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Title: Eventful Narratives - The Thirteenth Book of the Faith Promoting Series
Author: Aveson, Robert, Huntington, O. B.
Language: English
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Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Eventful Narratives - The Thirteenth Book of the Faith Promoting Series" ***

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Designed for the Instruction and Encouragement of Young Latter-day



It affords us much pleasure to be able to present to the public the
Thirteenth Book of the FAITH-PROMOTING SERIES. The favor shown these
little publications by both old and young among the Latter-day Saints
encourages us in the belief that they are read with interest, and, we
trust, with profit. The principal object in issuing them has been and
is to increase faith in the hearts of those who peruse them, by showing
how miraculously God has overruled everything for the benefit of those
who try to serve Him.

If, by our efforts, faith can be implanted or increased in the hearts
of any we will certainly feel that our labors have not been in vain.

We trust this little work will find its way into many homes and afford
pleasure and instruction to all who read it.





Birth-place--Parentage--William H. Scott--An Interview with a Baptist
Minister--A Testimony to the Truth of "Mormonism."


The First Latter-day Saint Meeting--William H. Scott has an Interview
with my Mother--She Forbids me Having Anything to do with the "Mormons."


A Companion--How I Saved my Emigration Money--An Important Letter from


Richard and Myself Determine to Emigrate with the Saints--Receive
Baptism--The Notification Papers--First Attempt to Leave Home.


Arrival at Sunderland--On the Steamer "General Havelock"--In London--On
Board the "American Congress"--Unpleasant News--A Meeting of the
Saints--An Awful Surprise--"I Want You!"--Taken Prisoners.


The Scene in the Cabin--One of the Saints Defends us and is
Threatened--John Nicholson, President of the Company, Comes
Forward--The Parting Scene--Good-by to the Saints--Taken to the Thames
Police Office--Trying to get the Passage Money--Locked in the Cell.


How the Time was Spent in the Cell--A True Testimony--An Officer from
Middlesbrough--Handcuffed--Leave London--Arrival at Middlesbrough--The
Police Office.


In the Cell--A Visit from Richard's Father and my Mother--The
Trial--The Decision of the Court--A Few Words of Explanation.


A Clipping from the "Middlesbrough News"--A Promise Made but Not
Fulfilled--The Second Attempt to Leave Home.


Planning to Leave Home a Third Time--Leave Middlesbrough--Arrival
at Newcastle--Leith, Edinburgh and Glasgow--A Peculiar Situation:
No Money, No Friends--Make up my Mind to go to New York--Arrival at


Arrival at Queenstown--In Suspense--"It's only a Runaway Boy they're
After"--Arrival at New York--A Proposition Accepted.


Leave New York--Arrival at Wyoming--Incidents on the Plains.


Arrival in the "City of the Saints"--Keeping "Bach"--My Parents Join
the Church--They Emigrate to Utah.


My Parents in Zion--Arrival of Richard Sedgwick in Salt Lake City--His
Story of Leaving Home in 1867--How the President of the Middlesbrough
Branch was Emigrated--Re-union of the Middlesbrough Branch.


CHAPTER I. William Anderson's Heart and Hand--His Early Life, Home and

CHAPTER II. Boyhood Sports--An Amateur Militia--A Campaign
Incident--Will Anderson's Gallantry--Christmas Morning Greeting--The
Afternoon Service--A Combat Among the Boys.

CHAPTER III. The Progress of the Age--Will Anderson's Courtship--The
Christmas Sermon.

CHAPTER IV. William Anderson's Marriage and Journey Westward--He and
his Wife hear the Gospel--Visit Nauvoo--Gather with the Saints--The
Battle of Nauvoo.


CHAPTER I. Description of the Route--Object of the Journey--Confronted
by Indians--Discovery of Rubies--More Indians Visit Camp--An Inspired
Suggestion--The Indians Become Friendly.

CHAPTER II. Indians' Stratagem to get one of our Horses--Proceed on our
Way--How Inspiration is Received--An Illustrative Incident.

CHAPTER III. Out of Provisions--Live on Horse Flesh--Arrival at
Carson--Start back for Home--Description of the Journey--Aided by Red
Men--Meet with more Indians--Our manner of Dealing with them.

CHAPTER IV. Premonitions of Danger--Learn of an Attempt to Kill us--An
Indian's Advice--Undecided about what Course to take--Appeal to the
Lord--Prayer Answered--Reach Home in Safety.


By Robert Aveson.



The writer, the second son of Thomas and Ann Aveson, was born in the
town of Bradford, Yorkshire, England, on August 22nd, 1847.

My father was an honest, hard-working man; he was not a believer in
any particular religion. My mother was more religiously inclined; her
maiden name was Fawcett. Both my father and mother were strict in
training their family, which consisted of nine children (seven sons and
two daughters), five of whom are now dead.

In the early part of 1860 we removed from Bradford to Malton, in
Yorkshire, staying there only about six weeks, and then went to reside
at Middlesbrough, Yorkshire, a very pretty town at that time. We
arrived there February 29th, 1860.

On the 11th of February, 1862, I was engaged to work at Mr Joseph
Gould's printing office in Middlesbrough. My wages were three shillings
per week. Mr. Gould was a printer himself and did most of the work. He
had only one other employee working for him, and that was a boy named
Richard Sedgwick, through whom I procured my situation, and whose
acquaintance I had made a few months previously.

On the 5th of the following May I was bound apprentice to Mr. Gould.
After I signed the indenture, Mr. Brown, one of the witnesses to it,
said to me:

"There, my boy, you have tied a knot with your hand which you can't
unloose with your tongue."

The indenture stated that my wages should be three shillings and
sixpence per week the first year, with a yearly raise of one shilling
per week until I had served my time, which was seven years.

About a week after this, a young man, named William Henry Scott,
was engaged to work for Mr. Gould, and shortly afterwards was bound
apprentice to him for three years. Mr. Scott was from Seaham Harbor,
county of Durham, where his parents and their family resided.

The following August, Richard Sedgwick left Mr. Gould's employ and
went to work for a Mr. Thomas Carter, picture-frame maker, and was
afterwards bound apprentice to him.

