returned he had with him a “Parker's Second Reader" for me, the first book I ever owned. I was as proud as my capacity would permit, and in a few months I had memorized everything in it. Some of the writings I recall today after a lapse of seventy years. Some beautiful thoughts were expressed. With father away in Missouri, and no man in our home to guard us and offer his guiding influence, and mother taxed to the limit at all times, it seemed this was sufficient, but along with all our cares in making a living, and trying earnestly to save enough to get us across the plains and with the body of the Saints in the Salt Lake Valley, some difficulties arose between our own United States and our neighbor, Mexico, on the South, and war was declared, already there had been a few skirmished fought in Texas. There was a large track of land in the West that belonged to Mexico and the United States wanted it. It embraced territory now included in several of our Western States. This was in 1846. Though the Saints never did receive the protection they were entitled to from our Government, they were not in the least bitter toward the Union. Even at this time they were asking aid from President James K. Poke in moving themselves to the West. The plan of the Saints at Washington was to hold the Western country for the United States, in return for what help was given. In the month of June 1846, an officer of the United States Army came to Iowa. He was representing the Government and was there to enlist 500 men from among the Mormon people to help secure the land in question with Mexico. This was entirely new and unexpected condition of affairs. Instead of receiving aid from the Government the Saints were called upon to furnish aid to the Government. Among the Saints this was received with some misgivings. They feared it was a conspiracy to usher in their utter destruction. They had never received any protection from Washington, but had learned to expect nothing, and everything. There was no question in the mind of President Young, however and he promised the men as soon as they could be recruited. He felt that it was a test of the loyalty of the Saints to their country. The Battalion was organized at Council Bluffs, Iowa, the Church leaders offering all the aid possible in recruiting. This work was completed in 3 days. The following from the "Founding of Utah" by Levi Edgar Young presents a vivid picture of some of the sacrifices that were made: "Imagine the feeling of the Pioneers when they received word that the fathers and sons must enlist to go to war! The mothers of the young wept to think of the sacrifice; the young wives were brokenhearted. They did not say a word or do a thing to discourage the men. In fact, they were willing that the men should give all for their country, and they determined to place their Faith in God and suffer, and be strong. It was a time of bitter trial for the Saints and when the time came to part, the sorrow at leaving their families was almost more than the men could stand. The soldiers were poorly clad, and could they have foreseen the long journey, over desert wastes and mountain passes, we sometimes wonder if they could have met their trials. But their courage was equal to the task before them, and the men set out unafraid." The word of this movement reached us where we were living sometime in the month of June. My brother John was then in his 18 eighteenth year and as making preparations to join the battalion, needless to say it was against the wishes of our mother, especially since father was from home and had been for nearly a year. His departure was certainly a sad affair for us, especially for mother, and I'll never forget it as long as I live. Late in the spring of 1847 we moved again to a building nearer to Daniel Smith's home. Father was still in Missouri and we depended a lot on the kindness of Daniel, and indeed we were never disappointed, and when father returned in the fall, I think October of 1847, we were delighted, and we were sure Daniel was relieved. He was very fortunate in his work in Missouri, especially when we remember the attitude of the people in Missouri toward the Mormon people. He had an additional team of oxen, a good supply of provisions and clothing for winter. About September of 1847 my brother John returned to us from San Diego, California where the Mormon Battalion had been disbanded. The winter of 1847-1848 found us well with the exception of my father, whose health was not good. After the assassination of the Prophet Joseph Smith, and Brigham Young had been chosen to lead the people, active preparations was carried on for the westward movement of the Saints. We were out of communication with the main body of the Saints, but we hear often from them and endeavored to keep in touch with the changing situation, but thru it all the Saints were admonished to prepare for a home in a new and undeveloped section of our great commonwealth. Nauvoo was practically deserted in 1846. Nearly every home was engaged in making something helpful for the journey west, from wagons for transportation, to food and clothing for their bodies. The fortunes of the Saints varied considerably during the winter of 1846-47 as they wended their way across the present state of Iowa, then only a haunt of many Indian tribes. The whole territory was filled with trails, but no roads, but the one that the Saints were to blaze was to be used for many years to come. The extreme cold of the winter caused much suffering. By the concentration of their efforts they established Winter Quarters on the west bank of the Missouri River. This location served its purpose well; for it was at this point that all the organized companies of Saints were effected for the westward migration. Father's life long ambition to go west with the Saints failed to materialize in the year of 1847, mainly because of ill health, but after the Saints left it was always foremost in his mind to follow them to their retreat, while our conditions, generally were improving, father was fearful to undertake the trip with the equipment he had. At this time Heber C. Kimball was one of the leading members of the Church, and was a friend of Daniel Smith. He called him his Nimrod, and was at this time was making preparations to go West with the Saints, and in his arrangements he wanted the use of two yoke of oxen and a driver to help him as far West as the upper crossing of the Sweetwater River, somewhere in the present state of Wyoming where the old Mormon Trail leaves the Sweetwater to cross the Rocky Mountains. Daniel was in Kainsville shopping when he chanced to meet Heber C. on the street and he at once asked Daniel to go for he knew he had the equipment. He told him it would be impossible for him to make the trip but that father had the necessary Oxen and wagon, and time to do the work, but advised Heber C. that father was sick in bed at the time. He asked Daniel to see Father on his return home and tell him he wanted him to come and see him at Kainsville, and this in spite of Father's illness. Reluctantly father made the trip on one of Daniel's best saddle horses named Jim. Father was prevailed upon to make the trip and when he returned home he sat about at once to make the necessary arrangements. I think he left us some time in the month of May to join Mr. Kimball in Kainsville, and about July 1, 1848 they crossed the Missouri River for Winter Quarters where Mr. Kimball’s family were waiting. Father returned to us about the middle of September and I recall the stories of the many wonderful things he saw, especially the ones relating to the countless number of buffalo that were roaming the country along the Mormon Trail. About this time they were returning north from their winter range in the South, the buffalo being a migratory animal. They ranged, in summer as far as the Dakotas of today. Another item that impressed father was seeing the great, high tips of the Rocky Mountain peaks, above the clouds. We spent the winter of 1849-50 on Mr. Palmer's property, but due to some misunderstanding, the nature of which I do not know, we moved from there about 3 miles up the Missouri River on the property of Mr. Henry Catlit. Levi Hammon moved with us. We were engaged in burning charcoal, just as we were on the Palmer property. We made this move sometime in April in the spring of 1850 so we had the time, and did, plant some corn and garden. Another accomplishment of Levi Hammon was that he could construct a wagon in all its parts, except it to be to “iron” it, he was a first class wheelwright and much of his time, and all his spare time was spent in building a wagon for himself and on for father. The experience of those who had made the trip to the west had taught them that the wagons were not strong enough, and were not built to withstand the rough roads and the excessive heat, and dry sands of the plains. These Levi endeavored to overcome, and in our experience of the following year we found he had succeeded very well indeed. The wagons were completed by fall and taken to St. Joseph and there they were “ironed” and made ready for the trail. We were at last creating a favorable condition for our departure to the Rocky Mountains. The ironwork on the wagons at St. Joseph was done by one Mr. Litz and paid for in charcoal by Father and Levi, and while Mr. Litz was doing that work Levi was working as a carpenter for and with Mr. Litz in St. Joseph. On the Catlet place, I had my "first" and only experience with “tobacker” as a chew. A neighbor of ours, whose name I have completely forgotten had a boy I recall as Jack, and he had mastered the art of chewing the weed. Byram and my self were with him about all the spare time we had, and watched him, as he would spit here and there and we finally asked him if he were chewing tobacker. He said he was and wanted to know if we wanted to learn. I took it up and took a life sized chew and what I did not spit out I would swallow. I had not been told what to do with it and what happened to me is all history, for it has happened to too many boys before and since then. We were in the woods gathering berries, especially mulberries, raspberries, strawberries and blackberries which were plentiful near our home. Things were not rosy very long. The trees started cutting up capers, and I became so dizzy I couldn’t navigate. I called to the others that something was wrong with me, I wanted water and finally got it, but that did not improve conditions at all, so we started for home, Jack on one side of me and Byram on the other. Within about one hundred yards of the house we happened on to David, burning a pit of charcoal. Here I fell on the ground and waited the outcome. As soon as David saw me he called to mother that I was poisoned, which brought her to me at once. Jack had his wits about him too, for he left for home without any ceremony, and well he did, for mother discovered the trouble at once. As a result I spent the next two weeks in bed, and very sick at that, really poisoned. Before Father left Heber C. Kimball at the upper crossing of the Sweetwater, they had an understanding about the time, as near as they could calculate, when we should start West. Heber C’s advice to father was to return to Kainsville, Iowa and take his family to Missouri where he thought we could prepare our-selves in about two years for the trip. As stated, father did move us to Missouri, but just before we left Daniel Smith's place we were joined by Lee Bybee, my father’s uncle and his three sons, Alfred, Absolom, and Lee Jr. and their families for they were all married. Here also lived Alexander Beckstead, the father of Henry Beckstead, who married my sister Lucene. This gathering was made in anticipation of the move West. We intended to travel together, and when we left them at Kainsville, Iowa, to go to Missouri they received the impression that we would return for them to start the move in 1850. It was in our minds that we would start when we were able, tentatively in 1851, and when we were satisfied that we could make it by then, Father and I started for Kainsville to make sure we understood each other correctly, and to see if they would be ready by then also. Father had a scheme to help raise a little more money also, so we started out. This was suggested by one Mr. Burns, a neighbor who lived near us; that we take a supply of bacon which we had on hand and sell it to the families going west, both Mormons and the gold seekers off to California, as we might contact them enroute to Kainsville. Mr. Burnes propossed to pay father a wage for his service. It seemed a lot of bacon, but not a load, but when we reached Kainsville we had only a small supply left. When we were about to Kainsville, and traveling along the river, paralleled but some distance from it, father saw quite a number of wagons, and decided it was a good prospect to dispose of his bacon, so we went over to them. To our complete surprise it was our people from the Little Pigeon, above Kainsville. They were ready to start west and were waiting for us to come from Missouri to go with them. It was of course out of the question for them to wait for us, so after a careful discussion of the whole situation, they decided to go ahead without us, and they did. When we reached Kainsville we found my brother John there at Daniel Smith’s and preparing to go West with Lee and his people. My father and I stayed long enough at Kainsville to see our people safely across the river, then started for home. This trip was made in the month of June and our return to our people, on the Catlet place, was about July 1st. At one of our camps on the way home, Father was approached by a stranger who evidently lived near and asked father if he would sell him a yoke of oxen. Father thought a few minutes and then decided to sell for $35.00 and the offer was accepted. I guess the reason I remember it so well was from the fact that the entire amount was paid in fifty-cent pieces. Everything was ok, when we reached home, but the folks were disappointed because our people had gone west without them and the trip could not be made with them, this was especially true of mother, who thought things were so unsettled that it was best to stick together. Then Lucene and Elizabeth and John had gone on and this had quite a lot to do with mother’s feelings. About the time of our return one of Mr. Catlet's slaves, a negro boy about 16 years old, put on a show that we enjoyed a lot even if it did cause Dick some inconvenience. He was working in the cornfield with a horse that knew the meaning of the dinner bell as well as Dick did, and it he wanted to go to the house with his horse he must show considerable speed. So Dick unhooked the horse, climbed on, and was off for the barn. The corral, or barnyard, was guarded by a set of bars, the top one of which had been left up for some cause. Dick's failed to notice the bar for he made no effort to free himself from the horse, and the horse was on a high trot and the bar caught Dick about midsection and pulled him to the ground. Mr. Catlet saw the whole affair and asked Dick why he didn’t get off, or fall off, and Dick said, "How the Debil could Ah fall off, when all Ah could do was to hang on." It was in September when we burned our last coal pit. Levi was spending his entire time on the wagons, Dave was working most of the time for Mr. Burns, while the rest of us were caring for the details and also for the stock, all we thought of was to get ready for the spring move. We were saving everything we could find that promised to be of any help, and saving every penny. Talk about pinching pennies, we were surely good at it, and it was well that we were. Then we moved on Mr. Catlet's place we camped near a grove of sugar maple trees. For some reason these trees had never been tapped. Father asked about them and was given permission to tap them, and asked to do them as little harm as possible. The month of March is the best month for this work, and we took advantage of this opportunity during March of 1851 so when we left we had a nice quantity of sugar and several gallons of syrup. I recall the race we had every morning with Mr. Catlet's pigs to be the first to the syrup that dripped out during the night. Mother discontinued her butter business, it did not pay to go to the market for it alone, and the travel on the highways seemed to be at a standstill. It was always a family custom in the fall of the year to gather a plentiful supply of nuts for winter. They grew in abundance in the woods near us, and the pleasure was not entirely when we ate them in winter, but was great fun to go as a family into the woods and gather them. There were black walnuts, butternuts, and hazel nuts; no winter was complete without them. Associated with these pleasant evenings cracking nuts, I recall a very large negro slave belonging to one of our neighbors, his master was very kind and good to him, but the slave liked Father very much and spent as much time with him as he possibly could, nearly every evening he was there to help with the nuts. He was always asking father to take him west when he went, but Father told him we could not, for he was the property of another man, and it would be stealing to take him. He then proposed that he run away a few days a head of us and join us at Kainsville, Iowa, but father refused to have any thing to do with the matter. (as he belonged to someone else) We never saw him again after we left the Catlet place. While we were living on Mr. Catlet's place, in fact soon after we reached there, one of Polly’s little girls contracted some ailment, some fever, and passed away and we buried her there, I can not recall her name. Everything moved nicely with us our preparations to move west, and the excitement increased as the time approached to leave. Some three or four days before the start we were all taken to St. Joseph, Missouri to take a last look at the city, and to purchase supplies for the trip. In looking back to the time I can see Father in one of his stunts. The money we had saved was all put together in a meal bag large enough for several times as much money. We had no paper money at all, and with a few exceptions for the gold we had, our entire fortune of over $200.00 was in silver. We had been advised by the Church Authorities to bring sufficient flour to last at least six months after we reached Salt Lake Valley, so all our cash was put into provisions except for the fare on the ferry and other incidentals, as we could estimate them. I remember Father as he sauntered in the Riddle Store and the Bedeford, carrying the sack containing the money over his right shoulder. He tossed it to the floor and at the same time telling them it was his last trip to St. Joseph for provisions, and it was. I remember very little about the prices of the goods there, except sugar, which was sold for eighteen pounds for a dollar, ordinary brown sugar, for this was long before the appearance of the beautiful white sugar of today. After completing our trading we returned to the Catlet place. The arranging of our load and all details occupied the last three or four days on the place. Finally the day arrived for the start, and one beautiful morning early in June 1851 we took to the trail. Levi Hammon did not leave here for a week or ten days later, owing to some uncompleted business between him and Mr. Litz. Levi was supposed to meet us in Winter Quarters as soon as he had cared for his affairs. We took things easy, traveling short hours and caring for the stock, on which so much depended. We spent enough time so when we reached the Ferry we did not have long to wait for Levi. Immediately on his arrival we made arrangements to cross the River on the Ferry. We made the trip first, and Levi followed us, and we went into camp at Winter Quarters for about a week while the arrangements were completed for our place in the train with which we were to travel. I wish to say a something about the organization of the train, and some of the conditions that obtained during the trip. There were one hundred wagons, formed into the companies, of 50 wagons each. These two companies were under the control of a captain, a captain was also placed over each of the 50 wagon trains, and they were responsible to the head captain. Each 50 wagon trains were divided again into five divisions each, and a captain placed over each of them, responsible to the captain of fifty. In every division of ten, there was also appointed a man as its hunter, whose duty it was to supply his company with meat. My brother David was the hunter for our company. It was also enjoined on every able bodied man to take his turn doing guard duty at night. The departure of the two companies was so arranged so they would be about two weeks apart. This lapse of time was to safe guard the feed for the cattle. It could not always be depended upon on account of the roaming herds of buffalo, when they passed over the fee, often there was none left. In order to avoid dissatisfaction in the companies as far as possible, the wagons changed positions every day, and it was my lot to be in the lead but once as we crossed. This order stood good for the five companies in each division also, the leading company falling to the rear of the organization each day. When we made camp for the night the leading wagon would turn in a half circle to the right and be followed in turn up to the 25th wagon and including it. The 26th wagon would take a course from the same point, only to the left and when his half circle was made the circle was complete. Each driver would stop his wagon with his left front wheel close to the right rear wheel of his pal ahead, thus forming a corral into which our