William H. Scott was a fine, courteous young man, to whom I became very
much attached. He had resided in Middlesbrough only a short time when
his brother John wrote to him from Seaham Harbor, stating that his
mother and himself had become members of the Church of Jesus Christ of
Latter-day Saints, and earnestly desired William to investigate the
principles and doctrines of that Church. He told his brother to go to
a man named Anderson, who was a Latter-day Saint and a resident of

Notwithstanding William had recently become identified with the
Methodists, he went, according to request, and had an interview with
Brother Anderson regarding this new religion; and becoming convinced of
the truth of "Mormonism," was baptized a member of the Church.

Brother W. H. Scott became a useful member of what was then known as
the Middlesbrough and Stockton branch. We often conversed together on
the first principles of the latter-day gospel.

At this time (the Summer of 1862) I was feeling more religiously
inclined than I had ever before. One reason for this, probably, was
because a religious revival was in progress. The Wesleyans, Primitive
Methodists and other religious sects were very energetic and obtained
many converts.

About a year and a half previously my mother had become a member of the
Wesleyan Reformers, and I had told her that I did not think it would be
long before I should join one of the religious sects.

I was a regular attendant at a Baptist chapel and Sunday school, and
firmly believed that the principles and doctrines promulgated by the
Baptists were nearer like those the Savior taught than were set forth
by any other religious denomination I was acquainted with, and my mind
was fully made up to identify myself with that body.

One Summer evening in 1862, I attended a Baptist prayer meeting with
the firm intention of becoming converted to their faith and afterwards
applying for baptism. I was under the impression that they made
converts in the same way the Methodists did, but found I was mistaken.

At the close of the meeting I spoke to one of the members, and asked
him why they did not make converts at their prayer meetings. He said
that was not their mode of receiving members; he told me that when
he joined the Baptists he prayed to his Heavenly Father for the
forgiveness of his sins, and after doing so he felt an inward feeling
of happiness, which proved to him that his sins were forgiven; he
said after informing his minister to that effect he was baptized. The
young man asked me to see the minister. I did as he wished me, and the
minister appointed the following Saturday evening for an interview with

According to promise, I went to his house at the appointed time and was
invited into the parlor. The minister's name was William Bontems. He
appeared to me to be a very good man. We were alone in the parlor and
conversed together for quite a while. He told me I must pray to the
Lord and get forgiveness of my sins, and then I could receive baptism.
Another appointment was made for me to see him in one week from that

I went home, thinking seriously over the matter. That night I retired
to rest a little earlier than usual. As soon as I entered my bed-room
I prayed most fervently and humbly to my Heavenly Father, asking Him
to forgive my sins and to produce that happy feeling within my bosom
which others realized before receiving baptism. I spent about fifteen
minutes, at least, in prayer but experienced no happy feeling whatever.

Next evening I again engaged in secret prayer, but realized no benefit.
I tried this for a week, with no marked effect. At the end of the week
I again went to the minister: told him I had prayed every night, but
found no relief; and asked him if he could not pray for me. He replied:

"If all the ministers in the world were to pray for you they could not
save you."

After further conversation he requested me to continue my prayers,
believing the Lord would answer. I did as he told me several nights
more, but without success.

As soon as William H. Scott was identified with the Latter-day Saints
he became a zealous and energetic member, and was desirous that all
those whom he was acquainted with should embrace the gospel. Working
together in the same establishment--in the same room--we had a good
opportunity to converse upon any topic that presented itself. I told
William concerning my interviews with the Baptist minister, and that I
had been praying nightly to the Lord to obtain forgiveness of my sins,
but, seemingly, without effect.

William listened attentively and eagerly to my story. He had wished,
hoped and even prayed that I should be convinced of the latter day
gospel. But I told him I could not see clearly into the principles
taught by the Latter-day Saints.

One evening shortly after this (the early part of August, I think)
feeling as if my continued prayers for a newness of heart were in vain,
I made up my mind to try once more, and if I experienced no difference,
would give up the idea of becoming identified with the Baptists and
would try the "Mormons."

That same morning while at work, William conversed with me again on the
principles advocated by the Latter-day Saints, and smilingly said:

"You'll have to join the `Mormons.'"

While conversing with him I experienced a heavenly feeling; a mist came
over me, I felt within me an influence I had never before realized. The
principles and doctrines of the latter-day gospel came clearly before
me. The Spirit of the Lord was with me, and I received a testimony of
the truth of "Mormonism"--a testimony which I shall never forget. I was
supremely happy, rejoicing with "joy unspeakable." I told William I was
ready for baptism and asked him to introduce me to the Saints the next



It was on the Sunday following when I attended the first Latter-day
Saint meeting, having received permission to do so from my parents.
That morning I went as usual to the Baptist Sunday school, but did not
enjoy myself as much as heretofore. This I attributed to my lack of
faith in their doctrines. Knowing "Mormonism" to be true, I could gain
no satisfaction from any other source.

The place where the Latter-day Saint meeting was to be held was at a
small village called Eston, about four miles from Middlesbrough. Our
company left town for that place about 1 o'clock p.m., and consisted of
William Littlefair, president of the Middlesbrough and Stockton branch,
Thomas Watson, secretary of the branch, William H. Scott and myself. It
was one of the happiest afternoons I ever spent. We were soon out of
town, tripping along through lovely green fields bedecked with flowers
of various kinds. Being very much interested in the conversation of
President Littlefair and the other brethren--of course it was mostly
pertaining to the gospel--the time passed away quickly and we soon
arrived at Eston, where the meeting was to be held at the house of a
sister named Fewster.

The meeting was opened with an appropriate hymn, then prayer by one of
the brethren. The sacrament was administered, and the hymn commencing,

     "O, God, the Eternal Father,
      Who dwells amid the sky,"

was sung.

The time was mostly occupied by President Littlefair. As this was the
first meeting attended by me and the first time I had heard the gospel
preached I listened attentively to the words of the speakers.

After meeting we partook of tea with Sister Fewster, during which we
enjoyed a pleasant, sociable chat. Then we returned homeward, arriving
in Middlesbrough about 6 o'clock in the evening.