stock was placed at night if it was thought necessary, and we were placed at an advantage in case of an attack by an enemy. The man selected as captain of our company was one Alfred Cordon, and it was our lot to leave Winter Quarters first, and in advance of the other company about 10 days. I cannot recall the captain of our “ten.” We broke camp at Winter Quarters about July 1st 1851. Our trip was a very quiet one in comparison with some of those who made the trip before us. Outside of the daily duties connected with traveling we had but little excitement. We had men out on guard at night around the camp, as well as two or three men with the horses and cattle, so in spending our evenings around our camps in whatever capacity we chose, we felt quite secure, and really enjoyed ourselves very much, singing and dancing and always hopeful of a better future. Every company had its "fiddler" and when the work was done for the day we would clear a piece of land and have a dance. I did not fiddle at these dances, though later I did became a "fiddler." Our company never tried for long pulls each day, ten to fifteen miles being satisfactory. We never traveled on Sunday, except where the feed for the stock was scarce. Before we left St. Joseph, Father sold all the young stock to Mr. Burns, our neighbor, as we were advised not to try to make the trip with them, as they would not stand the strain and would be lost or have to be carried in the wagons. But Mother insisted on the cows, so we had six cows with us. Mother made what butter we needed as we went, by placing the cream in the “stone jar” and when we camped again the action over the rough roads had churned it to butter and we not only had this butter, but the butter milk also. My brother Byram and I had a spat one day at lunch and he threw all the buttermilk there was, on me and I was a mess. We have laughed about it a lot since we became men. An interesting part of the routine was our "post office" as we called them. They served us only in one way, in that they informed those who followed only. Very frequently we found information of the company ahead of us. Nearly anywhere along the way we could find the bleached bones of the buffalo, and upon these we would write our message, as to date, location, conditions etc., then the bone was placed in some conspicuous place to be found by the man behind. At times when we were crossing, we were forced to stop and made way for the buffalo, for in their travels and in search of food, they always follow their leader if it is in any way possible. Some of their earlier companies made the serious mistake of taking the right of way from the buffalo. It usually resulted in a stampede among the company stock, as well as among the working cattle. So when we encountered them we stopped while they went by. Now and then along the Platte River were they were drinking, we sometimes waited for three or four hours. If I remember correctly, it was two or three days travel east of Fort Laramie, that we passed a column of rock extending into the air about 25 or 30 feet, called "Chimney Rock." It was on the south side of the river, perhaps 2 or 3 miles from the road, which was on the North Bank. We were all quite curious about it as we passed for we had been able to see it for considerable distance, it was the only outcropping of rock in this locality and this made it all the more interesting. Covering the distance from Winter Quarters to Fort Laramie, we saw but one white man, outside of our own men. This was the man in charge of the ferry at Loop's Fork. We swam our cattle across the stream. Neither did we pass, or meet, a single company or outfit in this distance. When we reached Fort Laramie, we saw many Indians living in their tepees near the fort. The majority of them were of the Sioux Tribe, and a mighty fine race of people, large in stature, and brave as any man. There was no way to scare a Sioux. The trail we were following, Fort Laramie was about half way between Winter Quarters and Salt Lake City. We spent no more time here than was necessary and took to the road to complete our journey. The needs of the journey had been so well thought out, that it was unnecessary to purchase any supplies at the fort and we left there, as I remember it, about the middle of August. From Fort Laramie we traveled up the North Platte River about a week. We crossed the North Platte the north bank about this time. As I remember, the next water that we reached of any importance was the Sweetwater. In the distance between the North Platte and the Sweetwater we saw the place where the Old Oregon Trail left the Old Mormon Trail, its general direction was northwest. Not all the people in our company were Mormons. They had joined us for protection in travel, and expected to part with us when we reached the Oregon Trail at this point. Here about 8 or 10 wagons left us and took the Oregon Trail to the Northwestern part of the Oregon Territory. We reached the Sweetwater in the due course of events, all O.K. It was, at this time, well toward the latter part of August. We traveled up the Sweetwater River to a point called the South Pass, where we were to start over the Rocky Mountains. I remember one of the first natural wonders we came to. It was called the Devil's Gate, and it was on the Sweetwater River. With all the pioneers who passed through this section of the land, the Devil's Gate was the most conspicuous landmark. Many scenes were recalled, and memories refreshed by a mere reference to this place. The water of the river ran through this gate, which was, approximately, 100 feet high. We were approaching the Rocky Mountains and traveling nearly straight west, possibly a little to the north. The mountain, which the Gate was in, was somewhat smaller than the main range, and was a spur running out into the plains in an almost eastward direction. The walls of this Gate were almost perpendicular, and were of solid rock. The next remarkable exhibit was that of Alkali Lake. This was not only a curiosity to us, but one of concern as well. This lake did not seem to be fed by a stream from the surface, and in the latter part of the summer, the water disappeared entirely. The lake covered perhaps 25 or 30 acres. We noticed indications of alkali as we entered this district, and at the lake we found the headquarters. There was so much alkali in the water, and the feed for the stock was of the same variety, that it was necessary to feed and water our stock with care. Many of the cattle that had fared quite well up to this point, died of the effects of the feed and water. In and around the central part of this locality we noticed the ever-increasing signs of the misfortunes that befell some of the pioneers who had blazed the trail for us. We found piles of wagon irons, and always in the immediate vicinity we found the bones of the livestock, victims of the feed and water. Indeed from here to the end of the alkali district we saw evidence of misfortune. During the season of the year when the water was gone from the lake, it was the custom of the settlers to return and haul quantities of the substance, known to them as salaratus, to be used largely as we use common baking soda to day. When it was dry it could be scooped up with the hands and wagon boxes loaded with it, if desired. A large mass of rock, known as Independent Rock was the next curio to claim our attention, located farther up the Sweetwater. It was likely three hundred feet high, and covered, maybe four acres of ground. Its position, out in the open valley, away from any similar formation, and miles from the mountains, made it all the more attractive. We were camped near it and we boys took some of the old wagon tires from the wrecks of the pioneers, and climbed Independent Rock, and rolled them down. Out of 8 or 10 that we turned loose only two reached the bottom, and they were so badly bent that they would hardly roll. It was now about September 1st as we reached the Upper Crossing of the Sweetwater River, and the last crossing of the stream before we started across the Rocky Mountains, and it was estimated that we were two-thirds of the way to the Salt Lake Valley. The roads leading over the mountains were rough, and our progress slow. The strain on the wagons was taking its toll, though the crossing was made without incident. When we were over the Mountain Pass, the first stream of water I can remember that we reached was called Big Sandy, though we must have traveled down other streams before we reached it. Good fee for the stock and plenty of good water were reached without difficulty now. After a few days travel on the Big Sandy, we reached Green River, which we forded. We traveled in a southeasterly direction and the next place we reached was Fort Bridger, and we camped there one night. We entertained this thought now that the crossing of the plains was almost accomplished, and we were up early and on the road each day, for we felt each day was now an important time, and we longed for a view of the valley of the Great Salt Lake. Soon after we left Fort Bridger we met Henry Beckstead, who, acting on our understanding of the previous year, to leave in 1851, was on his way East to meet us. We were just breaking camp for the day’s pull when Henry happened along. He was driving a span of good horses, and his main object, aside from knowing all was well with us, was to care for Mother, and shorten her time on the road. He took her and Byram, my brother, with him in his wagon and went on ahead into the valley, and we did not see them again until we reached Beckstead's home on the Weber River, near Ogden. Our company, up to the time we reached Independent Rock had submitted gracefully to the discipline of the officers over us, but dissension and dissatisfaction had appeared and was quite manifest from the Rock on. The main cause for the “split” was that the non-Mormons that were with us wanted to travel on Sundays and Captain Cordon would not consent to it. His instructions were to travel on Sunday, only in case of absolute necessity. By the time we reached Echo Canyon, the next land mark of our trail, our company was pretty well scattered, some ahead of us and others in the rear, as for Father and his people, we were all together and with Captain Cordon. We entered Echo Canyon in the early part of the day, and were obliged to make one camp in the canyon, and I remember the night very well on account of our little dog "Clip." He was more or less just a common dog, but a very smart little fellow. He was entirely black, and while he might not have been able to whip his weight in wild cats, he was not afraid to try, and would tackle anything once. The walls of the canyon near the camp were just right to produce an echo to the best advantage, and Clip, either for amusement or anguish spent all the night barking at himself in echo. The next day’s travel took us through the canyon onto the Weber River. We were greatly interested in Echo Canyon, it was strange to us. One feature was that the cliffs of the canyon were practically all on the North side of the canyon. Some of them tower 3 or 4 hundred feet above the bed of the canyon, almost perpendicularly, and extend almost east and west. To the south the hills are smaller and run out to open country. As we went down the Weber River, the mountains were much larger. Our first camp after we left Echo Canyon was on the Weber River on the north bank, nearly opposite the mouth of East Canyon Creek, which I think was the name it was known at that time. The river here was not very large so we had no difficulty in fording, the next morning after breaking camp; our way led up East Canyon Creek. The road in places was quite steep and rocky, in other places it was sliding, and our progress was slow. The mountain we were climbing was known to the pioneers as Big Mountain, and is known by that name today. The last of our wagons reached the Summit of Big Mountain about one or two o'clock in the afternoon and we went down the west side of the mountain before we had dinner. By this time the daylight was spent and we camped there for the night, with but one mountain between us and the Great Salt Lake Valley, it was known and is known today as Little Mountain, and we were on a stream between there. Early next morning we were on our way over Little Mountain which we scaled without any trouble, and at the foot of which we emerged into Immigration Canyon, and followed it a short distance, and then in a northwesterly direction we finally reach the Salt Lake Valley and Salt Lake City. From a point on Big Mountain I had seen the Southern end of the valley but could not see the city, now as we left Immigration Canyon, in Oct. 1851, I saw for my first time Salt Lake City itself. We drove into the city and stopped in the road in front of several residences. Father had helped Heber C. Kimball on his way West as far as the upper crossing of the Sweetwater and had received an invitation to call when he could get to the city. He had no difficulty in locating Heber C. at his home and straightway went into a conference with him, the result of which was; He advised Father to go directly to East Weber, a settlement on the Weber River about 17 miles south of Ogden. He was to take a surveyor with him from Salt Lake City and locate on the best piece of land he could locate. He also told Father there were some men there doing all they could to hold large tracts of land, but to not be discouraged but stand for his rights. Heber C. asked him if he remembered that he told him to go to Missouri with his family and prepare himself for the trip West and come as soon as he could. Father replied that he certainly did. Then Heber C. told him because of his faithfulness in this matter, his life had been lengthened approximately 15 years. Father could not get the surveyor but we went on up there any way. It was our intention to spend the winter of 1851-52 with our people who had preceded us into the Valley. Here we found Henry Beckstead, who married my sister Lucene, my brother John who was married now, having married one of Daniel Smith's daughters, by his first wife. Joseph Hardy, Abiah Wadsworth, Gordon Beckstead, Daniel Smith, and others from the East. Daniel Smith married my sister Elizabeth. Here we spent a very enjoyable winter with Henry Beckstead, and in the spring we rented a small farm from Gordon Beckstead near East Weber. The wheat was planted when we rented it, and we received the privilege of renting because Gordon wanted to spend the summer with his father in South Jordan. There were about 15 families to make use of this limited supply of water, so our yield was light, and for our share we received one half the total. We spent the winter of 1852-1853 in Gordon Beckstead's house, and outside of our social and religious activities, the winter was uneventful. In the spring we moved over to South Weber (1853) about 2 miles down the river on the opposite side of the stream from the East Weber settlement and on eighty acres of land. About this time Mr. Fox, the territorial surveyor came down and surveyed the South Weber District. The tracts were laid off in eighty-acre plots. During the summer we plowed and planted about twenty acres of crop, principally wheat. We also planted some corn and potatoes. During our spare moments we built us a log house of one room, and from the timber found on the banks of the river, on our land. In the spring of 1853, Abiah Wadsworth, Henry Beckstead, and Nelson Arave, built a small sawmill in East Weber, using the water of the river for power. The saw was of the upright type; the blade was in a frame and moved up and down. It was not very efficient, as we know efficiency today; in fact one neighbor remarked he would be pleased to live until they could saw enough lumber for his casket. It was slow but quite successful. We got some boards and slabs to complete our house with. We spent the winter of 1853-54 on Father's homestead. Here we spent the usual quiet life, and a happy comfortable winter. In the spring of 1854 we planted we planted about forty acres of wheat, oats, and corn in addition to our garden. Some 15 or 20 families of this settlement met and decided that inasmuch as we were in need of water and there was plenty in the Weber River, it would be best to build a canal and get the use of the water. We went about a mile above our home to take the water the channel, and when canal was completed, it had a splendid fall and was about 5 or 6 miles long, and carried about two thousand inches of water, and was about half completed this year. A number of families had by this time settled on the river below us, and wanted to use this same canal, they were not ready for water but working on the ditch in their spare moments. The canal was completed to us in plenty of time for the first irrigation of 1855. It was in the summer of 1854 that the grasshoppers were so bad. They came from the northeast, it was said from the Dakotas. They were countless in numbers, at times it seemed they dimmed the sun. They would come flying across the country and all at once as if by command or understanding they would all light at once and proceed with their destruction. Almost invariably when they lit they would stay until the following morning, then fly on to the southwest, they seemed never to return, but the next ones would again come from the northeast. I have seen the north shore of Great Salt Lake covered six or seven inches deep with dead hoppers. They made a short work of grain fields, and those that were missed were very fortunate. In spite of the havoc wrought there was wheat enough for food and for seed the next year. As for us, we suffered but slight damage. There was a school in the East Weber settlement during the winter of 1854-55 and David was living with Henry Beckstead and attended the school, but we had no school in South Weber so Byram and I did not get to go. There was no text books other than some histories of the United States but the Church works were used for the three winters following. I was now 16 years of age, and quite able to read because of the help of my Father and Mother, and up to this time they had taught me faithfully. As soon as it was possible for the Saints to do so they had secured a provincial form of government from the United States and the country throughout the valley had been organized into counties, precincts, etc. This action placed us in Davis County and Father was appointed a Justice of the Peace, and had been sent the Constitution of the United States, as well as all the laws enacted by the Territorial Legislature. These books and the Deseret News were what I had for my winters reading. During this, the fall of 1854, word was received from the Authorities of the Church that the activities of the Indians, through this territory, were becoming more and more unfriendly, and they advised that the people organize and form in communities where they could build forts for their protection, and it was suggested that the people of South Weber go over to East Weber and join the people there. The people of East Weber didn’t want to go to South Weber, and South Weber did not want to go to East Weber, so they fortified each community as best they could. East Weber built a series of houses square, surrounded by a large mud wall. It was always Father’s contention that the advise of the Church Authorities should be considered in every instance, and this alone led him to go to East Weber, then again, Daniel Smith at East Weber had been after Father to trade farms with him in South Weber, so all in all the trade was made, in the winter of 1854-55, but we spent the winter on our farm and in the spring of 1855 we moved to East Weber and into the house of Daniel Smith, which had been moved from the farm to the Fort. The Fort at South Weber was built like the one at East Weber, except the mud wall was not built. Our new home at the fort was about one mile from the farm, where we planted about 25 acres of corn and wheat. We always lived in the fort, and never on the land for which we traded, until as such time as peaceful conditions were restored. We lived in the Fort, but as a result of this common defense idea, the land around the Fort was divided into small pieces or divisions, or lots and when we finally moved from the fort, it was on one of these lots. This group of lots became commonly known as the town site. Alfalfa was unknown to us at this time, and the problem for everyone alike was to raise enough feed to take care of the livestock. However, between where we lived and Great Salt Lake where the Weber River emptied, there was a large area of land, unclaimed, and it was covered with a very heavy growth of grass, where we wintered our stock unmolested. With the locality, and in particular with some springs of fresh water, we associate the name of W. H. Hooper. Mr. Hooper was the owner of a portion of this grass land and was recognized by the Church as an honest, trustworthy man. He was also the owner of a good number of cattle. It was customary for the Saints, at least some of them, to pay their tithing in kind. This placed a large number of cattle in the care of the Church every year, and it was here with Captain Hooper as he was known among his associates, that the Church kept its livestock. The nearest market for the cattle at this time was Sacramento, California, and each year, commencing in June, they were driven to the market, and Captain Hooper was always in charge of the Church stock along with his own, and for that matter any settler could send his animals to market. There were Church members, non-church members and apostates among those who were seeking a market, and also a passage to California. This