While penning this brief narrative I cannot help reflecting upon the
present time. Passing along to my Sunday meetings I often see a number
of boys, about my age at that time, and some older ones, loitering
about the streets, breaking the Sabbath, neglecting to attend worship,
and many who never even visit Sunday school. They have not the love
for their religion, which filled my heart at their age. These remarks
apply not only to the young, but also to others more advanced in years,
who often neglect their meetings, excusing themselves on one frivolous
pretext or another.

William H. Scott told President Littlefair that I desired baptism. The
president said as I was under age that rite could not be administered
to me. It was necessary for me to first obtain permission from my
parents. Thinking the best way to get their consent would be for
William to talk to my mother on the subject of "Mormonism," I arranged
an interview with her. Accordingly, William went and conversed with
her on the first principles of the gospel. It was on a Thursday night.
She was interested and listened attentively to the teachings of the
young preacher, for he was but a young man, seventeen years of age. At
the close of the interview it was agreed upon that in a week's time he
should pay her another visit. The appointment was promptly kept, and at
its close William gained my mother's consent to my baptism. The next
night, Friday, my father, on being consulted, said he was willing for
me to do as I pleased.

As everything seemed to be working in my favor, I sought my mother's
consent, before retiring to rest on Saturday night, to attend another
meeting of the Saints, which was to be held in the afternoon of the
next day. Judge of my surprise on being told by her that she did not
wish me to have anything more to do with so deluded a people, giving
them a bad name and saying:

"I would rather bury you in the churchyard than have you join the

Too full of grief to make any reply to her remarks, with drooping head
and aching heart I slowly went up stairs to my bed chamber and there
knelt and prayed humbly and fervently to my Heavenly Father, while the
tears rolled down my cheeks.

Restlessly I lay upon my bed. "I would rather bury you in the
churchyard than have you join the Mormons." Oh, how these words rang
in my ears! I had never been so tried before in my life. The knowledge
that "Mormonism" was true was firm in my heart, for I had received a
testimony and was very anxious to get baptized; but my hopes now were
blighted. What course should I pursue? I was young--just approaching my
fifteenth birthday--and still under the control of my parents, whom I
desired to obey in all things. But could I give up "Mormonism" and deny
the testimony I had received? No, the Lord helping me, I would never do

Then, again, my temporal position weighed upon my heart. I had recently
been apprenticed in the printing business for seven years; and the laws
of the country compelled me to serve out this time.

And thus query after query arose in my mind for some length of time,
until at last, tired out, sleep closed my eyelids.

Instead of going to Sunday school on the following morning I went to
see W. H. Scott and related to him what had transpired. He sympathized
with me in my troubled state, advice to me was:

It afterwards came to my knowledge that my mother had been making
inquiries of her minister and members of the Wesleyan Reformers in
regard to what kind of people the "Mormons" were and what was their
belief; and the false statements she received in reply accounted for
the unkind answer she gave me.

I went to the Latter day Saints' meeting whenever opportunity offered,
but was very cautious not to inform my parents.

Sometimes I attended meetings at Eston and Stockton (both places being
about four miles from home) as well as at Middlesbrough.

I soon left my former Sunday school and began attending another of
the same persuasion, but differing on some points of doctrine. Then
I attended the Unitarian school, where their exercises partook of a
secular as well as of a religious nature. From there I went to the
Wesleyans; but wherever I roamed no true spiritual enjoyment could be
found as at the meetings of the Latter-day Saints.



My acquaintance with the Sedgwick family, which had been interrupted as
related in a previous chapter, was again renewed in the Summer of 1863.
From that time the friendship existing between Richard, and myself was
of the most intimate character. It was not long before the subject of
"Mormonism" was broached to Richard, and he was soon convinced of the
truth of the latter-day gospel. Being also under age he was placed in
the same condition as myself--neither of us could avail ourselves of
the ordinance of baptism.

Like the rest of the Saints, after embracing the gospel, the spirit of
gathering came strongly upon us, and we felt desirous of emigrating at
some future day to the land of Zion. In order to do this, it became
necessary for Richard and myself to obtain means for that purpose.

About the latter part of 1862, my employer, Mr. Joseph Gould, purchased
a weekly newspaper, called the _Middlesbrough News_. It was printed on
Thursday nights, and necessitated my working most of that night every
week. The money obtained by overwork enabled me to make deposits in the
Perpetual Emigration Fund, the first instalment being eleven shillings.
This was on December 15, 1863.

The recollection of the first night's work is still fresh in my memory:
It was till half-past 5 o'clock in the morning, for which I received
one shilling. Just think of it, boys! For ten hours' work I received
twenty-four cents--all in cash! Would you not think "hard times"
had come again if you had to labor so long for such a small amount,
especially if you were endeavoring to save means to emigrate? From
this time my employer agreed to pay me three halfpence an hour--three
cents. Shortly after it was raised to twopence (four cents); then to
threepence (six cents). The latter was the highest amount received by
me for overwork.

Besides the money earned by overwork, I had a little pocket money given
me out of my weekly wages. My mother was not aware that I devoted these
means for emigration purposes, but had an idea I had some money saved
up. It was the usual custom to go to town on Saturday evenings, and
she believed a portion of my gains was spent there. In this she judged

My companion, Richard, was working for Mr. Carter, the picture-frame
maker. He, like myself, was saving money for the same purpose. He put
away most of what he received from his parents as pocket money, and
sometimes earned a little by overwork.

From the time my mother forbade my associating with the "Mormons" till
the Spring of 1866 (three years) was an unpleasant period of my life.
It is true the meetings of the Saints were times of refreshing to me,
for I loved my religion; but the fear that my parents would discover my
attachment to the Latter-day Saints was ever a source of dread. My home
was no longer a home to me. Disobedience to my mother's wishes was ever
a sore affliction.

Whenever there was an opportunity for my companion and myself to
attend a Latter-day Saint meeting, we did so; but when we had not that
privilege, if the weather was fine, we visited the cemetery, the docks,
or other places of interest in Middlesbrough and vicinity. These were
days which will not easily be forgotten.

In the early part of February, 1866, my mother received a letter from
America, which stated that some of her relatives were desirous our
family should come to reside with them, and intimated they would send
our passage money to cross the ocean.

This was good news to my mother, as she was very anxious, and had been
for some time, to go to that land. She was the only one of her father's
family remaining in England, the rest having previously emigrated.

There was one thing which prevented our family from emigrating: I had
three more years of my apprenticeship to serve. In an interview between
Mr. Gould and my mother respecting canceling my indentures, he declined
doing so. Under these circumstances it was thought best for the family
to remain for a season.

Poor woman! She little contemplated that for the last three years and
a half I had been carefully saving means to emigrate to Utah, and
intended to leave the coming Spring!



In the Spring of 1866, Richard Sedgwick and myself fully resolved to
leave our homes and emigrate to Utah. I had managed to get means enough
to take me to the frontier, where the mule and ox teams started to
cross the plains to Salt Lake. Richard had only sufficient to take him
to New York, where he expected to stay awhile and then proceed to Utah.
The time for our departure was drawing near, and we very anxiously
looked forward to it with great interest.

As it was my intention to soon leave for Utah, it was deemed advisable
by President Littlefair that I should get baptized. Accordingly, on
the morning of March 24, 1866, in the River Tees, that ordinance was
attended to by Elder John Scott; and I was confirmed by President
Littlefair in the afternoon.

My parents knew nothing about it. Nearly every Sunday morning I was in
the habit of going early for milk to a small village called Newport.
That morning I proceeded as usual, taking with me a small tin bucket.
I went to the residence of the Scott family and called for William and
others of the family. Richard also accompanied us. On starting out,
it commenced to rain, but by the time we arrived at the river side it
cleared up. About half a dozen were present. After singing a hymn,
prayer was offered and baptism was performed. Another hymn was sung and
we started homeward, chatting pleasantly together.

Richard was baptized a few days later. Arrangements were made that
William, Richard and myself should sail on the third ship that season,
the _American Congress_, and accordingly we sent our deposit money
to secure a berth on that vessel. Every day we were expecting our
notification papers, which would inform us what day the ship would
start. They came on the 13th of May of that year.

We held meeting that day at Sister Jane Scott's, at whose house
the meetings were held from the time the Scott family arrived in
Middlesbrough, in 1863. Just prior to the arrival of Thomas Watson,
clerk of the branch, I was remarking on the heat of the room. On his
entry, William H. Scott asked him:

"Have you brought the _Millennial Stars?_"

"Yes," said Brother Watson, "and the notification papers, too."

As soon as he uttered these words a nervous feeling crept over me; I
felt cold and went to the fire place to warm me.

We held our usual testimony meeting, and among those who bore testimony
to the truth of the latter-day work I was one, and while doing so the
tears trickled down my cheeks.

The notification papers stated that the _American Congress_ would sail
from London on the 23rd of May, which gave us ten days' notice.

A day or two after this William H. Scott received a letter, stating
that a small company of Saints would leave Sunderland by steamer on
the next Saturday morning, May 19th, for London, from which place the
_American Congress_ had to leave on the 23rd of that month. We thought
this would be a good opportunity to go on this route, as it was much
cheaper by this means than by rail. To do this we would have to leave
Middlesbrough on the evening of May 18th, five days before the ship
would sail.

We were in a rather peculiar situation, and wondered what excuse we
could give our parents and employers to be absent a few days without
them suspecting our intentions.

To make matters worse, our right-hand man, William H. Scott, received a
letter from President Brigham Young, Jr., at Liverpool, assigning him
a mission. This was unpleasant news to both Richard and myself, for to
start on our journey without him was almost like being left without a

As it could not be avoided, however, we determined to make the best of
it and leave on Friday evening, the 18th.

On Wednesday evening, the 16th, I broached the subject of being away
two days. I told my parents I wished to go with Richard Sedgwick to
Hartlepool the following Friday, on a visit to some of his friends, and
return on the following Sunday evening. My father was a little opposed
to my going, but my mother was favorably inclined. Hartlepool was about
twelve miles from Middlesbrough, and Sunderland was over forty.

Having secured the consent of my parents to be away from home two days,
the next thing was to see my employer. It so happened that we were very
busy at the printing business, and to ask for a holiday would be almost
absurd. We were bent on leaving on the Friday night, and go we must.
But what bothered me most was what excuse I could give my employer to
be away. To tell him the same story as I had told my parents would
hardly do, as he might say I could go there some other time when we
were not quite so busy. Finally, on Thursday, the 17th, I saw Mr. Gould
and told him I wished to go and see some of my relatives at Bradford,
who were going to remove from that place and desired to see me before
they left. I asked leave of absence from 4 o'clock Friday evening till
Monday morning. Mr. Gould granted my request.

It was much easier for Richard to get permission to be away a few days
than it was for me. He told his parents and his employer that he wanted
to go to Hartlepool, and his wish was granted without any particular
questions being asked.

After Mr. Gould granted my request, he paid me my full week's wages and
gave me a shilling for pocket money. He was in the habit of giving me
sixpence a week as pocket money, but this time he was kind enough to
give me double the amount. I thanked him for his kindness. Mr. Gould
had been kind to me ever since I entered his employ, and now that I was
about to leave him, expecting never more to see him again, reflections
of an unpleasant nature crossed my mind.

On reaching home I quickly put on my Sunday clothes and was soon ready
to start, but became so confused as to forget to bid the folks good-by.
Just as I was near the door, my mother said:

"What! are you going off without bidding us good-by?"

I turned quickly around and said:

"Good-by! Good-by!"

They watched me as I left the door. I hurried on my journey and was
soon out of sight.



I went down to a steamboat landing, crossed the River Tees in a small
steamer and waited there nearly half an hour, when Richard came. He
brought with him our box, which contained a bed-quilt, some books and
other articles.

On this side of the river was the Port Clarence railway station, where,
after securing our tickets, we took the train for Sunderland.

We arrived at the latter place about 7:30 p.m. After some little
trouble we found President George J. Linford, who was staying at a
Brother Inglefield's. We procured lodgings for the night, for which we
paid fourpence (eight cents) each.

Early next morning we went on board the steamer _General Havelock_.
Quite a number of Saints (between fifty and sixty) embarked on the
steamer; they hailed from Newcastle, Sunderland and other places.

About 8 o'clock the steamer started. It was pleasant sailing. This was
the first time we had been on sea. Richard and I enjoyed ourselves
and felt very happy. We were pleased to be away from home and soon
made intimate acquaintance with the Saints, finding among them many
good-hearted people. We had some interesting conversation which helped
to pass away the time.