variety of men were all included in his company to the coast. Hooper Springs, as this particular part of the range was called, was on the South side of the river and when the start was made it was necessary to cross the stream, and the company included about 15 or 20 wagons. This was Captain Hooper’s company for June of 1855. The Weber River, as is characteristic of the streams into the Great Salt Lake, was comparatively short, and the high water season lasted about one month, and included the month of June. It was a wicked stream at this time of the year, and as there were no bridges the outfits were obliged to ford, and the cattle had to swim. It therefore called for judgment and skill, based on experience, when this duty was to be performed. At this time, it was found not safe to try to ford the river below East Weber, so in following the advice, Captain Hooper with the cattle, and the wagons eventually reached this place. Captain Hooper called on father and asked his advise about crossing the stream. Father told him it was a very dangerous undertaking, for the bed of the stream was filled with large rocks but they decided to try it. Some two or three of the heavier wagons, drawn by heavier oxen successfully completed the task. It was a real thrill to watch the faithful animals match their skill against the relentless surge of the stream. Following this splendid display of courage and success, we were astonished when the owner of a light wagon, and a light team of horses presented himself on the bank. His wagon contained all he had on earth, his wife, his three children, including a babe in arms, and his household belongings. Captain Hooper objected at once, strenuously, and their comrades cautioned him, but to no avail. As soon as the oxen reached the heavy current they were swept away in the path of the wicked waters, and when they reached greater depth the wagon box left was floated clear of the wagon and down stream. I was standing at a point on the river where I could see well and watched the entire crossing. The mother was now alone in the wagon box with her children, and I remember only too well the cries of distress of that woman as she passed by me as I stood on the bank. Just below me, and in a treacherous current, the box was completely capsized and with all they had, the four were emptied into the water, but in some manner the Mother and the current righted the box and when we could see her again she had her child in her arms but the other two had been carried away and we were never again to see them. Her cries were the most mournful and terror stricken I have ever heard. She still kept her head, for a little later, when the box was dashed against some driftwood, she succeeded in getting onto the wood, from which she was taken later by rescue parties. The Oxen crossed and pulled the wagon to safety. In cases of this character there is nearly always someone impressed, either by sentiment, sense of duty, or courage and confidence in their ability to help, that steps forward and endears himself to the helpless on-lookers in some act of heroism. Indeed, it may nothing more than the noble spirit that prompts a man to offer his life for a friend. In this connection, we introduce Rodney Badger, a deputy sheriff traveling with the company. When the woman was set adrift in the wagon box, he was thrilled by her cries and hurriedly removed his boots and jumped at once into the treacherous stream and made for the woman. He was reported as a very fine swimmer but was helpless against the river’s current, I saw him disappear twice in the water and I think it was the last time he was ever seen. We were greatly touched by this incident. During the summer of 1855 the grasshoppers were very bad again, though the damage to our crops was slight. The days we were not needed on the farm we spent working on a road we were building through Weber Canyon, a distance of about six miles. This road would join Salt Lake Valley with Upper Weber Valley. Here, too, we spent as much time as possible gathering wild raspberries, which were so plentiful here. We did not do too well with the road, because of the rocky formation. We harvested our crops alright this fall, but the process was necessarily slow, on account of the methods in vogue. Our grain was cut with a cradle, an implement with a handle and blade somewhat like the present-day scythe, another fixture was attached in an upright position, behind the blade, in such a manner that it caught the grain as it fell from the blade. It had five fingers with small sticks placed between them to keep the grain from falling through. When the stroke in the swath was completed, the left hand was released from the handle of the scythe, and while the cradle was yet in motion it gathered the grain, and while the right hand returned the cradle to position for the next stroke, the left had dropped the grain in a pile, all heads the same way, where it was bound in a bundle by the help following. The binder was made by taking a small bunch of grain and after making the heads even it was divided and held snugly with the left hand near the heads and the right hand wrapped half of the straw around the other half, and after crossing the strands, placed it around the grain on the ground, held one end of the straw lightly in the left hand by the thumb, and drew the other end as tightly as necessary and twisted the two ends together and bending the tie, tucked it beneath the band where it would dry and remain intact while the bundle underwent the necessary handling, stacking etc. Our threshing was done by what was known as a “chaff piler.” It was not unlike the completed or improved machines of today. It had a cylinder with teeth attached that passed between and close to a similar arrangement of teeth in a stationary frame beneath the cylinder, known as a concave. By whirling the cylinder rapidly the grain was beaten from the heads and by the same operation carried through the cylinder to the rear, where a man stood with a hand rake and moved it back. From here another rake moved it back again, and even again if necessary, until the grain became too high to work over, the operator would call: "Cave Up" which meant to move the grain to one side so they could run again. Chaff and wheat were now in one pile, and the straw in another. The grain was left in the field and a fanning mill used to separate the chaff from the grain. We then moved the grain to our granary on the town site. This splendid servant was developed in what was known as the Sessions Settlement near Salt Lake City. In caring for the grain after harvest my brother John and I were hauling the bundles for stacking them. As we were loading, in the after part of the day, John called out to me on the wagon to lookout, at about the same time I caught sight of a snake which John said was a rattler. I left the wagon faster than the snake came on, and we unloaded nearly all our load before we found him and disposed of him. I was looking forward to the winter of 1855-56 with the greatest of hopes, for it was to be my first and only chance I had to attend school since I had attended in the City of Nauvoo when I was six years old. My teacher's name was David Osborn. I found there had been but one change in textbooks and that was the addition of the old "Blue Back Speller" by Webster. After the harvest of 1855 was completed it was discovered that some localities had a surplus of wheat while others were in need. The situation was canvassed by the Church, and those with plenty were to anticipate their wants for the winter and for seed the next year, and then pass the surplus on to those less fortunate. After Father had made this calculation he had about two hundred bushels left. He was asked by the Authorities if he would be willingly to give this wheat outright for those in need, and he said he would, which he did and I know my self that he never received a penny for that grain. It demonstrates the feeling of good will, and unselfishness that was part of the Mormon pioneers. The wheat we kept for our use was all we had any legitimate use for, a tribute to father’s judgment. Before winter we moved our grain to the gristmill at the south of Ogden Canyon, owned by Loran Farr. In drawing the flour from the mill, it seemed to Mother that it was going to run us short and she became more careful. It was not what we used ourselves entirely, but some of our neighbors were without and constantly asked for just one more mixing. Mother thought we should refuse, but Father thought it was a duty to share as long as he had it. It was often a subject for discussion, but when the summer was past, and the harvest ended, we had never scraped the bottom of the flour box. After school was dismissed in the spring of 1856 I helped put the crops in. We planted about ten acres more of wheat, about 35 acres in all. I also spent a day now and then on the road through Weber Canyon. There was an abundance of water for the crops, and we raised the best harvest we had up to this time. The “hoppers” were not so bad and we had made another ditch on the north side of the river, so while no particular improvements were made in harvesting machinery, we kept the things we had gained, and completed a very pleasant and profitable year. I planned to go to school again, but was disappointed, but I will say, not discouraged. At this time a firm named Gilbert & Garrish, leading in the mercantile business in Salt Lake City had contracted with certain parties to freight some of their goods from the Missouri River near where Omaha now stands, to Salt Lake City. The men were late starting west with their freight, and were caught in the snow east of Salt Lake City, on Bear River, a short distance west of old Fort Bridger. They did not seem to have the courage to carry on under such difficulties. They had deserted everything but their cattle, and came on to Salt Lake City. They left no one to guard the goods, and did nothing to protect them from the weather. The yokes of the cattle were thrown in the most convenient places, and the snow was about seven inches deep when the rescue party reached the wagons. There was a prominent at this time, in connection with conditions of this nature, in Salt Lake City, named Judson L. Stoddard. Mr. Stoddard was a cattleman and was acquainted with the country east of Salt Lake City. Arrangements were made with him by the merchants to salvage their goods, and Mr. Stoddard asked for seventy oxen and eight drivers with wagons and boxes. I was recommended to him as a “bull-whacker” and he offered me a chance to go with him, which I accepted, and we left Salt Lake City Dec. 1st, 1856. We were about four days in reaching the wagons, camped by them for the night and commenced the return journey next day. We had some difficulty with some of the cattle in getting started but we reached the upper crossing of the Sweetwater at the foot of Big Mountain without any inconvenience. But here our difficulties began, the snow over the mountain was deeper and road conditions bad, so we were obliged to place eight yoke of oxen on each wagon to make any headway. Poor road construction up East Canyon Creek made our work dangerous. At one place the road was around a high point of rocks just over the creek. The road was filled with snow and ice and sloped to the outside. The first wagon up was driven by Larry Robinson, and as we looked the situation over we made sure we were in for trouble. I suggested that we cut a trench, or trail in the snow and ice on the upper side of the road, but the man in charge said to drive on, after some words with the boss. Larry drove on, he was just starting nicely around the point when the wagon slid completely off the road and turned upside down in the creek, which was frozen over. I was next in line, and told to drive carefully, but just as Larry did I refused to do this, and the boss threatened to report me to Mr. Stoddard. After all, we dug the trench, as another precaution, we tied a long rope to the rear of each wagon and the boys pulled to the upper side to keep the wagon in the trench and by this method all of the wagons reached the summit in “apple pie” order. This process was repeated without incident. When we had all four wagons over the point, we salvaged the goods from Robinson’s wagon and found room for them in the remaining wagons, and we then made the trip to Salt Lake City without delay. We delivered the first wagons to Gilbert and Garrish and after a night’s rest at the home of Father Chase, the father-in-law of Mr. Stoddard, we returned immediately for the other wagons. We had no difficulty in bringing the other wagons over the slopes of Big Mountain, and into the City. On our way up East Canyon Creek we were preceded by some of the last hand-carters, and were followed by others. They had no handcarts at this time, they had been abandoned when the relief reached them, that they had been sent from Salt Lake City. We were preparing for the descent into the valley below when the last of these people reached the summit of Big Mountain. In all my boyhood days, and perhaps not since, have I beheld a sadder and more forlorn spectacle. It did not need a second look to see the mark of suffering on their faces. Their features were drawn and plainly showed the effects of their hunger. Their bodies were poorly clad and were barely clothed sufficiently to cover their nakedness, not to mention any warmth. When we delivered our second set of wagons to the firm we received our money and started for our homes. I walked from Salt Lake City to Mr. Stoddard's home in Centerville, about 12 miles and stayed with them that night, the next day I walked 18 miles to East Weber and home. At home we were obliged to practice the strictest economy. Up until now and for several years to come, Mother and my sisters had made all the clothing I had every worn, except under garments, the material for those was bought for the purpose of the store. We had a few sheep of our own and we always cared for the wool, washing, carding, and spinning it our selves. Mother and the girls making the clothes for each of us. If we wanted any color, other than the natural color of the wool, we had to buy dye, with the single exception of a brown color we obtained from the bark of a tree called Tag-Alder. If a family happened to have black sheep in his flock, it was possible to spin a grayish yarn. We were repeatedly warned by Mother, that if we wanted clothing we must do our part toward the purchase. In our travels from place to place I had made an effort to learn all I could about the violin. I have mentioned that Daniel Smith was with us in Nauvoo, and that he played the violin very well. He married my sister Elizabeth and was a great friend and financial help to the family, and was with us all through the preparations and travels west and was still with us. During all this time he was helping me to an understanding of the violin. He played for parties on the way west, and after we reached there he was a real social help in the line. I had now reached a point where I could play for a party. After my return from the expedition with Mr. Stoddard in December, I entered school, that is after Christmas, and along with my school work I played for the community parties. I did not seem interested in the social part of it all, but I was interested in picking up some change. I recall one time I was asked to play for a wedding dance of one of the prominent girls of our community, and I felt quite honored. I had to walk five miles so by the time I reached there the ceremony was over and so was the supper. They insisted that I eat, however, and I did and then went directly to the dance hall and everything went according to plan and they enjoyed the evening. When I presented my bill as the close of the do, I asked for $l.50. The man who paid me said this was not enough, so he paid me $3.00 and was I pleased when I started for home five miles away. And I was surely proud when I handed the money to my Mother. It was the custom of the family to place all our earnings with mother. I had already giver her the money from the Judson Stoddard trip. I was still in school and Mr. Osborn was my teacher. There was not much change in our home life, in this instance, until the month of March, 1857. The school year was over and I was helping David clear a piece of land Father had given him. One evening when I returned home from work I found the family in a most curious frame of mind, and I was soon that way too, when mother handed me a letter from President Young. I opened it at once and was certainly surprised and thrilled. I then handed it to the family and let them read it. It was a notification that I had been selected by Judson L. Stoddard as a member of a party to go East with the mail. Some two or three years previous to this President Brigham Young had secured a contract from the United States Government to carry the mail from Salt Lake City to Independence, Missouri and return. President Young had selected Mr. Stoddard to take charge of the party, and Mr. Stoddard had selected eleven others to assist him. Among them I was chosen. I have been brave enough to think that my previous services for Mr. Stoddard were satisfactory, and that was a factor in this selection. The contract provided that the mail would leave either end of the route the first of every month. The party I was with was to leave Salt Lake City April 1, 1857. I was also advised that I was to come to Salt Lake City and receive my endowments before I could go east. Some eight months previous to this time I had met and learned to care for a young lady named Jane Miller. In fact as we did come and go we had considered marriage. The events of the last few days and the possibilities connected with them, in doing and not doing, presented quite a serious situation to me. I had quite a time reaching the final decision. I wanted to make the trip, and in a way I considered my duty to do so, and I disliked very much the idea of leaving Jane behind. At this time I was also puzzled to know what to do about my endowments. I was not sure that I wanted them at all for there seemed a possibility that maybe I was not just fit for such a sacred ordinance, and I thought there might be some covenants to enter into that I would not care to enter. I consulted Father, and after due consideration and a night's rest, I decided to receive them. Now that was settled, I had to decide what to do with my fiancée! Father solved the problem for me when he suggested I marry her and leave her with them in East Weber while I was gone. With these arrangements in mind we made the trip to Salt Lake City, were married, and received our endowments. Levi Hammon made the trip with us, and drove Father's team and wagon. We left East Weber March 17, 1857. We went as far as Centerville the first day and spent the night with an old friend named Goldsbrough. We reached Salt Lake City the 18th of March just before noon and went to the home of Alexander Watson, who had married one of Jane's sisters, named Maggie. We stayed here until 19th. By this time I had made arrangements with Heber C. Kimball to perform the ceremony, at Father’s request, and he consented. We were married in the old Endowment House March 20, 1857, by Heber C. Kimball, after which we started for home at once. On the way we stayed at Centerville with Mr. Goldsbrough the night of the 20th and reached home the 21st about noon. While I was at Salt Lake City I visited Judson L. Stoddard and with the other arrangements we made, he was to call for me at East Weber on his way East about April 1st. It was almost impossible to pass over Big Mountain so early in the season on account of snow. The road was now was completed up through Weber Canyon and we were to go out that way. I was busy all the while helping Father and David on their places. I cannot describe my feelings as the day approached to leave. All my life up to this time, had been spent at home, always with my people. I had always been, so to speak, within seeing distance of the smoke from my home fires, and the prospects of leaving a home I had always loved, didn't brighten the future any. Not many ever lived who had a better mother than I did. I wasn't what she wished for many times, I’m sure. I loved my father too; we never had any misunderstandings or disagreements. I hold his memory in sincere reverence. He was always honest and upright in his dealings and a gentleman always, with the strongest of home ties. As for mother, she was always interested in any thing that would be of a benefit to her family. She always did the right thing at the right time. I know I will always insist that I had as good a set of parents as ever lived. Everything considered, I was not too anxious for the first of April to come. The party arrived on the Weber River in time to establish camp for the night. April 1, 1857. Mr. Stoddard came over to the house and invited me to join them next morning ready to leave for the east. Next morning when the time came to say goodbye, I made pretty good headway, even with my mother and my young wife, but when it came father, I simply broke down and had a good cry. When it was over, I mounted the mule I had been given to ride and joined the party. We had about sixty-five mules and horses; they were to be used as pack animals, in carrying the mail. There were more than we needed really, but we intended to establish several mail stations in localities best suited to our purpose. Camp the first night was made at the lower end of the Upper Weber Canyon. In crossing the mountain between upper Weber Valley and Upper Weber Canyon we met with our first accident. W had with us, four young men from Salt