The following day we arrived in the great metropolis--London--about
half-past 2 o'clock in the afternoon.

During the forenoon of the next day President Linford informed us we
could go on board the _American Congress_, but said he did not know
whether we could sail on that vessel or not. He told us that shortly
after we left Sunderland on the Saturday morning, a telegram came there
from Brigham Young, Jr., asking him not to let the Saints start, but
for them to wait till the next ship was ready.

In the evening of that day, President Linford went to Liverpool to see
Brother Young and make final arrangements about sailing.

This was rather unpleasant news to Richard and myself, for if we could
not go with that ship, it would be expensive to wait two or three weeks
till the next vessel started; in fact, we did not have means to do so.
Not only this, but we were in suspense about being away, for we were
afraid we might be captured and taken back to our homes.

In the forenoon of that day we went down to St. Catherine's Docks and
got on board the _American Congress_.

The next morning Bro. Barker Childs, one of the Saints who sailed with
us from Sunderland, asked me a rather curious question. Said he:

"What would you think if you were taken off the ship?"

I replied: "I don't know."

Shortly after this, President Linford came.

"Good morning," said Barker.

"Good morning," responded Linford.

"Well," said Barker, "what's the news? Have we to stay here or not?"

"You can go with this vessel," replied President Linford.

This was good news to all of us who had sailed from Sunderland, and we
felt to rejoice when he told us.

Late in the afternoon of Wednesday the ship was towed down the river to
Shadwell Basin, and word was passed around that she would sail early
next morning.

About 7 o'clock in the evening a meeting of the Saints was held on the
deck. There were some good, soul-stirring hymns sung, and addresses
were delivered by Elders John Nicholson and N. H. Felt.

While the services were in progress quite a crowd of spectators were
viewing us from the shore, and among them was a short, stout man, who
gazed intently at Richard and I.

After the meeting was over we both went below to our bunk, where we
anxiously awaited the morrow to come, when we would be out on the
ocean beyond all danger of pursuit. The ship was well filled with
passengers--every berth being taken.

Early next morning we were up in good time. I walked about the cabin
and on the deck with a feeling of gloom over me. I told Richard of my
foreboding of something unpleasant, but what it was I could not tell.
The sailors were busy preparing for the long voyage, and we expected
soon to start.

About half past 7 o'clock I went off the ship to get a supply of water.
Returning, I came near to where Richard was on deck, and said:

"Here's the water; now let's go and get breakfast."

No sooner had I said these words than a noise occurred in the gangway,
and the next moment a voice cried out:

"That's one of them!"

I had hardly time to turn around when a rough hand seized me by the
collar. The next words I heard were:

"I want you!"

The person who spoke first was Mr. Thomas Carter, Richard's employer;
the other speaker was a London detective, the man who watched us so
closely the night previous at the meeting.

Mr. Carter then, in a quick tone, enquired:

"Where's Richard?"

"He is there," I replied, pointing towards him as he stood close by, an
eye-witness to what was going on.

The detective then seized him and pulled him towards me, taking from
his breast coat pocket two summonses.

"Robert Aveson," said he to me, "Is that your name?"

"Yes," was my answer.

"And Richard Sedgwick?"

Richard responded to his name.

"You have absconded from your apprenticeship," continued the detective.
"You thought no one could catch you, did you?"

I replied, "No."

Mr. Carter then asked Richard if he had any luggage, who replied in the

I quickly said, "I have."

Then we all went down into the cabin together.



On making our appearance in the cabin, the Saints rushed up to see what
was the matter, and in a few seconds a large crowd gathered around. I
jumped up in our bunk, commenced to get our things together and put in
our box what articles I could.

One of the Saints, named Isaac Sutliffe, said to the detective:

"What are you going to do with these boys?"

The response came from the officer in a sharp tone:

"We're going to take them away with us."

"No you ain't," said Sutliffe in an emphatic manner

After further argument the detective said to Sutliffe:

"If you don't hush up we'll take you, too."

At this juncture, John Nicholson, president of the company, came
forward and asked what was the matter.

The detective answered:

"We are going to take these boys away because they have absconded from
their apprenticeship."

The officer then produced the papers and showed them to Brother
Nicholson, who, after reading them, said:

"That's all right. I did not know anything about the boys."

The officer then asked for our passage money. Brother Nicholson replied:

"I cannot give you it; but the boys can get it by going to President
Young's office at Islington."

Our ship tickets were then endorsed by Brother Nicholson, to the effect
that the passage money had to be given to no one but the boys (Richard
and myself).

Having our luggage ready for starting we disposed of our ship outfit to
two of the Saints, the cost of which was about five shillings. We began
to shake hands with the Saints, many of whom, with tears in their eyes,
bade us a sad "good-by." While thus engaged the detective seized me by
the collar and pulling me towards the steps, said:

"Come along, we can't wait for you!"

With aching hearts away we went with our box, accompanied by Carter and
the detective. Our destination was the Thames Police Office, which was
about a mile distant. On arriving there, Carter and the detective left
as soon as they had ordered breakfast for us.

There were two men in charge of the office, who took quite an interest
in us and treated us very kindly.

Considering all things, the morning passed away very well. Something
seemed to be whispering within me, "It's all for the best." I told
Richard so, and he said he felt the same.

We were made to feel worse by hearing a number of church bells ringing
merrily, and upon enquiring the cause were informed it was the
anniversary of the queen's birthday. The morning seemed a long one, and
when dinner time came we were provided with a good meal of roast beef,
potatoes, etc.

In the early afternoon we were taken in a hack to the office of
President B. Young, Jr., at Islington, by Mr. Carter and the detective,
whose object in taking us there was to endeavor to get our passage
money and use it in paying the expenses of taking us back to our homes.

As we approached the office the detective asked for our ship tickets.
I told him I would not give them up. There were three tickets--two to
take us across the ocean, the other to take me to Wyoming, Nebraska.

Again the officer asked me for the tickets, which I still refused to
give up. He said he would soon return them to me. On that condition I
handed them to him with many misgivings. It was a severe trial to be
taken back home; but to lose our hard-earned savings as well we felt

Arriving at our destination, inquiry was made for Brother Young, but
we were informed that he was not there. We were invited in and told to
wait a few minutes, when some gentlemen would see us; and soon Elders
N. H. Felt, George Linford and other brethren made their appearance.