Lake City to help us with the mail, and four passengers without responsibility of course. Two of the helpers were sons of President Young, and four of the mules and one of the wagons belonged to him. At first he refused to allow the mules to go with us, but consented and cautioned the boys as to their use. As we were passing over the mountain separating the upper valley and the canyon, without warning the wagon slid off the sloping dugway and turned completely over. In the fall the wagon tongue split, and the sharp end that remained in the hounds of the wagon struck one of the mules back of the front legs and passed out through the brisket to the front. We had quite a time to get the mule off from the splinter, but he was finally brought to camp. As a kind of protection a small piece of tobacco was placed in the wound. I never saw the mule again, and we left camp next morning without the wagon or mules. And the four helpers from the City all returned there too. The four passengers were now riding horses, which they rode to Fort Bridger. At our camp at Fort Bridger I was introduced to the work of guard duty. It was the program to have two guards with the stock, and one at the camp. I was assigned to the horses, and George Grant, a lad about my age was to stand it with me. This was the beginning of a friendship that was very dear to me. We were much alike in our likes and dislikes, and also in reaction to our experiences. The duty of the camp guard was of course, to watch the camp and protect it from marauders, to make the camp at night, and break camp in the morning and have all things ready for the road, which was to be between daylight and sunup. The stock guard was to keep the horses from wandering too far from camp, and have them in easy reach when wanted. Our progress was slow. We encountered a great deal of snow and at this time of the year, the feed was poor. We were on the road about a week before we reached Fort Bridger. When we went East with Mr. Stoddard for the merchandise wagons, I recall we were four days getting to Fort Bridger with wagons and cattle, so we were really slow this time, with only horses and one wagon. I was destined to learn a lot on this trip, and here at Fort Bridger I was taught how to pack and unpack a pack mule, and how to fasten the pack on properly with a rope, using the famous Diamond Hitch. Mr. Judson L. Stoddard and Mr. George Dalton assumed the responsibility of instructing us. They were also assisted by a Mexican, who was our camp cook. We spent three days at Fort Bridger, arranging things and purchasing equipment. Among other things we bought some harnesses for four mules and a three-inch Schuttler Wagon. The mail was placed in the wagon and seats arranged for our passengers also. I do not remember the date we left the Fort, but we traveled slowly, eating three meals a day, such as they were, sometimes quite slim. Wild game was scarce along the trail but we were not suffering. When we reached Green River and made the necessary adjustments to ford, the wagon with the mail and the passengers were sent in first. Every man in the company was armed as well as far as he could be, even to the passengers. One of them had an old percussion cap gun and had loaded it then placed it in the wagon at the head of the load, and put a cap on it and let the hammer rest on the cap, as the wagon went into the stream, the load shifted to one side and then replaced itself when it reached the bottom of the bank and landed on the hammer of the gun and it was discharged. I was following about three rods behind, but the angle of the gun directed the charge just over my head and I escaped injury. An investigation was made by Mr. Stoddard and measures taken to prevent a recurrence of such an incident. Foremost among the instructions given Mr. Stoddard by President Young was that he should not fail to engage in prayer as a group, at least twice daily, and this we always did. We mad our way slowly until we reached the Big Sandy, and here I was to meet another feat for which I was not wholly prepared. Mr. Stoddard was making the practice of asking the men to lead in their turn in prayer. Some way I had not been asked, but this morning we were breaking camp on Big Sandy and he called on me. In our home we never failed to have family prayer but father had always been the spokesman and the experience had never come to me. I couldn’t refuse and I was so upset and nervous I could only speak with difficulty. Of all places, out in the wilds, before a group of men. We were kneeling in the sand, and my knees were trembling until they had about buried themselves—I wonder if the imprints are there yet. I didn’t suffer any ill effects for I ate a hearty breakfast and took care of my end of the work. In a few days we reached the South Pass, which was also the continental divide, and we were surprised that we could not see the Sweetwater River from the summit, but pressed on. When we were part way down the slope we discovered we were on a drift of snow about fifty feet deep and we made the crossing of the river before we fully realized the conditions. The snow was frozen so there was no difficulty at all. We traveled considerable distance before we saw the waters of the stream at all, and part of the time we were over the stream. We were now on the Old Immigration Trail and we were soon at the Devil’s Gate. Here we were obliged to spend a few days to give our horses a chance to recuperate, the feed had been poor for a week or more and they began to show the effects. There had been a mail station established at Devil’s Gate by the party ahead of us, and it was left in charge of a man who acted as Blacksmith, so that the rest we had our mules shod. This man put the shoes on sixteen head of mules in one day, which we thought was stepping right along. Our progress had been so slow and so much time consumed on the way, that while we were not suffering, we were feeling the need of supplies, and had to exercise the strictest economy for the next supply depot was at Fort Laramie, some five or six days travel from Devil’s Gate. In due course we reached Fort Laramie and took on what supplies we needed to take us to Fort Kearney. From sports at Fort Laramie, we learned that the pioneers and other travelers were being harassed by the Indians along the route. Before leaving Fort Laramie, Mr. Stoddard applied for a detachment of soldiers to accompany us to Fort Kearney, and was given 16 well-equipped and well-armed soldiers with an officer to go with us. When we left Fort Laramie we were on the North side of the Platte River. We had covered about half the distance to Fort Kearney when someone of the party spied an object in the distance and it seemed to be coming toward us. There was a deep wash near and we were in there in a few minutes and ready to protect ourselves. We soon discovered that they were horsemen, and later that they were Indians, but we knew they were friendly because they had their squaws and children with them. They had been out hunting and were returning with their meat. Before they left our camp we bought some fresh buffalo meat, the first fresh meat we had since we left Salt Lake City. After a few days travel we reached the upper end of Grand Island. We were to cross over the Platte at this place but we were too late in the day to risk a ford so we camped for the night. During the night, a very cold storm came up from the West. It was sleet and rain. With all the equipment we had, we did not have one tent. George Grant and I slept under the wagon, and water ran through our bed all night, and everyone suffered considerably. The men on night guard drove the stock near camp as the storm increased and the next morning we found six of the mules dead within a stones throw of camp. There was no wood on this side of the river so we had to get our camp ready and move to the other side before we could attempt to dry our clothing. We were crossing to the Island, first where there were plenty of wood and feed, but ill luck was with us yet. The North Platte River was known as having quicksand in its course, and for that reason was not a good risk in fording. The Mail wagon had crossed to the island alright and we were just getting started nicely where the water was about knee deep to the stock. Six of the mules were caught in the quicksand. After a struggle or two they would give up and would sink deeper without an effort, and we were in the trail the other stock traveled. In spite of all we could do, these six mules drowned in the crossing. It was so cold and stormy, and there was not much we could do, other than get what stock we had left and ourselves on some firm ground somewhere. We soon had a fire going and dried our clothing, and we remained on the island two days. The first night on the island was my turn to stand guard with the stock, with George Grant. The storm had ceased, and we were within about 3 or 4 hundred yards from camp when just before midnight we heard an animal coming across the channel. We thought we could see an Indian on him. We hid ourselves and waited for him to reach the land, and when he did that, the mule brayed and we discovered one of our animals had strayed and was just returning. We made the rest of the crossing from Grand Island to the south side without difficulty and continued on to Fort Kearney. At Fort Kearney we lost our guard, but continued on the last lap of our journey. I visited the training grounds at the Fort and saw the recruits learning to ride. It was amusing to say the least. Mr. Stoddard told the officer he had just half enough men, he said each one needed a man to hold him on a horse. Mr. Stoddard was with us only one day after we left Fort Kearney. He then took the mail, and the passengers, a driver and the Mexican Cook and went on ahead. Food for the stock was now plentiful and we took our time so our horses could regain their strength. They reached Independence, Missouri between May 10, and 15, and we in the latter part of May. When we reached Independence, we found that Mr. Stoddard had located a camp about three miles southeast of Independence of the property of Mr. Saunders. There was plenty of grass for the stock, excellent water, and everything for an ideal camp. In this particular time of the year, Independence and its surrounding country was one of the most beautiful localities I have ever seen, and I would not hesitate to say in the world. Spring had just returned, and everything was at its best. All the flowers were in bloom, and the shrubberies and wild fruit of the countryside, besides many orchards, that some pioneer had been forced to leave after he had planted it. Wild plumbs and crabapples in full flower everywhere. There are so many short streams in this locality, varying from two to five miles apart and their banks were lined with trees and wild foliage. Between these streams the rolling hills were as green as a well-kept lawn, and flowers were everywhere. Of all the beautiful places I have ever seen, I cannot recall one so beautiful as this. From the manner in which we were received in Independence we seemed to feel that the bitterness of the Missouri period of Church History was gone. We found everybody agreeable and friendly, and when the trials and hardships of the last two months were recalled, you will remember how much we appreciated this feeling. As I recall that two months now, I cannot see how we endured such privations. The pack outfits and the equipment were inadequate, and our supplies insufficient. Then too, we were traveling at the worst time of the year; there was much snow to hinder us, and the feed for our stock, on which our lives depended, was poor quality and scarce. The Indians were a source of anxiety and worry; every river we crossed was full of danger, and lurking in their depths were perils and hazards constituting a constant danger to the lives of men and beasts alike. Many times, at the same moment, we were suffering the pangs of cold and hunger and no immediate chance for relief. I recall now, that just before we reached Fort Laramie our last five or six meals consisted of boiled corn, plain and simple, and we were thankful for it. Sometime before we left Salt Lake City, a certain Supreme Court Judge of the Territory of Utah, had found it convenient to leave. He went to California, down the coast to the Isthmus of Panama, across the Isthmus and up the east coast to Washington. His attitude toward the Saints while he was in Utah was anything but friendly, and his visit to Washington was for the purpose of reporting to the President on conditions in Utah as pertaining to the Mormon people. His report was packed with cruel lies and misrepresentations calculated to arouse the Government against the Saints. He stated the people were in rebellion against the United States, and that all the public records had been burned. The President, without investigation, ordered an army of 2,500 men to Utah and take the necessary steps to restore peace and order. The army was to leave from Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, and we were now camped within 25 miles of that place. Another thing that created a new sentiment against us, was the presence of Eph Hanks, whom rumor with the aid of local publication had associated with the murder of Captain Gunnison and his men south of Salt Lake City about 150 miles on the Sevier River. I think this happened in 1856. Advance rumors from the Judge and Mr. Hanks served to start another wave of bitterness. The Judge was more or less discreet but Hanks often doing things contrary to better judgment. When we reached Independence Hanks was living with a man of poor reputation, this made it uncomfortable for him when he heard of us he wanted to live with us, and Mr. Stoddard finally permitted him to do so. His conduct around the camp was most unbecoming. He would remove all his clothing and behave in the wildest Indian fashion. We could not impress upon him that his life was at stake aside from the embarrassment we suffered ourselves. Finally they hunted him to hang him, and for fear he might be held in disfavor if he was found in camp, Mr. Stoddard compelled him to leave, and that was the last I ever saw of him. The first afternoon George Grant and myself spent roaming among the woods and flowers near Independence, we saw a great many interesting things, and spent the afternoon among them. At eventide we tried to return to camp but in spite of all we could do, we could not locate ourselves. Finally we came to a small opening in the trees were a man was working and asked him if he would please tell us where Mr. Saunders’ property was, and he said this is it and your camp is right there in that grove. It was about 700 feet away. Next we visited the Temple lot. I had heard so much about the place where the Temple was to be built in which to receive the Master when he deems it proper to come and assume the reigns of Government, that I felt it would be a mistake to not visit this historic and sacred place at this time. It is located about two miles from the River in the western part of the town. It was east of the Court House about one half mile. We had been encamped in Independence about two weeks when the feel of things suggested to Mr. Stoddard that we had better seek another campground. For several nights before we did move we had heard men prowling around in the woods near camp. They never bothered anything or anybody, but we feared they were looking for a chance to justify some violence. Mr. Stoddard had been in pretty close touch with a friend of his in northern Independence, and often acted on his suggestions, and headed his warnings. He was an apostate from the Church, but held no enmity for Mr. Stoddard. Many times he warned us of the efforts of our enemies to get hold of Mr. Hanks, and it was at his suggestion that Mr. Stoddard sent Hans away. Mr. Stoddard told Hanks to take the Mexican cook and go to the stock and get a horse for each of them and a mule for a pack animal and go west into Kansas and cross the Caw River and wait there for us. The morning we left Independence we were together in front of the courthouse and a group of bystanders either to cause some trouble or some embarrassment, laid claim to some of our mules. Mr. Stoddard refused to consider their demands and let it be known that we were unafraid. There was considerable argument but when we attempted to leave were not molested. From Independence we went in a northwesterly direction toward Fort Leavenworth. We had to cross the Caw River, and we landed on an Indian Reservation, the Delaware tribe, and after some explanation we were permitted to camp on their ground. Travelers, as a rule were allowed to remain over night only, and we were to cut no more of the trees than were necessary to cook our food and keep warm. We gained these privileges when the Chief found we were waiting for mail to be taken west. We were now about 9 miles below Fort Leavenworth. At this camp we had excellent water and good feed for the stock. We found the Delawares were fond of whiskey, and almost everyday they would pass our camp on the way to the Fort for another supply. As soon as we were located in camp Mr. Stoddard at once became interested in the preparations the army was making to go west. His dress was that of a typical mountaineer. He wore a small leather cap, and his face was covered with a heavy long beard. His jacket and trousers were made of buckskin, with three or four-inch tag-locks hanging on each sleeve, and as far down as his knees on his trousers. He wore good heavy shoes and leggings. Perhaps the most conspicuous part of his dress were the large Spanish spurs he wore. He was a character to always command attention and possessed the faculty of easily making friends. He had not made many trips to the Fort until he had made friends with the officers in charge of activities there. When they asked him where he was from he promptly answered that he was from California. He was asked many questions about his travels and experiences especially when he was in Utah. Always careful to keep his connections with Utah concealed, but in other matters answered correctly. The officer was very much surprised to find that the Saints in Utah had not robbed, and plundered, and otherwise molested them. Mr. Stoddard told him that as far as he knew everything was alright in Utah. With this advantage, he soon became in possession of the whole campaign of the army and what their intentions were. He made these trips to the Fort every day and at night he would tell us the happenings of the day. Other men were operating for the benefit of the Saints as well as Mr. Stoddard and one evening told the following incident. A man by the name of Williams was buying mules for the government to be used in the campaign against the Saints. He was not a member of the Church but was evidently friendly, if not friendly it was because of the fact that his father and mother and many of his friends were in Utah. He had early established a reputation for buying the best of mules. One day the commanding officer, in the presence of Mr. Stoddard asked how he secured such good mules. Mr. Williams told him in as few words as possible that he had many good friends in Utah, who were no doubt in need of more good stock, and in as much as they were going to get everything the army took out there, he wanted them to have the best. In breaking the mules the boys had their problems and nearly every day an outfit out of control would come down past our camp, otherwise our camp life here was uneventful. Here we maintained our guards, both night and day. And here also, our Mexican cook returned to camp. After about ten days in this camp, we were joined by a party from St. Louis consisting of A.O. Smoot and Mrs. Parley P. Pratt. They were to be our passengers West to Utah. At about this time also we were joined by a company of converts from Texas also headed for Utah. A man by the name of Box was in charge of the party. He was a very wealthy man. Mr. A.O. Smoot came east with the mail about two months earlier and had gone to St. Louis to attend to some business matters. It was there that he found Mrs. Pratt, and she made the trip with him to Independence to connect with the mail, and from there found our location and came to our camp. Meeting the Box party was purely incidental, but finding us so near ready to leave decided to travel with us. It was very fortunate for us that they did. We had been joined by this party but a day or two, when a certain man came to Mr. Stoddard and demanded payment of a note he held against President young for $3,500.00 the idea seemed to prevail that this army preparing to enter Utah would practically annihilate the Saints, and they had better grab what they could. Mr. Stoddard knew nothing of this note and protested, but Mr. Smoot knew of the existence of the note, and after a few minutes council they decided that if possible at all they would pay the note. All our stock and provisions and wagons were not worth the amount. I am not positive but from my observation I really believe they intended to take all we had and leave us to it, had it not been for Mr. Box. After we had pooled all we had of value, we were still about $500.00 short of the amount. Among the possessions of Mr. Box was a negro woman who was his slave. She was a very splendid specimen of the race, and as a final gesture in the settlement she was offered for a settlement in full, and she was accepted. From this kindness on the part of Mr. Box, we were allowed to retain our belongings and go our way. As for the Box party, it developed that it would be impossible for them to travel with us, so they departed ahead of us, leaving