The officer then told them he wished to get the money for the ship
tickets, whereupon the brethren returned to another room to hold
council. In a few minutes they came and said that Brigham Young had
gone to Liverpool, but if the boys (Richard and myself) would send
their tickets to George J. Linford at Sunderland the money would be
refunded. We were then taken back to the police office.

While on the way back, Carter got out of the hack. After he had gone
the detective drew close to us and said he did not want us to think
any the less of him for the part he had taken, as he had only done his
duty. I told him it was all right, we knew it.

We arrived at the police office between 4 and 5 o'clock and shortly
afterwards had our supper, after which I wrote a letter to George J.
Linford and inclosed the three tickets. Just as it was finished, one of
the men in charge of the jail said:

"Come, mates, we must do our duty; you'll have to go into the cell."

"All right," said I, and then asked him to post our letter, and he said
he would.

We were then escorted into a cell. Some bed clothes were given us
and we were told that anyone else would not have been allowed this
privilege. They said if we wanted anything we were to shout for it. So
they locked us up and went away.



It was a small cell built of rock, with stationary scats around it. In
the middle of the door was a square hole, with an extended ledge, where
eatables, etc., could be passed through.

All was quiet, no noise, not even the ticking of a clock, could be
heard. There was no light save the glimmer of the gas from the passage
way outside the cell.

We were alone and felt sad and rather low-spirited. We conversed but
little. I walked up and down the cell; Richard laid down and tried to
sleep. This was a hard thing for him to do, as his thoughts troubled
him. Oh, how I lifted my heart heavenward and prayed most fervently
to my Heavenly Father to comfort us in our hour of trial! Presently I
heard footsteps, and a voice at the door asked:

"Do you want anything, mates?"

I answered, "No."

Poor fellow! It was one of the keepers. They evidently felt for us, for
they came two or three times and asked the same question. Then I laid
down and tried to sleep, but could not.

We had been in the cell perhaps two hours, when a heavenly influence
rested upon us. I said to Richard:

"How do you feel?"

He replied, "I feel happy."

I told him I never felt so happy in all my life as at that moment, and
remarked I did not care how long we remained in the cell if we could
feel like that all the time.

It was the holy influence of the Spirit of the Lord that rested upon
us. To us it was a testimony that the gospel we had embraced was true.
Our minds became calm and we were strengthened in that hour of trial.
At last sleep closed our eyes. Thus ended a very eventful day of our

About half-past 5 next morning our breakfast was handed to us through
the small, square hole in the door--bread and butter and coffee. We
tasted the coffee, but did not like it; so I asked the keeper to give
us some water, which he did.

About 6 o'clock, the cell door was opened and there stood before us an
officer from Middlesbrough, a gentleman whom we had seen before. He
produced a pair of handcuffs and put them on our wrists. This indignity
we felt most keenly. My wrists were so thin the handcuffs were almost
too large and they nearly slipped over my hand. He told us to follow
him, which we did, and as we passed through the police office, we bade
the keepers good-by. Their kindness towards us is still treasured up by
me, and if ever the pleasure of meeting them again presents itself, it
will be a source of happiness to shake them by the hand and thank them
for past favors.

A hack was waiting in front of the office, which we got into and
started for the railway which would take us to Middlesbrough.

A little while after the train had started the handcuffs were removed
from our wrists. To pass the time away we amused ourselves looking out
of the car windows and viewing passing objects and did all we could to
make them think we did not care for being taken back to our homes; but
could the secrets of our bosoms have been revealed, two aching hearts
would have been discovered.

Before the train reached its destination the "bracelets" were again
placed on our hands. We arrived at Middlesbrough about a quarter to
8 in the evening. Before getting out of the cars we pulled our coat
sleeves over the handcuffs, and as soon as we were out in the station,
we swung our hands, kept a smile on our countenances and were scarcely
noticed by anyone, till we arrived at the Middlesbrough police office.
No sooner had we entered the office than one of the officers in charge

"Are you the boys that have been brought back?"

I answered, "Yes."

He said, "You were not worth bringing back," which sentiment found an
echo in my own heart.



We were soon escorted to a cell, which was much larger and colder than
the one we occupied the night previous. The handcuffs taken off, the
door closed upon us, and with sad hearts we sat down upon a bed of

We had been in the cell but a few minutes when Richard's father came
with some supper for his son. How sad he looked as he entered the
cell--a father's love for his boy was clearly manifest. He did not say
much, but looked hard at me, as though he blamed me for leading him
from home. Of course I was a few months older than Richard, but he was
taller and stouter than I, and to look at us it would hardly appear
reasonable that I should have power to lead him away. Mr. Sedgwick only
stayed a few moments.

The supper was soon spread. Richard, poor fellow, could not eat, but I
did justice to my share. We then laid down and tried to sleep, but what
with the mice and other small visitors, and thinking of our peculiar
situation, we had little sleep that night, and were not sorry when
daylight came.

About 8 o'clock the next morning my mother entered the cell with some
breakfast for me. She did not say much but evidently felt for me. It
was principally through her we had been brought back. Though one of the
prime movers in our capture, she was hardly to blame, for she believed
it was her duty to do what she had done. So many tales had been told
her concerning Utah and the "Mormons" that she felt positive there must
be a great deal of truth in them.

About half-past 10 o'clock we were escorted into a room where an
officer took a description of us--color of our hair, eyes, complexion,
our height, etc. Shortly afterwards we were taken into the court room
and had our trial before Judge Fallows. Besides the judge and several
policemen, our employers, Richard's father and my mother were there.

The judge asked a few questions and then inquired what we had to say
for ourselves. I immediately arose and said:

"What I have to say for myself is this: The room I work in is not a fit
place, as it is a cold, damp cellar."

Mr. Gould denied this statement.

The judge then asked Richard what he had to say for himself. He
replied that his reason for absconding was because we were such close
companions, and when I ran away he followed me. One of the police said
to me:

"You're the leader, then, are you?"

We were then asked by the judge whether we would serve the remainder of
our apprenticeship in jail, or go back and work for our employers. We
chose the latter alternative.