about July 1st, we had also intended to leave with the mail on the 1st of July, but when Mr. Stoddard had made all the preparations and went to Independence for the mail he was told that the U.S. Government had cancelled its contract with Brigham young and refused to give him the mail. Mr. Stoddard returned to camp and prepared to leave for home. I did not know at the time, neither do I know now, how five new Schuttler wagons came to be delivered to our camp for our use at this particular time. I am sure they were to be delivered in Utah, but who purchased them, and delivered them to us, I cannot recall. We wee assigned our wagons and mules and we set about to fit the harness and break the mules to work in the time we had to spare. During this time up to the trip to Independence for the mail, Mr. Stoddard had been in touch with the developments at Fort Leavenworth, but when he relaxed and turned to his own work, the Army was ready, and departed to Utah. At a conference of the entire personnel of the camp we decided to make ready and leave for Utah at once. We did not want the army to know our intentions, nor our activities and inasmuch as they were ahead of us we had to arrange to pass them by and reach Utah ahead of them. The mail from Utah reached Independence July 1, and we were glad to call and sure enough we had mail from our loved ones and friends. We met the crew and exchanged greetings with them and news items also. From our friends by letter and from the mail crew we learned that the Saints were holding a celebration July 24, in Big Cottonwood Canyon. We were ready now for the start and on July 3, 1857 we left for the Salt Lake Valley, and we felt sure we were carrying advanced information on the approach of the Army, and we were all filled with the keenest of interest and determined to report to President Young at the celebration July 24, concerning the approach of the Army. The Young Express Company was organized for the express purpose of obtaining a mail contract from the Government for what other purpose I do not know. Mr. Stoddard had in his care a branding iron belonging to them with the letters YX and when we wee refused the mail and the contract was cancelled and the iron was of no use, so he said, and he entrusted me to take it and hide it where it never would be found, so I took it and placed it in a hole just below the source of the spring we were camped by, that I dug for the purpose, about two feet deep and let it stay there. Among the new wagons we had there wee two or three that had iron axletrees. These fit very closely into the hub of the wheel. We were careless in greasing them and they became dry, and before the first day was over the wheels locked tight and would not turn. After a little care and a little wear they were perfectly satisfactory. Mr. A.O. Smoot and Mrs. Parley P. Pratt were assigned to my wagon and they rode with me continuously until we reached Fort Laramie. We were late in the day leaving Missouri for the West and were soon obliged to pitch camp. Perhaps it was our anxiety, but our progress seemed too slow, but we discovered that it was much faster than that of the Army, for before noon July 4 we sighted them a short distance ahead. We were careful not to contact them in any way, not even their outposts. By nightfall we had laid our plans to pass around them, so under cover of darkness we made the detour and came back to the road in the lead. We traveled all night July 4 and all day the 5th until night fall, and as we were looking for a place to camp we unexpectedly happened onto the Box Party and we camped with them and enjoyed a much needed rest, and a supper prepared by them. Here also we did not stand guard over our stock, the first time since we left Salt Lake City, and this because the guard from the Box Party did it for us. I had formed acquaintance with a young lady in this party and we were very good friends, so much that when supper was served she invited me to eat with her and her people, so I did, and was treated with respect. Up until the time I left Salt Lake City for this trip I had never tasted tea or coffee; they were unknown in my father’s home. But on this I drank coffee with the rest of them, but sugar was scarce so I took mine almost without sugar. At this particular meal I was served coffee well sweetened, it was much too sweet, and although I used it for a number of years afterward, I never used sugar. We were up and gone early the next morning, and with an exception or two, I never saw the members of the Box party again. We traveled as fast as we could, consistently, spending just what time that was necessary at Fort Kearney, and in three days were on the South Platte River and forded over at once and then pitched camp. Here we found a Mr. Murdock headed east with the mail for June. In his party was a man named Porter Rockwell, he was a very sincere friend of the Prophet Joseph Smith and associated with him, and his activities in behalf of the Prophet made him a number one man as far as our enemies were concerned. Even at this late hour the people where we had been would like to get hold of him. Mr. Stoddard knew the conditions at Independence as to Mr. Rockwell and when he found out he was in the Murdock’s party, he tried to induce Rockwell to turn back with our company. Mr. Rockwell thought Mr. Stoddard was too talkative and treated lightly the warning of Mr. Stoddard. However, when Murdock broke camp next morning, Rockwell remained and returned to Utah with us. I recall one morning that Mr. Smoot was walking along by the wagon, when he picked up a pocket knife, and when he found I had no knife he gave it to me. We were making very good time, about the only time we had lost was waiting an hour for a herd of buffalo to cross the trail. We knew better than to force them, or try to scare them, so we waited. In a few days we were at Fort Laramie, but we could see that the progress we were making would not place the news in President Young’s hands by the 24th. We were positive we were the first ones to have any definite information of the movements of the Army, so we felt duty bound to get the word to Utah as soon as was physically possible. At Fort Laramie we decided to divide the party, giving the best of the equipment and animals to the leaders and send them on. The remainder of the party was to bring what was left and gather the stock at the various camps. The leading party consisted of Judson L. Stoddard, A.O. Smoot, Porter Rockwell and Mrs. Parley P. Pratt. George Dalton, about the best hand with a four-mule team I ever saw, was taken along as teamster. And the Mexican cook was also with them. They left us at Fort Laramie July 12 or 13. We had no occasion to hurry so we enjoyed the regular campers life, reaching Salt Lake City August 9 or 10. As soon as I was released from the service, I went at once to Farmington, where I spent the night with Mr. Stoddard, and he furnished me with a horse and a saddle to finish my trip to East Weber. It was understood among us that when this company was formed, that those who were called upon to carry the mail were to become shareholders in the company, in effect, depending upon the profits of the company for their remuneration. Well, when we returned to Salt Lake City, we found we had no company, and there were no profits, and I do not know what became of the livestock. I do know, however that I never received a cent in money, and all I did receive was a suit of clothes, a hat and a pair of shoes for my four months of service. These were paid for out of company funds by Mr. Stoddard while we were in Missouri. I was allowed but a few days at home, which I spent in helping to harvest the crops that were ready. President Young, on receiving the news of the advance of the Army commenced at once to make preparation to prevent the army from entering the valley. He called for volunteers, and nearly every man answered the call. I left home about August 20 with the men from East Weber, for Echo Canyon where the main body of the men was forming. The camp there was under the command of Colonel C.W. West of Ogden, and we received the usual army discipline and training. Our drill Sergeant was Dan Campbell, who was a very efficient man. He was a quick-witted Irishman, and considerate of his men. In the latter part of August I was allowed to return home on account of poor health. About two or three days after I left the camp for home, I received word of the accidental shooting of one of the volunteers from East Weber, named William Simmons. Most of the guns we had were muzzleloaders, and their destructive force was rather under estimated by the men, they entertained the idea that a rifle would not throw a ball over the cliff facing the camp in Echo Canyon. During the quiet of the afternoon Bill Simmons and Henry and Larry Robinson climbed the cliff. This was accomplished by starting some distance up the canyon and finally passing through a ravine to the rear, then to the top. From here they could see over the surrounding country, and they noticed a small group of the boys in camp cleaning their guns, and they called to them what they would give them a shot at if they wanted it. I do not recall the man’s name that did the shooting, but as soon as the gun was loaded, he fired at William Simmons, who gave the dare and was standing between the Robinson boys. The bullet landed in Simmons left temple, and he would have fallen over the face of the cliff, had it not been for his companions. Next day, Sunday, the body was wrapped in a wagon cover and taken to East Weber in a wagon. Here I saw the body the evening of the day it was brought home, a silent reminder of the uncertainties of life. We were on our way to the evening meeting when the body arrived. The first reaction of the people was that the army had arrived and there had been a battle, and excitement ran high until the facts were known. I was curious to see the body, so I went to the wagon where it was and uncovered it until I could see the head and shoulders, and I saw the wound on the left temple. Within the next 24 hours I wished I had mastered my curiosity. A few days before Mr. Simmons death, Colonel West, who was in charge of the camp, turned the command over to Colonel Jones of Salt Lake City, and he returned to Ogden. Bishop Osborn, of East Weber, had spent the Sunday that the body had arrived in Ogden, and had see Colonel West, and he asked the Bishop if he had someone that he could trust to take a message to Colonel Jones at Echo Canyon. The Bishop told him I was at home and would take the message. It had not been more than a few minutes since I saw Mr. Simmons’ body when the bishop asked me to take the message to Colonel Jones. I was furnished about the poorest horse and saddle any one ever rode. I did not go to Sacrament Meeting, but took my wife home and set out for Echo Canyon. There was no moon, the sky was clear and the stars glistened but with it all, it was dark and the walls of the canyon only served to intensify that darkness. I was instructed to go to the upper end of Weber Valley and there make application to Ben Simonds, an old Delaware Indian, who was very friendly, for a fresh horse. I was forced to cross the Weber River the second time before I reached the Weber Valley. My horse was terrible; I used about twenty kinds of persuasion on him and couldn’t impress him with the idea that I was trying to hurry. I coaxed a little, then a lot, then whipped a little and then a lot, but the difference in speed was negligible. I had him on a full gallop but once, soon after I crossed the river in the valley. I was just congratulating myself on my speed when the old critter centered a badger hole with his right front foot and threw me farther than I could see in the dark. I have no idea how long I laid there, but when I became conscious of myself, I was lost as to which way was which. I finally placed myself and was ready to go, but I had no horse. I located him nearby and he acted as if he was waiting for me for sometime. I regained the saddle and was on my way. Within the hour I was at Mr. Simonds’ home, and though I had to call them from their beds, they showed me every attention, and with the help of one of his men I was soon on my way. While they made ready the horse, the folks at the house fed me so I was in fact, ready to accept the chances of the night. From Ben’s place I went up through the Upper Weber Canyon. In all the experiences of my life I know there has never been any time so completely lonely as that night. If I had not seen Mr. Simmon’s body at East Weber, it might have been much the same as any other night. My new horse was not much improvement over the old, but I constantly tried for speed, but the time seemed to hold as if it hated to desert me. Of course I realized I was alone in the canyon, and the remembrance I had of Mr. Simmon’s body, and the loneliness of the night served to make me quite uneasy and nervous, and I expected the worst at every turn. I was well along with my trip through the upper Weber Canyon, having just passed the Devil’s Slide, when in the distance ahead of me I noticed a faint light. Here again my imagination and the conditions of my mind caused me to wonder what was to happen next. Naturally, the first thought was of a detachment of soldiers out to prevent just such communications as I was bearing. I advanced slowly and with caution. From what I could see there was a camp there of a few persons and off the road to the left. The light was dim but from what I could see the road was clear beyond the camp. When I rode as close as I thought proper, I urged my horse to the best speed possible, and rode straight through their camp. As I reached the opposite side I heard someone say that it was someone riding through camp but made no effort to stop me. I was surely relieved when I was well on my way and made all the speed I could consistent with my “power plant,” for he was to last me all the way. As I approached Colonel Jones’ tent I was met by a guard and after I explained my mission and that I was cautioned to deliver the message to no one but Colonel Jones personally, I was soon presented to the Colonel and delivered my message. The day before I left East Weber to make this trip, a request had reached Colonel Jones, from Lot Smith, for fifty men, and the men had all been selected from the volunteers, and this morning there was a great hurry to get the men on their way. I asked the orderly where the men from East Weber were located, and I went to them at once and found my brother David, Gordon and Henry Beckstead, Joe Wadsworth, and Jim Laird and others from our community making ready to go to help Lot Smith, and when I found Colonel Jones had no further use for me I went with them. I do not recall that anyone in particular had charge of this detachment. We traveled in a body as fast as consistent and that night we joined Lot Smith on Ham’s Fork. One reason that Lot wanted more men was to care for the cattle he had stampeded belonging to the soldiers, to round them up and take them to Salt Lake City. The men assigned to care for the cattle were up and gone early the next morning. Our camp on Ham’s Fork was made on the trail of the Army and just below where they were camped. Orders to Lot Smith were to do nothing but impede the progress of the army, and his activities up to this time had done very much to take the joy out of their undertakings. Our purpose now was to follow the army and stampede their remaining animals at the first opportunity. We were close enough now to keep a good check on their movements. We always kept a vanguard in the field and from the surrounding cliffs and points or vantage we had men with field glasses to study their operations. During the day we could keep track of them by a column of dust, from their horses and wagons. As they moved up the canyon we followed. Provisions were never too plentiful, barley supporting us in our work. With our minds continually trained on the activities of the army, and our duties and desires in connection with them, we really craved a little excitement. So on the evening of the third day out we ventured a little closer to their camp. We knew we were too close to them, but did not have their exact location. In a certain place in the canyon near them, the road detoured from the stream and up a small hill. As we very carefully rounded the point of the hill we were surprised to find their camp at the foot of the hill below us, and we had encountered their guard, but instead of using their firearms, we could hear them running down the hill and through the loose rock. From the light of their fires we could see the camp before the alarm was sounded. We discovered that they made use of a night guard and kept their stock in their camp during the night. We had found no opportunity to get at the cattle so we followed our trail back to our camp of the night before, about a mile below. In our council around the fire we decided that no movement should be undertaken next day until a reconnoitering party could be sent out to find in which direction they were ranging their stock. We were all lined up next morning while all in camp, and Mr. Smith talked to us. He said if there was a man in the company that had a dread of being in a tight place, or was afraid of a bullet, and perhaps death, he wanted him to drop out of the line then and there; he wanted no man to go home and report that he had arbitrarily sent them into danger. He said he wanted six men to remain in camp with the pack outfit, and be prepared at a moments notice to act under orders. And he called for volunteers. Not a movement was made so all Smith could do was to appoint his men. I was assigned to the reconnoitering party and we prepared to leave at once. We did not follow the road, but climbed to the highlands. When we reached the locality where we were the night before, we went down the hill toward the creek and into the road. Just then one of our party called our attention to the braying of a mule. The soldiers were going down the stream, but we found ourselves between them and their camp. We found the mules were on top of the hill, and not with the men we had located on the stream. So we made a dash for the top of the hill to do our stuff. When we reached the top we found the mules all right but a man at the side of every mule and ready to battle. We were sure short sighted when we did not find out the number of men with the mules before we charged them. There was 96 of them, and everyone had a gun and standing on the opposite side of the mule from us. Captain Marcey of the Army held a short conversation with Lot Smith, and when Smith returned to us we were all puzzled to know just what to do, but it was evident that we must do something and do it suddenly. So we made a good job of going down the hill to the camp of the night before. I am telling you we lost no time getting on the trail of the mules again. We now went up the mountain on the opposite side of the canyon. Perhaps if you could see the mountain you would say a man and a horse could not go up that way, but I know there were fifty-two of us who went up there, and made a nice quick trip of it too. When we reached the top we landed on a level plateau, and we went straight across it for about a mile when we reached the brink on the other side we went right down into the canyon. When we were about 300 yards down the slope, we heard a few sharp rifle reports. We were very much surprised indeed, and turning around we found the soldiers with their mules had overtaken us and were amusing themselves shooting at us. They left the ridge on the north side of the canyon the same time we did, while we were going down to our camp and up the hill, they went down to the stream and crossing it crept to a ravine and flanked us all the way. They reached the top just as we started down on the other side, and rushing across they took us completely by surprise. When we ere nearly across the plateau Lot Smith told us to uncap our guns for he thought we had seen the last of the soldiers for that day, so there was nothing left to do but hurry. As far as I am concerned the number of shots fired at us was not definite, but in my opinion there must have been sixty shots fired, and all of them fired by the soldiers. During the shooting and we were all doing what we could to increase the distance between us and the soldiers, the horse Jim Laird was riding centered a badger hole and spilled Jim and dazed him somewhat, but in a few moments he was coming at full speed. When this happened the soldiers shouted as if they were pleased. We later found it was because they thought they had shot Lot Smith. The horse he rode was quite like the one Jim was riding at the time and they were satisfied that they had shot him. As a matter of fact there was not a shot fired by the soldiers that took effect in man or beast. Mark Hall carried the only reminder, that of a bullet hole through the crown of his hat. He remembered when it happened, but thought at the time it was a twig from a tree. As soon as this affair was over, that very day we started for Fort Bridger. Our provisions were low and we were suffering from the cold. We did not have one tent in the company and David and Joe Wadsworth and I bunked together, and we had only three small quilts. In fact when we started for Fort Bridger, we were without provisions, and nearly all we had on the previous day was beef. On the first day toward Bridger we were overtaken by six inches of snow and very cold weather. And that same storm also turned the soldiers back. They did not go any farther up Ham’s Fork, but in a week or ten days came to Fort Bridger for the winter. Through all my experiences of the last few months, I had been without a coat on my back, and when I reached Fort Bridger I was exhausted, and very badly chilled. As soon as we reached there I took shelter in the blacksmith shop, and as I warmed a little I could see things, as I know they should not be. I was so hungry and weak I couldn’t stand, and so cold I was numb. When I warmed up good I became unconscious. I fell in a heap and was removed to a manger in a nearby barn, where I was revived through the kindness of some friends. My brother David had left the Fort with a party about the time we arrived, for Fort Supply, twelve miles south of Fort Bridger. The next day the remainder of our company went down there, I rode my horse. When we reached Fort Supply I was surely sick, and Lot Smith found a bed for me in one of the houses. There was quite a number of the boys sick and the room was pretty well taken when we arrived. I stayed here for two or three days and recuperated sufficiently to join the company that Lot Smith had decided to send home on account of ill health, about 75 men as I remember it. A man by the name of Milo Andrus was in charge of the company. About two thirds of the men had horses and the balance was on foot. It was necessary to carry what provisions we had on the horses and on this account most of the men were obliged to walk. We progressed very well up to where the road crossed the Weber River to climb Big Mountain. It was the intention of Mr. Andrus to maintain as strictly as possible a Military Camp. Where guard duty was required it worked a hardship on the men able to do it and on the men unable to work. We were now 75 or 80 miles from the soldiers, and guard duty was not necessary at all, but we were forced to do guard duty anyway, taking the same precautions as if we were liable to be attacked at any moment. We proceeded as best we could, a weary and tired outfit. In a few days we reached the forks of the road, one leading over Big Mountain to Salt Lake City and the other down the Weber River to Ogden. Here we were confronted with a geographical situation, it was about 35 miles over the mountain to Salt Lake City and about the same distance to Ogden and its vicinity, and if the men going to Ogden went down the Weber they would reach home about the same time as the Salt Lake men going over the mountain. Under ordinary circumstances this was the thing to do, and it appeared even more important to us to do it on account of the weather conditions and our health as a company, but Mr. Andrus insisted that the company must proceed as a company to Salt Lake City and be disbanded there. He went so far as the threaten court martial for those who did not respect his command. We thought we had been imposed on anyway, so the men from East Weber and the vicinity of Ogden counseled and decided to go down the Weber and home, and we did and there was no further ado, after the man who took charge of us told Mr. Andrus that if he wished to enforce his court martial we could be found at our home. We camped at the forks of the road that night and the next morning one company went over the mountain and the other down the Weber. The great home coming event and the event of the trip was the supper we received when we reached Mountain Green. It consisted of bread, butter, milk, and was a feast indeed when we thought of the meals we had been receiving in camp. This banquet was the outcome of the generosity of Mr. George Higby, a brother-in-law to my brother David. He was at Mountain Green feeding his stock some wild hay he had cured there. We camped here over night and reached home the next day after a months absence. The crops were practically harvested and about all we had to do was to gather our winter wood. I helped some, but my health was impaired, so I stayed close to home. Home life at this time was quite uneventful for us. About the only entertainment we had was a dance occasionally, and the part I enjoyed most was that I earned a few cents. I was waiting and planning to enter school when the term opened well along in the winter. I was taught by William Winward. He had written my copy for penmanship practice in my copybook and in some manner he made the use of the name Jacob, but had commenced the name without a capital letter. I called this to his attention and he endeavored to maintain his action and referred to me as a smart Aleck, and said that I had better take the school. He finished the day but did not come again. That night he reported to Bishop Osborn that he was through. The same evening Bishop Osborn came to see me about taking the school, and the next time I went to school I was no longer the pupil, but the teacher, having scaled the heights in one evening. Needless to say, I encountered many obstacles. We had a swell neighbor, a refined and educated gentleman in the person of John Parson, and he owned an excellent library and was a great help to me in disposing of my difficulties as they presented themselves. The school term ended March 1, 1858. I got along very nicely, with varying degrees of success, of course. The year 1855 was one of friendly relations with the Indians, and all around prosperity for the Saints. President Young seized the opportunity to forward the plans of the Church in colonizing the surrounding country. He called for the forming of a company to go to the Salmon River Country to establish a settlement there. This company consisted of 25 or 30 families. They located under favorable circumstances. Everybody was friendly, even the Indians, and the Saints prospered. I believe the Salmon River Indians were of the Bannocks, and up until this time had proved themselves worthy of our friendship. But things must change as all things human change and we introduce, at this time an old mountaineer, named Powell. For reason fancied or other wise he had formed a dislike for the Saints and used his influence to arouse the Indians against us. He engendered distrust by telling them we were there to take their land, kill their game and destroy their forests. He succeeded in arousing the Indians, especially the young warriors, and they attacked the people and drive their stock away. At the time of the first attack the stock was grazing near the Fort and they were surrounded and started away before the Saints noticed them. They rushed out at once to try to save them, but as they approached, the Indians fired on them and killed two men, a Mr. McBride and Mr. Miller. Three others were wounded, I do not recall the names of two of them, but a third was Thomas S. Smith, he was shot through the wrist, but not an Indian was injured in the whole affair. The Fort was located on the Lemhi Road, and was known as Fort Lemhi. News of this unfortunate affair was carried to President young by a young Indian Brave named Arimo, in company with a settler or two from the Fort. This action prompted President Young to call for volunteers to go to the rescue of the saints. The number called was available at once. We were to have 15 baggage wagons, and plenty of provisions. We were equipped with the best we had and we were to travel as cavalry. There was a driver with every wagon and 150 cavalrymen. Including the officers, the company consisted of about 175 men. Colonel Cunningham of Salt Lake City was the officer in charge, and was assisted by Captains Layton and Belnap. Most of the men were from the vicinities of Daysville, Ogden, and Farmington. We commenced the trip about the middle of March. We went up through Brigham City and crossed over Bear River at Hamton’s Bridge. North through Malad Valley, over the divide Onto Marsh Creek, and followed that stream down to the Portneuf, and the Portneuf down nearly to the Snake River, over the ground where Pocatello now stands. There was nothing there then to indicate that such a place would ever exist. I am not positive, but I believe we were the first white men to ever take a wagon down the Portneuf River Canyon. There was simply no indication that a wagon had ever been there before. The trail was beset with difficulties and dangerous places. In one place it was necessary to lower the wagons over a small precipice. We decided on a place, removed the lead team, tied a rope to the axle of the wagon, the men holding the rope lowered the wagons, one after another, down the grade. This rope idea was more effective than a brake system under the conditions. But an absolute necessity at this time for the breaking system on our wagons of today was not a part of the equipment at this time. We crossed the Snake River on the ice a short distance above the mouth of the Portneuf, and continued about straight north. We passed the Big Buttes, west of what is now Blackfoot, continued north and reached Birch Creek, up this stream to the divide between the Snake and Salmon Rivers. We crossed the divide and when the sun was about down we located camp on a small stream tributary to Salmon River. All of our officers were leading us down the stream when, without warning they came upon a camp of Indians. Without investigating they returned to us and told us to climb a small hill near us and on the top of it to arrange to defend ourselves, for we were in the midst of our enemies. We formed a corral, put our stock in it, and in a short time we were ready to do our bit. We had no supper that night and no breakfast the next morning for we were afraid to start a fire. It was a very cold bleak night and I am sure no one slept. The wind blew quite hard and we suffered without fires. Not only the cold and discomfort, but we would not be surprised to hear the “war whoop” of the Indians at any moment. But daybreak then the “scarlet shafts of sunrise” and still we were unmolested. A little later we discovered that the “wigwams” belonged to three old bucks and their squaws, the laugh was on the officers. We pulled camp, got back onto the road and went to Fort Lemhi, on the Lemhi River. We entered the Fort and slept inside, locked in, man and beast alike. The people were pleased, beyond words, to see us. There had been many anxious hours in the lines, and this bunch of men offered them a feeling of security they had not enjoyed for some time. While I was at the Fort I was entertained by an old friend of mine, William Smith, a brother of Lot Smith. The people in the Fort were very kind to us and did all they could for our comfort. Each family cared for as many as they could and the remainder did their own cooking I the Fort. We appeared more like a company of cavalry on this trip, and we were much better armed and supplied than on any expedition I had ever been on. We stacked arms and made a very good job of it, and our camp in the Fort looked like a pretty well trained company. At the council, next morning, it was decided to locate the Indians and hold a conference with them. They were generally known to be about ten miles below us on the Lemhi River. There was, at this time, in the Fort, two Indians who were very friendly, and they were detailed to carry the message to the camp below. They did their part and returned as was expected with them, in due time. About the middle of the afternoon of this day, a company of ten Indians entered the clearing outside of the Fort to the East. The Fort was built on the north, east and south, by logs set on end in the ground, and was about eight feet high. The wall on the west was made there to keep the stock within the Fort. The entrance was on the east side near the southeast corner. The Indians came across the clearing up to the fence or gates as fast as their horses would carry them and shouting as loudly as they could. The Fort gate was open and they came rushing into the inside, but there was a difference in their behavior when they saw the increased number of men and our display of guns. Then adding to their predicament, when they turned toward the gate it was closed. It was the intentions of the officers to hold the Indians until the next day after the conference as a matter of precaution. Our interpreter had some difficulty to get them to see that we meant them no harm. They were very shy and nervous. We divided our blankets with them to make beds for the night and fed them food like our own. With our beds all made and the men at leisure, some lying on the beds and others engaged in conversation, our colored friends seem quite at ease. But when the bugler sounded his first not of “Taps” they all jumped to their feet and were frightened, but at a total loss as to what to do to deliver themselves. From what we noticed during the night, we were sure they did not sleep at all, and when reveille was sounded next morning, it only served to increase their anxiety. One nimble youth decided the time was ripe to deliver himself, at least, and he made a rush for the North wall and succeeding in getting a hold on top of the post, and pulling himself on top, jumped to the ground outside and disappeared across the clearing in record time. I think there was not a white man in the crowd that could have kept pace with him as he cut across the country, his blankets flying in the breeze. The others made no effort to escape but were ill at ease. I think it was about one o’clock p. m. that the company, with the officers and the Indians, started for the camp down on the Lemhi. The messengers that carried the message to the Indians were asked not to make known the presence of the extra men, and they did not know until they reached the Fort that we were there. Had it not been for the escape of the one Indian, we could have taken the camp on the Lemhi by complete surprise. But as it was, they were ready for us. But to our job, they were entirely friendly, and after a conference between our interpreters, the Indian Chief and his counselors, we found that the trouble had all been caused by those young braves, out of his control, and under the influence of the old mountaineer Powell. The Chief was very sorry over the affair, and when he was told we had come to take the settlers away with us, he tried in every way to get them to stay. On our way to and from the Indian camp we saw very plainly what had happened to the best of the stock they had stole. We recovered a few of the poorer horses, and some of the cattle, the better ones had been driven away into the mountains by the braves who had stolen them. We returned to camp that day and commenced preparations to start for home. The settlers had considerable repairing to do on their wagons and harness, and their belongings to care for. They had quite a supply of wheat on had and it was decided to take it along, though it was very smutty and had to be washed before we could use it. The Squad of ten, to which I was assigned, was detailed to wash wheat, after which it was ground into mill shorts, bran, and everything together, and was for bread as we traveled. It had long been known by the white people that an Indian had a mortal dread of a cannon. They were quite superstitious and the fear of a cannon headed the list. It was likely with this in mind that Mr. Collett, the company blacksmith decided to build a cannon, and he actually thought he could build one that would be serviceable. He applied himself to the task and the finished product was a very neat piece of work. It was about a two-inch bore and was made from the old wagon tires and scrap iron. The barrel was about three feet long. It was a solid cylinder on the side of which was a chamber arranged with a percussion lock for the firing of the gun. It was freely believed that it was this gun that discouraged the Indians from coming to the Fort after the trouble started. We had never shot it, and as we could not take it with us we decided to see whether it would shoot or not. As a company we were advised to conserve our supply of ammunition, especially powder, but after all we were permitted to give enough powder among us, for one round. Before the gun was loaded, each of us was permitted to **** and pull the trigger, so we could say we had “cocked a cannon.” The gun was then loaded and at the command of Colonel Cunningham, it was taken outside the Fort, placed against the wall and trained on a nearby hill. A string was tied to the trigger and brought through a crack in the wall. Finally everything was ready and the string was pulled. The firing mechanism worked perfectly, but the charge of powder was too powerful for the strength of the chamber. A modest estimate of the number of pieces into which the gun was blown would be in excess of forty-nine thousand. It was fortunate indeed that we had taken the precaution to place the gun outside the Fort, otherwise someone would have been killed. The gun had been loaded with scrap iron and from what we could find out, the most of it was imbedded in the hillside. We were about ten or twelve days at the Fort before we were prepared to start home. When the start was made a detachment of ten men was organized to go before us and reach Salt Lake City as soon as possible and let Pres. Young know of our coming. As a matter of fact they left one day ahead of the main body. They did not take a wagon with them, their bedding and supplies being carried on four or five pack animals. I can now recall the names of five of the men in this advance guard. They were, Bailey Lake, George Barber, John Blanchard, George Ill and Balda Watts. The others I do not remember. Their instructions were that if they encountered any Indians to not molest them. We did not see them again until we reached home, and then but nine of them, for misfortune overtook the one at Bannock Creek. We followed about the same route back as the one we came north on, until we reached Snake River. I am not positive as to where we crossed the river, but it was below where Blackfoot now stands. This crossing was made on the ice also. Colonel Cunningham had, previously to this, been up in the neighborhood of Blackfoot and left a cache of flour. As soon as we crossed the Snake, a party of several men, a four-horse team and a wagon was sent for the flour. The main Company traveled on, and this group overtook us before we reached the Portneuf River and were perhaps four or five miles up Bannock Creek, when we met our advance guard coming back to us, quite excited, and in a hurry. They reported they had found the body of a white man a short distance up the creek. It was evident that it was the work of Indians. We corralled our wagons at once and formed camp. As soon as the safety of the women and children was insured, we went up the creek to investigate. At first we were afraid the entire vanguard had been killed. An old packsaddle here and there, and a saddle blanket, and if I remember correctly one gun. Evidently the Indians had shot from ambush. The body we had found was that of Bailey Lake, and he had been shot while crossing the creek. He was quite a large man, and had ridden his horse clear of the water before falling off. The boys were taken by surprise, but had the presence of mind to retire to a wash through which the stream passed and conceal themselves until they could locate the Indians. A few shots were fired by our men, but as far as we could tell none of them took effect. The Indians had stripped Mr. Lake’s body of all clothing, and removed his scalp, then turning him face downward had shot three arrows into his back. A scouting committee was sent out at once by our train, and after a careful search of the country surrounding us, they returned and reported no Indians were in the locality and the remaining nine of our Vanguard were alive and gone on their way. Now we had to care for Mr. Lake’s body. None of us wanted to have it buried here. It was finally decided to distribute the blacksmith tools among the other wagons and take his body in it. We filled the wagon box with snow and packed it as best we could by tromping it down with our feet. Then a place for the body was cut in it, and the snow repacked around it. This was successful, for when we reached home the body was in a state of excellent preservation. This was the first and only time I ever saw a person scalped, by an Indian or anyone else, and to me it is a very cold-blooded thing to do, and someone else can see the rest of it. The following day we went on up Bannock Mountains and into Malad Valley. Here we found out that the nine men of our advance guard were O.K. and ahead of us. We reached Bear River, and crossed on Hamton’s Bridge, with no other than the usual routine. As we re-entered the Territory of Utah, the first homes we encountered in Box Elder, was deserted but for a detail of men whose duty it was to care for things until the return of the Saints, or the destruction of the property, in case they were not permitted to return. Every place had been “strawed” so fire could be started at once. The people, before leaving had made caches of all food they could not take with them. The same conditions existed in Willard and Ogden. When we reached Ogden we disbanded and I left at once for East Weber, where I found that all my folks, except my wife, had joined the exodus. I spent a few days at home, and meanwhile the team and wagon David had sent back for my wife, myself and his Mother-in-law Mrs. Penrod, and we at once loaded our belongings and started to join the rest of our people. We overtook them about thirty-five miles South of Salt Lake City. It was while I was in Salt Lake City this time that I attended the meeting of the Army Officers and the Church Officials. Before this time we had discovered why the settlements had been deserted and preparations made to destroy everything and anything of value. It had been the mind of President Young and his council, that the Army would force its way into the valley from Fort Bridger as soon as conditions were favorable in the