He then inquired of Mr. Carter what our expenses were and the amount of
our passage money. On being informed, he decided that if our employers
could obtain the money for our ship tickets it would clear the incurred
expenses; but if not, the expenses were to be deducted out of our
wages, and the case was dismissed. At this we were not sorry. I went
home; but as my parents were not there I went to see Wm. H. Scott.

Before proceeding further, it may be proper to offer a few words
concerning our capture. When we did not return to our homes at the time
appointed, suspicion was immediately aroused and Mr. Carter told Mr.
Gould and our parents he believed we were connected with the "Mormons,"
and had run away with the intention of going by a vessel that was to
sail for America. They at once telegraphed to London to see if the ship
had started and were informed it had not.

Our parents were anxious we should be brought back, and my mother
begged they would send for us. She said she would do anything rather
than have us go to Utah with the "Mormons." Mr. Gould was not much in
favor of taking any steps; but Mr. Carter felt quite interested in the
matter. He telegraphed to London and had a detective put on our track,
and started himself for London that evening and arrived there early
next morning, when, accompanied by a detective, he took us off the ship
as already narrated.

To again continue the story. I spent the Saturday afternoon after
our trial with Wm. H. Scott, who had not yet gone on his mission. He
informed us that while we were absent he had had an unpleasant time.
Both our parents and employers had suspected him of being the cause of
our absconding, and not seeing him in Middlesbrough, they thought he
had gone with us; but in this they were mistaken, as William, thinking
they would suspect him, went to Stockton and stayed there a few days.
After this interview I went home and was treated very kindly by my
parents that evening.



After my return home I thought seriously over the matter of absconding.
I knew I had broken the law and also the promise I had made in my
indentures to work seven years with Mr. Gould. Had my parents been
more favorable towards me, I should not have left my home and employer
to endeavor to emigrate with the Saints until I was free to act upon
my own responsibility, and to do as I thought best. But now that I
was back again, it was my resolve to stay and finish the remainder of
my apprenticeship, providing my parents would grant me permission to
attend meetings of the Saints and not be too strict with me.

As Richard and I passed along the streets, people made scornful remarks
about us.

On the next Friday, June 1st, my attention was called to the following
article, which appeared in the _Middlesbrough News_, published that

"SATURDAY.--Before W. Fallows, Esq.

"OFF TO MORMONDOM.--At this court, two youths, named Richard Sedgwick
and Robert Aveson, the former an apprentice with Mr. Carter of Gosford
Street, and the latter with Mr. Gould of South Street, printer, were
charged with absconding on the 18th ult. The lads, in company with a
young man who has joined the Mormons and succeeded in converting the
lads to his views, went from Sunderland and from thence to London by
the steamer _Lady Havelock, en route_ for Utah. A warrant was sent
after them, and they were apprehended in London and brought back to
Middlesbrough.--Ordered to go back to their work, and the expenses to
be deducted out of their wages."

The next day, after finishing my work at 4 o'clock, Mr. Gould brought
my week's wages, but instead of my usual seven shillings and sixpence
he gave me five shillings and sixpence. He said he was going to deduct
two shillings per week until the full amount of my expenses from London
was paid. This did not meet my approval, but as it was according to the
decision of the court it could not be prevented.

On the following Sunday, shortly after dinner, I told my parents
I wished to go for a walk. Permission was granted, but my father
accompanied me.

Richard Sedgwick's parents did not take the same course with him as my
parents did with me. He could attend any meetings he wished and was
permitted to go where he pleased; but a strict watch was kept over me
by my mother, so that I was always in a miserable suspense. Besides
this, my mother was all the time talking to me when I was at home,
which made me dread to see her.

On Saturday, June 9th, my mother asked me to go with her next day to a
meeting of the Wesleyan Reformers.

"Mother," I replied, "I can't serve two religions at once."

"Yours is the devil's religion!" she replied.

The next morning, on going to my trunk to get on my Sunday clothes,
I discovered they were not there, and on asking my mother where they
were, she said:

"Those clothes you wear every day are good enough for you to go to
Mormon meetings in."

Pleased to think she would allow me to go even on those terms, I
answered that it did not matter with me what kind of clothes I had on
so long as the privilege was granted of attending "Mormon" meetings.

After breakfast, I went to the front door and sat on the step
meditating, while people passed to and fro, dressed in their Sunday
clothes. Then I looked at myself in my everyday attire, with no coat
on, as mine was not to be had. It seemed to touch me on a sore part
to go through the streets in my shirt sleeves, while all others were
dressed in their best clothes. But I revered my religion, loved the
Saints and was not going to stay in the house all day notwithstanding
the clothes worn by me were shabby for the Sabbath.

The church bells were pealing and the people passing to and fro
to their respective places of worship as I hurried to my place of
destination--Sister Scott's--and related to the folks there how my
Sunday clothes had been locked up by my mother. From one of the Saints,
a young man living at Scott's, I obtained the loan of a coat. They
asked me to come to the afternoon meeting, to be held at their house,
which I promised to do.

Returning home about noon, my father commanded that I should stay in
the house the remainder of the day. So I was prevented keeping my

That afternoon was one of the most unpleasant of my life. Oh, how
slowly the time passed away! I retired early to rest. My prayers were
not forgotten; and while on my knees big tears rolled down my cheeks.

Richard and I intended to make our second attempt to leave home; but
prior to doing so awaited an answer to a letter which had been sent
to President George J. Linford while in the Thames Police office;
containing our ship tickets. But three weeks passed away before the
expected answer came.

On Saturday evening, June 16th, we received a letter from President
Linford. It informed us that our tickets had been received all right
and contained his advice to us not to again run away from our homes,
but serve out our lawful apprenticeship.

The next day was the time fixed to leave our homes the second time. We
intended to start at 5 o'clock in the afternoon by steamer for Shields,
a town probably between forty or fifty miles northward.

In the morning of that day I attended the Presbyterian church, and it
seemed to me my mother was beginning to think I was weaning myself from

In the afternoon, Richard and I went to Sister Scott's. There we met
some of her relatives from Shields. One of them, a young lady, not
intending to return that day, gave me her ticket.