spring. Anticipating this possibility the President ordered a general exodus of the people to the South. And the invaders were to find the country as barren and useless as it was when the Saints first settled there. Just as these arrangements were completed, a certain one Thomas L. Caine, had obtained permission from the President of the United States to come to Utah to investigate conditions and straighten things out, peaceably if possible. President Young had ordered the move, but Mr. Caine wanted the people held until a better understanding could be had between the parties concerned. This, President Young would not consent to, so Mr. Caine asked for an escort to go to Fort Bridger and bring the officers of the army to Salt Lake City for a conference. Lot Smith and about fifteen other men formed the company and in the next few days they returned with the officers of the army, and I think Major Alexander was in charge, and Mr. Cummings, the new Governor of the territory, was with him. On their arrival a meeting was held in the little old tabernacle, in the South West corner of the Temple Block. It was an open meeting and the house was filled to overflowing. I attended this meeting. In defense of the actions of President Brigham Young in the recent exodus, a review of the treatment the Church had received from its organization at the hands, or with the pleasure of the Government, was presented. It was explained that we were now acting in defiance of the United States Government, but it was thought that the Army sent out here was not a very friendly looking peace body, and it had been definitely decided that if we could not prevent the Army from entering Utah, we would destroy all our improvements, burn homes and barns, and leave the valley as near as barren waste as it was when we settled there. At this meeting it was decided that the army could come into the valley, and that the suggestions of President Young should be followed explicitly. Under no conditions were they to stop in Salt Lake City, but were to cross the Jordan River, go up the river on the West side, through the narrows, which were about 18 miles south of the City, then round the south side of Utah Lake, and there on a small spring they were to make their camp, and it was to be known as Camp Floyd. The exodus of the Saints was not halted until every condition of the agreement had been fulfilled. As soon as the army was encamped at Camp Floyd, word was dispatched to the Saints that they could return to their homes. This word reached us while we were camped on the Provo River, about 35 miles south of Salt Lake City. We camped here because, if we were permitted to return to our homes, we were far enough away, and not we had a good start. This word reached us about the 15th of July, and there was much rejoicing among us. When we reached our homes in East Weber we found our property in excellent shape. David and John had been left at home as members of the “burning detail” and they had cared for things very well. By the time of the affairs of the place and home had been put in shape, the volunteer grain was ready for harvest and we were blessed when we received one-hundred seventy-five bushel of excellent wheat. With harvest over and preparations made for winter there was not much for me to do. Ever since I had been married I had been almost constantly in some public service, for which I had not received one “red cent” of money, as a result I had no money and had accumulated very little or no property. My wife and myself had no clothing but what we wore every day. I did not have a second shirt to my back. Something had to be done but our problem was, what should be done. There was no work, the only hope seemed to be to get someone to create a job for my special benefit. I decided to go see Mr. Judson L. Stoddard, he sometimes hired some help, and try to get a few days work. He told me he could hire all the men he could that would work for their board. These men were mostly camp “followers” who had come to Utah with the army, and you can imagine their circumstances. Mr. Stoddard was sick in bed, and about all the work he had, undone was getting wood from the mountains for his winter use. He finally told me that if I wanted to get out his winter wood he would pay me $1.00 a day. So, as soon as I could go home and give my folks the line up I would be ready. When I told them the work I had to do and the hours I must work they were surely opposed to any such deal. Bit I was desperate, I needed the money and a dollar a day, if I did have to work 24 hours to get it, was much better than any prospect I had at home. I had often played for a dance for which I was to get a bushel of wheat, or potatoes, or something of that kind, but very little of it did I ever receive. I did not insist on being paid at the time, so the promises were never kept. While brown sugar was $100 a pound, and flour at Camp Floyd was $25.00 per sack, and other groceries in proportion, and the cheapest cloth $.60 a yard and upward, yet I was pleased to go to work for a $1.00 a day, hoping to provide myself and wife with at least clothing, for it was still the practice in our home to make our own clothing, and with Mother’s help it was a chance to help Jane, my wife, to a start. I returned to Mr. Stoddard’s the following Monday morning and started work. This was about the 1st of October. The ranch was about one mile from the foot of the mountain. I was provided with a card. This card was simply the front gear of a large wagon. I was given two yoke of oxen. I got up at 4 o’clock each morning and ate a cold breakfast placed on the table the night before. Then I was off to the mountains. I climbed quite high on the mountain just back of the present location of Centerville. There was an abundance of dry wood there and I would get the wood out, load the large ends on the card and let the small ends drag on the ground. At the foot of the hill I would unload and go on to Mr. Stoddard’s house reaching there about 9 o’clock at night. With the exceptions of Sundays I worked twenty-six days and received $26.00 in gold and silver. I left for home at once and in a few days my wife and I went to Salt Lake City and purchased some of the things we needed most, and returned with a few dollars. It was about this time that my wife and I decided to move out of the house of my father and live by ourselves. I remember that Mother gave us one plate, one fork and one spoon. Mrs. Robinson, with whom Jane used to live, gave us a duplicate of this, and we commenced life alone in this manner. Our cooking was done on an open fireplace. We had a very good straw bed, except for a tick and bedstead. I made a bedstead by using the walls and a leg at the outer corner. We had no bedsprings, the bottom of the bed was boards, and the straw was placed on them. We had no table so we ate our meals from a box in which we kept our clothing. Soon after my return from Mr. Stoddard’s I was offered the job of teaching the school at Mountain Green, which I accepted. I had about 20 pupils, and spent a very pleasant winter. The proposition they offered me was not so good but the best in sight. It was what they called a “subscription school,” that is the parents of the pupils were to give me so much, some provisions, some money, while others gave what they could best afford. I got along fine with the school, and I had moved Jane up there with me and we lived in a house near the school. School ended about the middle of February and we moved back to East Weber. Here, on March 1, 1859 our home was blessed by the arrival of a baby girl, and we named her Betsy. She was all a child could be to anyone, but she was taken from us by death March 19, 1859. These were indeed sad dark hours for us, in which we were deprived of our first-born. Levi Hammon made us a coffin, and Mother washed and dressed the child and placed it in the casket. No services were held, and the body was taken directly to the cemetery. Ira N. Spaulding, John M. Bybee, David B. Bybee and myself acted as the pallbearers, and Ira Spaulding dedicated the grave, unto the Lord. We placed the earth over the coffin carefully and returned home. The following summer I worked for Father on the farm in East Weber. We were all blessed with health this year and with an abundant crop. The summer and autumn went very rapidly and ere we realized it, winter was upon us again. We had many pleasant hours in our association together, but life was quite uneventful. Even the winter of 1859-1860 passed quietly and quickly, but with a prayer for Thanksgiving for the many blessings we enjoyed together. As spring gradually tapered into the early summer, we found ourselves with Father on the farm. Again this year we harvested splendid crops, and when the winter of 1860 arrived we were well prepared to receive it. On the 14, of September 1860, our second child was born and was christened Robert Lee. He was given my name. The mother and child did very nicely, and the father was well pleased. As soon as the harvest was taken care of we were off to the mountains for our winter wood. The wood that was best and easiest to get had been made use of, so we joined with Bishop Osborn and went up on Strawberry Creek in the lower end of Weber Valley. There the wood was of good quality and near the base of the hills. It was necessary to spend one night in making the trip. Our first trip, as we were returning with our loads, about where the road reaches the level land above East Weber, we were surprised to hear the Indians in the foot hills below us, firing their guns and shouting. They came directly to us and stopped us. Bishop Osborn was in the lead, and the leader of the Indians was called “Little Soldier.” He had thirteen in his band, and they were all under the influence of liquor, almost drunk. Little Soldier was not drinking. They were very hard to satisfy, and when they came to deal with Bishop Osborn they were almost cruel. Little Soldier said he did not keep his promise to them. And at one time we were all told to go, but Osborn must stay. I am sure that all that saved our lives at this time was the love they had for my Father. Father was always a friend to the Indians, and when he made them a promise he kept it faithfully, and was honest with them. Little Soldier always called father “Toas Pompa,” which to them meant White Hair. He knew all of our family as well as nearly all of the settlers of East Weber, and on this occasion he came to me and put his arm around me, and proceeded to tell the rest what a good man “Toas Pompa” was, and what good boys he had, that when he promised an Indian a shirt, he got a shirt. Then he said when Osborn promise a shirt, we no get em. We were all greatly relieved when they went on their way, but we were mindful, lest they change their minds and return to finish their job. On subsequent trips we were unmolested by them. They obtained their liquor from a man by the name of Park, who operated a “still.” Between East Weber and Salt Lake City there were two roads that were used most of the time. One was down through the open valley and was known as the Sand Ridge Road, and the other followed the foot of the mountain and was known as the Mountain Road. About two miles out on the Mountain Road a man by the name of Park lived and this was the man who made the “mule” and sold it to the Indians. A few days after we finished hauling our winter wood, Father’s horses disappeared, and search as we would we could not find them. About two weeks after they disappeared, Little Soldier came to our home on one of his friendly calls, and Father told him about the horses. He promised to help Father find them, and sent two of his men to look for them. It was not long before they located two Indians and they had Father’s horses. They were taken to Little Soldier and he brought them and the two Indians to our home. After asking whether they belonged to Father or not, and found out they did, they were delivered to us and Little Soldier took his quirt and soundly whipped the offenders. Father interfered, but to no avail. He wanted us to see their punishment and when he had finished he simply said “Bad Injuns.” I did not teach school this winter and except for a few dances I played to, the fall and winter was uneventful. The spring of 1861 was now with us. Father rented the farm by brother John which meant I was to look for something to do. There was nothing in East Weber by way of work. I had heard that Mr. Stoddard expected to do some extra work, so I went to see him. I found he intended to go to Carson City, Nevada with six wagons loaded with salt. He told me I could drive a team for him, in fact he had calculated to get me to go. This was April 15, 1861, and as there was work to do to prepare the equipment, I went to work at once. Each wagon was fitted with eight boxes, so arranged so as to use all the room in the wagon box. These were filled with salt. Mr. Stoddard was interested in the merchandise business at Farmington, and had accumulated 2,800 dozen of eggs, and proposed to take them to Carson City. In order to carry them, they were distributed in the salt in all six wagons. The possibility of the salt hardening in transit had not been discussed. As a matter of being prepared, Mr. Stoddard wanted to take some extra ox bows, and as there was plenty of oak, suitable for them at East Weber, he sent us there to make them. He also told me to look out for some butter, and to get all I could find. I told him about Mother’s ability as a butter maker, and I was to get all she could prepare, and he would allow her trade in the store. The butter was put in a tub, and there was 50 pounds of it. I returned to Farmington April 28, with 15 ox-bows and set about at once to complete arrangements for the start. We left Mr. Stoddard’s home May 1st, 1861 and five of the wagons traveled the Sand Ridge Road, while I went to East Weber along the Mountain Road. This arrangement was made to make it possible for me to get my bedding, the butter and the ox-bows. I joined the other wagons at Ogden. From Ogden on went North to Brigham City and crossed Bear River straight west of there. Our first camp was made a few miles north of Ogden. The second camp soon after we crossed Bear River. Our company consisted of 7 men. Herton Haight was our wagon boss and had charge of the company. I recall only three of the drivers, myself, Ed Pierce and a Mr. Cleveland. A man named William Carbine was a member of the party, but had his own cargo and outfit. We camped three or four days on Bear River because we heard the Indians were very bad on the Old Migration Trail. We were also told there were quite a number of people leaving Utah for California within the next few days, so we waited and joined them. We now had 36 wagons in our party and over 40 men. Nearly every wagon out side of our six had a family in it. The Company, as a whole, was very well armed with guns and ammunition. One day as we were preparing to pull Camp, and before we were joined by the other company, Mr. Haight was approached by an Indian and after an exchange of a “little white” it was found out he wanted to travel with us, and Mr. Haight let him go. The new party objected, strongly, but Mr. Haight let him go anyway. He proved to be a very good hand to have along. He took his turn standing guard, carried wood and water, and never evaded an opportunity to be of service. We were making good time and all was well, Mr. Haight had refused to act as Captain of the combined companies, so it fell to a man by the name of Mallory, of the second company. Mr. Mallory was a horseman of some repute. He proved to be a very good captain, and in most matters a fair-minded man. But in the affairs of the heart, like many of us, he was not so just. He had married a second wife, and they were the parents of a very clever little boy. When he decided to leave Utah she would not go with him, and he would not leave the child. I always thought he did wrong to ignore the pleadings of the Mother for her child. Going westward we saw many interesting, natural formations. The first of interest was the City of Rocks. From a distance they appeared like a city of large and small buildings. The next of particular interest was the Valley of a Thousand Springs, a very pretty sight. We always had good water for camp use. The first water of importance that we reached was Raft River, Goose Creek in the order named. From here we traveled somewhat South of West until we reached the Humbolt River. We were obliged to cross the river here but the banks were too high and the water too deep, even in the time of a normal flow it would have been too deep, but now with the extra flow of high water it seemed almost useless to try to ford. Immediately below us the river entered a box canyon, while not extraordinary, yet the banks were such that a fording was impossible, above us the mountains reached the bank of the stream. But near where we first reached the river the water passed over a low ledge of rocks in the channel and just below the water was almost motionless, and from 10 to 30 feet deep, and the banks not high. We had in mind to build some kind of a bridge, but we had no practical way of doing so. We could see pine timber to the East of us, which we estimated to be about 10 miles away. When we met or saw Indians along our way it was usually considered that they were friendly. We had seen none on our travels thus far, so we thought it unwise to leave our wagons, or a part of them while we went 10 miles for timber, so we tried our resourcefulness in another way. The opposite bank was well above the water, but lower than the bank on our side, so we dug holes in the banks on either side and in these we placed our ox-yokes and secured them. Then we took our log chains and fastened them from yoke to yoke across the stream in four lines. Willows were plentiful so we cut them and bound them in bundles, using all the spare rope we had, then we placed them on the chains across the stream and bound them as close together as we could. With the weight of the willows, the chains were two feet above the water at the lowest point, so we swam some of our oxen across and rolled one of our harvest wagons to the bank and headed for the “bridge.” We then passed a chain across and fastened it to the wagon and a yoke of oxen pulled it to the opposite bank. We followed this procedure and took all 36 of our wagons across without mishap. The chains never did reach the water, and the families in the wagons were permitted to ride across. We dismantled our bridge, took our chains and yokes and traveled down the Humbolt River on its banks, and at times in the bed of the stream. After several days travel we reached the Sinks of the Humbolt. Here the river spread over quite a little territory and formed what was sometimes called Humbolt Lake, and to this there is no visible outlet, hence, the Sinks of the Humbolt. From here it was necessary to cross the desert to the Carson River a distance of about 10 miles. The sand was quite course and the resistance great. So we spent a day at the Sinks resting our animals for the task. The heat of the day and the heat stored in the sand made it necessary for us to plan to conserve the strength of our stock. So we decided to start late in the afternoon and travel during the night. This we did and reached the Carson River at the break of dawn the following day. About two days travel East of the Sinks of the Humbolt we encountered the first Indian in our travels thus far. He rode into our camp early one morning carrying quite a supply of buckskin. He wanted to trade it for powder and bullets. We were just breaking camp, and as soon as Mallory heard what he wanted he made himself clear in a few words, to the effect that if any man in camp traded him powder and bullets he hoped that man was the first man the Indian killed. Needless to say the Indian was soon on his way. When we first reached the Carson River the first town we saw was Ragtown, one blacksmith shop, one cabin and a small haystack. Here we rested our stock for a day. When we reached Ragtown the Indian that joined us on Bear River near Brigham City, disappeared. He did not make known his intentions to anyone. This seemed to be where he was headed, or that we were as close to his place as we were likely to get, so he just left us. On our way up the Carson River we could see Virginia City at the foot of the mountains to our right. When we reached Carson City Mr. Haight located a Mr. Grant, a man he knew in Utah. Mr. Grant was interested in mining, and we sold our entire cargo to him except our eggs. We ranged our stock about two miles North of the city in Washoe Valley; the food was plentiful and good water. We were at Carson City about three weeks. Our greatest camp problem was to get someone to cook our meals, as no one wanted the job. Mr. Haight finally asked me to do it, so I was the cook at Carson City. During our stay we disposed of our eggs, or the most of them that was fit to use at all. After all our care in packing the eggs in salt, it proved to be a poor undertaking, in the swamps the salt absorbed the moisture and out on the desert the moisture evaporated leaving the salt hard. It was almost impossible to get the eggs out of the salt, and those we did get out were no good. We sold about 50 dozen of the two thousand eight hundred dozen we started with. We sold a few in Carson City, but our eggs soon lost their reputation and our market was gone. Mr. Grant and I started out for Virginia City to sell what we could of them there. We sold a few at Silver City and Gold Hill on the way up, and finished the job at Virginia City and returned to Carson City. As we passed through Silver City and Gold Hill coming back we were recognized as the egg men and while we were not bothered, we heard several sarcastic remarks about our eggs. We were in Carson City on the Fourth of July, and taken all in all, it was a memorable occasion. At this time the news of the outbreak of the Civil War was reaching us. Most everyone felt it a duty to celebrate the Fourth, and it was a good day for horse racing, drinking and fighting. I sat in front of the saloon that evening and saw six fights just about as fast as they could be pulled off. Another attraction at this celebration was the arrival of the first overland Stage, going East. In the crowd you could hear someone shout, Hurrah for Jeff Davis, then an answer in another part of the gang, Hurrah for Abe Lincoln, then the next was an exhibition of the manly art of self-defense. A day or two after the Fourth I went with Mr. Grant to his farm to help him put up his hay. It was wild hay, and we were about a week at the job. Mr. Grant told me that during the previous winter hay reached a price of $150.00 per ton. We are now all in Carson City, and as soon as we can dispose of what remains of our cargo and our outfits, we are to start for home. In the bargain we received four mules with harness and wagon and 25 Spanish Mares. The balance we paid in money. About the first of August we started to roundup our stock that we had sold, to deliver them. After about a week at task we found ourselves ready to start home. At Ragtown the “cook” problem showed up again, and Mr. Haight finally asked me to do it, and if I would I would be free from any other camp duty, so I became the cook. When we left Carson City, the telegraph line from the West coast was operating and the construction crew was working east of Carson City. We followed their lines as far as Ragtown the first day and camped. Here we were rejoined by the Indian who had deserted us when we came down. His advent was as much without ceremony now as his departure had been, but he wanted to return to Utah with us, so we let him travel with us. From Ragtown we took an entirely different route home. It was known as the Simpson Mail Route; the coaches of the Overland followed this route, and the telegraph company was following this line also. We were out of Ragtown about a day’s travel when we reached the end of construction at this time. It was at this time that the Pony Express was being run from St. Joseph, Missouri to Sacramento, California, to see how quick this fete could be performed. They too were following the Simpson Mail Route. The second night out on this route as we were making camp, the Pony Express rider rode into camp and to my surprise it was the little Mexican cook we had with us on our trip to Independence, Missouri. This was the first time I had seen him since our company was divided at Fort Laramie on our return trip. He was pleased to see me, but in a few minutes he was on his way again. I have not seen him since. Our party now consisted of seven white men and the Indian. Two of our original party remained at Carson City, expecting to go on to California. We picked up a man in Carson City to take to Utah. The wagon we had received from Mr. Grant was a very small and frail outfit, but we really did not expect to have any trouble reaching home, but it was too light for the load and the roads and as we were going down Egan Canyon the end of the right rear axle broke off. We were many miles from help, had but an axe ourselves, and pinion pine on the hillside. The situation seemed quite serious and after exchanging ideas for a spell, someone set out to get a piece of pie, while the others removed the broken end from the wagon’s skein. Then cutting the axle and the new timber to fit we were ready for the holes. I do not know who suggested it, but it was I who did the shooting. I took my pistol and got a short distance from the work and succeeded in shooting a hole through the timber. We finished the job by heating the bolt and burning the hole clear. We put the wagon back together, but the best we hoped for was to get to some blacksmith shop and have the work done as it should have been done, but we built better than we knew, for without any other labor we reached home in fine shape. Near the boundary line between Utah and Nevada we encountered a large marsh, at best it was 16 miles out of our way to go around it, and as this was the time of the year when the waters were pretty well drained from the soil, we decided to try for a crossing. We drove our loose stock into the swamp and they crossed nicely. We then ventured with our wagon and reached the other side in safety, about four hundred yards away. Our first day’s travel then was over a long dry stretch of country, and we suffered considerable, and our stock even more, for water. Sometime in the late afternoon we reached water, some distance from the road and at the foot of the mountain. We had to climb the mountainside to reach the spring for water for the camp, then we drive the stock there and we forgot our troubles as far as water was concerned. Between here and Salt Lake City we camped but once, near the southern end of the lake. It was here our Indian friend left us, and I have never heard of him since. The next day we reached Haight’s home about four or five miles northwest of Farmington. His home was known as Haight’s Grove throughout the district. I spent the night there and the next day I was given the special privilege of riding one of his race horses home, after a promise that I would not run her, and return her at a convenient time, well cared for. After three days at home I returned the animal, and took one of Father's to ride back. After a few days rest after the cares of the trip, I took one of my brother David's yoke of oxen and started to gather wood for my use during the winter. After hauling three or four loads of wood I was taken quite ill with Typhoid fever. I remained in bed for six weeks. For the first time in my life, a doctor had been in my home. Mother was always our family doctor, and we thought she was a good one, too, but this was something new to her so they decided to send for a good old-fashioned doctor. Mc Entire of Ogden. After a visit from him and a round or two of his medicine, I began to improve. The disease settled in my right leg below the knee and resulted in varicose veins, which bothered me considerably in my future life. I was over in Ogden one day and asked the doctor how much I owed him and he said about two and one half bushels of wheat. I was unable to do much the remainder of the season, and indeed during most of the winter, but the spring found me in a fair physical condition, and I made application to Mr. Judson Stoddard for work. He told me he had work for me as long as he hired men and I could go to work as soon as I wanted to. Mr. Stoddard owned a sawmill about three miles up Farmington Canyon and had contracted to supply lumber and shingles for a meeting house in Kaysville, and to individuals in Farmington. The mill itself was inefficient and did not pay well, but it was the purpose of Mr. Stoddard to fill these contracts. Mr. Stoddard pointed out a house I could move my family into and furnished me a yoke of cattle to make the move with. This move was not entirely for the work I was to get, but to clear an atmosphere of ill content that sometimes surrounds relatives living in a huddle. I don not wish it understood that any unpleasantness existed between my parents and my family. We always got along without misunderstandings, sharing in fortunes and misfortunes as they were encountered which had blended our lives together beautifully with a mutual understanding. I was really very sorry to make this move, but it seemed to me to be the proper thing to do. Jane had entered my Mother's life as if she were her own daughter. She had always waited on mother and cared for her and worked for her as she might need, washing, scrubbing, etc., and this brought her near to Mother and at the same time promoted some jealousy on the part of the other in-laws. I had no sisters at home, nor where they could care for Mother. To clear the slate, I made the move to Farmington about May 1st. As soon we were comfortably settled I went to work. The following Monday I went up in the canyon with my wagon and oxen with supplies for a week. Saturday night I was to come home for the weekend. There were three other men there with me, George Chase, Dick Welsch, and Ed Pierce. Welsch was the sawyer, Pierce and Chase felled the trees and logged them and it was my work to get them to the mill. By July 1st we had the work pretty well caught up. Mr. Stoddard sent me down to Farmington to prepare for cutting hay. I was joined here by John Sheridan, and as soon as we could prepare we started out on what proved to be a long job of haying. Our implements were the improved ones of this time, our arms were weak at first but gradually gained in strength. We moved with a "scythe" and "Snath," the scientific name for "Armstrong Mower." At this time I was making good use of my violin and gathered in many a dollar with its use. In 1865 I taught school in Smithfield, with Mr. Charles Wright, and helped to organize an orchestra of four pieces. In 1870 I taught in Providence, in 1871 in Logan until December when I entered the employ of Mr. M.D. Hammond to care for an implement house in Logan. From Logan I went to Salt Lake City for Mr. George A. Lowe and in 1876 I was sent to Manti to represent Mr. Lowe there. I was successful there until I tried to rush matters. I had my job and bought in a general merchandise store. I advertised well and was in the best way, when D.&R.G. Railroad advertised for bids on some grading in Castle Valley. I took 12 miles of it, bought my implements from Mr. Lowed, and my provisions and horse feed wherever it was convenient. I completed the grade, or nearly so when winter set in and the company did not come to receive any of it, and I found out they had selected another route and did not intend to receive my work. I tried to force them and a few months later received less than half of my outlay and more obligations than you could shake a stick at. I thought I had some very good friends in Manti, and I did have some, but I had started down and everyone wanted a share. I sold my equipment on time and I guess the time isn't up yet. Everybody bought, and promised but never paid a cent. I closed my books with Mr. Lowe and paid him all I could, including my home. I had become interested in the Snake River Valley country in Idaho through my friends and relatives, and in the spring of 1883, I mad a trip there and on my way home in May I stopped at Oxford and filed on the land. I left Manti with my household goods July 6, 1883 and reached my home in Idaho on the 31st of August of that year. I found myself on the frontier again and I had no solution for my financial affairs. I had seen the Valley from the west when I was with the expedition to the Lemhi but never thought I'd ever help to subdue its wonderful resources. I moved from Menan to the New Sweden District and spent the winter of 1887 in Idaho Falls, then Eagle Rock, and in the spring of 1888 I signed a contract to purchase a tract of 640 acres of land on Willow Creek which I completed, and I lived there until I retired from active life. Much has been said of me and my operations on this piece of land, but I know that if I had the few thousands of dollars it cost me to square my obligations in Manti, which I made on the farm, I'd still hold my property. (Robert Lee Bybee died of pneumonia in the L.D.S. Hospital at Idaho Falls Oct. 4, 1929, was buried in the Rose Hill Cemetery at Idaho Falls, Idaho) -This was submitted to ancientfaces.com by David Winker November 2005

Robert Lee Bybee Entry from "Pioneers And Prominent Men Of Utah"

Contributor: Tyler Created: 3 months ago Updated: 3 months ago

Robert Lee Bybee biography From "Pioneers And Prominent Men Of Utah" page 788 Bybee, Robert Lee (son of Byram Bybee and Betsy Lane). Born May 4, 1838, Clay county, Ind. Married Jane Miller March 19, 1857, at Salt Lake City (daughter of Charles Miller), who was born Aug. 12, 1840, in Scotland. Their children: Betsy Jane b. March 20, 1859, d. child; Robert Lee b. Sept. 14, 1861, m. Lydia Forbush; Francis M. b. Oct 2, 1862, m. Ann Ritchie; James A. b. July 2, 1865, m. Ozetta Eastman; Mary Alice b. Nov. 16, 1867, m. A.H. Boomer; Elizabeth b. June 17, 1870, m. C.W. Poole. Family home Uinta, Utah. Married Harriett Raymond (daughter of Almon P. Raymond, member Co. D. Mormon battalion and Clarinda Critler). She was born Oct. 3, 1852, West Jordon, Utah. Their children: Harriett R. b. Jan 20, 1872, died; Clarinda b. Oct. 1, 1876, m. John W. Nowlin Dec. 14, 1892; Rhoda L. b. Sept. 22, 1876, m. Roy Stockman May 26, 1897; Walter R. b. Oct. 25, 1879, m. May Thompson; Minnie b. Sept 28, 1881, m. A.C. Hancey Dec. 6, 1901,; Jessie May b. April 17, 1883, Alonzo b. 1878, later two died; Ida b. Feb. 8, 1885, m. John Thomas Dec. 8, 1904; Stanley b. March 14, 1889, m. Lovina Lee Dec. 6 1904; Venta b. Dec. 30, 1889, died; Leslie E. b. Jan. 5, 1892; Harold b. Dec 23, 1895. Mail carrier between Salt Lake City and Independence, Mo. Went with Y.X. company 1857. Missionary Salmon River 1858. Went south during general move. Bishop of Manti south ward four years; president of Menan (Idaho) stake four years; president of Bannock stake two years; moved to Bingham county, Idaho, where he was first counselor to President J.E. Steele 13 years and superintendent Iona ward Sunday School for four years. Senator in Idaho legislature 1901. Ordained patriarch 1908.

Robert Lee Bybee

Contributor: Tyler Created: 3 months ago Updated: 3 months ago

Oh how I wish I knew this man! My mother talked about him a lot! He has quite the life story. A book is published about him, an I feel I know him as a person. I love him and I love being his Great Grand daughter!

Rhoda Bybee Bair

Contributor: Tyler Created: 3 months ago Updated: 3 months ago

When the Grand Army of Republic reunion was held in Salt Lake City in 1908, the Bair brothers, their sister, Sarah Archer, and her husband, also a Civil War veteran, accompanied by their mother, Rhoda Bybee Bair, attended. Rhoda Bybee Bair was a sister of my grandmother, Polly Chapman Bybee Hammon, and was separated from her family when they came west with the pioneers and had not seen her family since. Rhoda, accompanied by her children, attended the State Fair and saw my father's name over his horses' stables. She found father, Lee B. Hammon, and made herself known to him. He invited them all to his farm home in Roy, Utah. After the Civil War reunion was over they came and what a family reunion we had. Aunt Rhoda's two sons, Byron and Isaiah L. Bair, and wife, Elmina, and daughter, Sara Archer, and her husband, came with their mother to visit her people. Byron was very prejudiced against the Mormons and scarcely left his mother's side for fear we would try to convert her. She had poor health and was very frail and bedfast most of her stay at father's home. All her brother and sisters came there to see her. It was a very touching sight when she met Uncle Robert L. Bybee and especially Aunt Elizabeth Bybee Smith. The sisters were so overcome with emotion they had to be held up. She never knew she had a sister named Betsy Cook until that day. Uncle Byram, Uncle John, Aunt Lucien Bybee Penrod, Uncle Rob's wife, Harriet, Jane Bybee, Byram's wife, and most of my father's brothers and sisters came one day to see her. This day we had a pot luck dinner under the trees with 68 present. All were her brothers, sisters and nieces and nephews of several generations. Aunt Rhoda and her family stayed at father's home for about a week before they left for home. She was a very proud and sophisticated lady and had no opportunity to let us actually know her because Byron constantly stayed at her side. We enjoyed Sarah and her husband very much. She was kind and considerate of her mother and both she and Isaiah opposed Byron's action. Isaiah was tall with dark eyes and greying hair. We corresponded for a number of years. The last letter I had from him was in 1915 after my father's death. Isaiah and Elmina lived in Bentonville, Ark. He sent me this picture of himself just before I received his last letter. Dad and I looked forward to receiving mail from him. His mother, Aunt Rhoda, died not long after her visit. (Written by Ethel Hammon McEntire, a great-niece of Rhoda Bybee Bair.)

Life timeline of Robert L Bybee

Robert L Bybee was born in 1838
Robert L Bybee was 2 years old when Samuel Morse receives the patent for the telegraph. Samuel Finley Breese Morse was an American painter and inventor. After having established his reputation as a portrait painter, in his middle age Morse contributed to the invention of a single-wire telegraph system based on European telegraphs. He was a co-developer of the Morse code and helped to develop the commercial use of telegraphy.
Robert L Bybee was 21 years old when Charles Darwin publishes On the Origin of Species. Charles Robert Darwin, was an English naturalist, geologist and biologist, best known for his contributions to the science of evolution. He established that all species of life have descended over time from common ancestors and, in a joint publication with Alfred Russel Wallace, introduced his scientific theory that this branching pattern of evolution resulted from a process that he called natural selection, in which the struggle for existence has a similar effect to the artificial selection involved in selective breeding.
Robert L Bybee was 31 years old when Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton founded the National Woman Suffrage Association, breaking away from the American Equal Rights Association which they had also previously founded. Susan B. Anthony was an American social reformer and women's rights activist who played a pivotal role in the women's suffrage movement. Born into a Quaker family committed to social equality, she collected anti-slavery petitions at the age of 17. In 1856, she became the New York state agent for the American Anti-Slavery Society.
Robert L Bybee was 36 years old when Winston Churchill, English colonel, journalist, and politician, Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, Nobel Prize laureate (d. 1965) Sir Winston Leonard Spencer-Churchill was a British politician, army officer, and writer, who was Prime Minister of the United Kingdom from 1940 to 1945 and again from 1951 to 1955. As Prime Minister, Churchill led Britain to victory in the Second World War. Churchill represented five constituencies during his career as Member of Parliament (MP). Ideologically an economic liberal and British imperialist, he began and ended his parliamentary career as a member of the Conservative Party, which he led from 1940 to 1955, but for twenty years from 1904 he was a prominent member of the Liberal Party.
Robert L Bybee was 51 years old when The Eiffel Tower is officially opened. The Eiffel Tower is a wrought iron lattice tower on the Champ de Mars in Paris, France. It is named after the engineer Gustave Eiffel, whose company designed and built the tower.
Robert L Bybee was 56 years old when Mahatma Gandhi forms the Natal Indian Congress (NIC) in order to fight discrimination against Indian traders in Natal. Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi was an Indian activist who was the leader of the Indian independence movement against British rule. Employing nonviolent civil disobedience, Gandhi led India to independence and inspired movements for civil rights and freedom across the world. The honorific Mahātmā – applied to him first in 1914 in South Africa – is now used worldwide. In India, he is also called Bapu and Gandhi ji, and known as the Father of the Nation.
Robert L Bybee was 70 years old when Ford puts the Model T car on the market at a price of US$825. Ford Motor Company is an American multinational automaker headquartered in Dearborn, Michigan, a suburb of Detroit. It was founded by Henry Ford and incorporated on June 16, 1903. The company sells automobiles and commercial vehicles under the Ford brand and most luxury cars under the Lincoln brand. Ford also owns Brazilian SUV manufacturer Troller, an 8% stake in Aston Martin of the United Kingdom, and a 49% stake in Jiangling Motors of China. It also has joint-ventures in China, Taiwan, Thailand, Turkey, and Russia. The company is listed on the New York Stock Exchange and is controlled by the Ford family; they have minority ownership but the majority of the voting power.
Robert L Bybee was 74 years old when The British passenger liner RMS Titanic sinks in the North Atlantic at 2:20 a.m., two hours and forty minutes after hitting an iceberg. Only 710 of 2,227 passengers and crew on board survive. RMS Titanic was a British passenger liner that sank in the North Atlantic Ocean in the early hours of 15 April 1912, after colliding with an iceberg during its maiden voyage from Southampton to New York City. There were an estimated 2,224 passengers and crew aboard, and more than 1,500 died, making it one of the deadliest commercial peacetime maritime disasters in modern history. RMS Titanic was the largest ship afloat at the time it entered service and was the second of three Olympic-class ocean liners operated by the White Star Line. It was built by the Harland and Wolff shipyard in Belfast. Thomas Andrews, her architect, died in the disaster.
Robert L Bybee died in 1929 at the age of 91
BillionGraves.com
Grave record for Robert L Bybee (1838 - 1929), BillionGraves Record 44581462 Idaho Falls, Bonneville, Idaho, United States

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