One or two acquaintances of Sister Scott were going to Shields, and we
intended, on arriving there, to stay with them that night. Where our
final destination would be we hardly knew, though we had been thinking
of going to some part of Scotland. Richard had about £1.2s. ($5.50). I
had no money, but had borrowed 5s. ($1.25) from Sister Scott.

About half past 4 o'clock we went down to a boat landing, accompanied
by nearly all of the Scott family and visiting relatives, who were
going to Shields. The steamer we intended to go by was timed to leave
at 5 o'clock; a steamer for Stockton also started at the same time.
Both the steamers were moored near each other. We were there a few
minutes before 5 o'clock and went with our friends into a waiting
room on the landing stage. Passengers were walking about the landing,
awaiting the departure of the steamers. It was our intention to go
aboard the Shields steamer; but before doing so we noticed a man named
Brooks, a printer, going on the Stockton steamer. Being acquainted with
him, we deemed it advisable to wait till the Stockton steamer should
start, for fear Brooks would see us going on the other steamer. This
placed us in a rather precarious situation, as both steamers having
to start at the same time, we were afraid of being unable to get on
the vessel without his seeing us. Anxiously we watched the two boats,
wondering which would start first, when we saw the Stockton boat make
the first move. How pleased we were! It had not got many feet away
when, turning to Richard, I said quickly:

"Now, let us go!" (meaning, of course, for us to go on the Shield's

No sooner had I spoken these words than a brother in the Church, named
John Parish, hurriedly approached us and in a half whisper, said:

"_Here's your mother!_"

These words perplexed and astounded me. Was it a reality that we were
stopped the second time in our attempt to leave home? To be positive
that Parish was correct in his assertion I looked in the direction he
pointed, and there, sure enough, was my mother gazing intently at the
two steamers--one on its journey and the other just ready to start.



I left the waiting room and returned home with my mother.

It was my usual habit to be at home at 4 o'clock on Sundays, but being
absent at that time on this occasion, my mother, thinking it probable I
was going to a Latter-day Saint evening meeting at Stockton by steamer,
came to the boat landing to look for me.

The next morning my mind was fully set to make a third attempt to leave

At dinner time, seeing Richard a little ahead of me on the street, I
quickly overtook him and said:

"Now, Richard, make up your mind to go away to-night."

He was surprised, and said:

"We have been stopped twice now, and I don't think it's right for us to
go away again; but I'll go with you if you want me to."

We then arranged to meet at the theatre, which was near a boat
landing, at 7:30 that evening; he agreeing to bring with him out of
my box (which was at Sister Scott's), a tin cup, some writing paper,
envelopes, and pen and ink.

The working hours in the printing office were from 8 a.m. till 7:30
p.m. The train by which I intended to leave had to start at 7:45 p.m.

Shortly after 7 o'clock that evening it began to rain. The suit I wore
was very thin and I would soon be wet through. I discovered also that
a new pocket knife, recently purchased, had been left behind; so,
thinking of the rain, my poor clothes and the knife, I was in two minds
whether to go that night or not. I walked up and down the room in which
I worked, hardly knowing what to do. Twenty-five minutes past seven
came, but I was still undecided in my mind.

Presently I left the place and hurried down to where Richard was
waiting near the theatre. He had the things which he was told to bring.
Borrowing twelve shillings from him and, with the five shillings loaned
me by Sister Scott, my total stock of cash was seventeen shillings.

The rain still continued and my clothes were wet. I parted with my
friend Richard and went on a small steamboat which crossed the river
Tees. After crossing, I purchased a ticket to Newcastle on-Tyne for
three shillings and a penny and soon boarded the cars and started on my

Newcastle was reached about half past 10 o'clock that night. Getting
out of the cars I looked around for a few moments at the elegant and
spacious railway station and began to wonder what was the next thing to
do, as it was my intention to go to Leith next morning. After finding
out where the Leith steamer sailed from I procured lodgings at a
private boarding house.

At 4 o'clock I was aroused and quickly dressing myself, left the house
and walked the streets for nearly two long hours. About 6 o'clock the
steamer started. We arrived at Leith about 5 o'clock in the evening.
Among the passengers whose acquaintance I made was an Irishman, bound
for Glasgow; and having the address of the president of the Glasgow
Conference, I thought it would be best to go there.

We walked from Leith to Edinburgh, about two miles distant, and then
took train for Glasgow, reaching the latter place about 8 o'clock. The
address I wanted to go to was about two miles from the station.

After entering the house I related to the lady there the particulars of
my leaving home, during which time she prepared supper for me. She told
me she expected Bro. Cluff in soon. Nearly an hour afterward Brother
Cluff came in. They then held a consultation regarding me and Brother
Cluff said I could say there that night, but they wished me to leave in
the morning.

Next morning I started out to seek work--called at printing offices,
paint shops and other places; but after traveling about all day met
with no success.

In the evening I wended my way to the Conference House where they
allowed me to sleep that night.

Next morning I started out again in search of employment. It appeared
strange there should be numerous advertisements for boys wanted in many
stores, but whenever I applied they always made some excuse.

For two long days I had tramped the streets, applying at stores of
various kinds; I was anxious and willing to work but could not obtain
any. All the money I had borrowed was spent--every cent--for traveling
expenses, food, etc. And here was I in a strange country, without home
or friends, and worst of all, no money. What was I to do? My situation
was a trying one: I had left home, friends and employer, thinking to
easily obtain employment and earn enough, with that deposited with the
Perpetual Emigration Fund to emigrate next year to the frontier.

In the evening I returned as usual to the Conference House, feeling
somewhat low-spirited, but doing my best to cheer myself up and look at
the bright side.

Conversing with Brother Cluff he asked me why I did not go to New York.
I replied that I might as well stay in Glasgow, because if I went
there, I should not arrive in time to go with the Saints on the cars to
Wyoming, the last ship having left three weeks previous.

Brother Cluff informed me that another ship had left Liverpool--the
_St. Mark_--and if I took passage by steamer from Glasgow the next
Saturday, I could get there before the company arrived; and said he
thought it would be likely I should have a chance to go with the Saints
to the frontier.

Immediately making up my mind to do as Brother Cluff had advised me, I
wrote to Brigham Young, Jr., at Liverpool, asking for my money in the
P. E. Fund; also to Sister Scott, telling her of my resolve.

On the Saturday morning the postman brought two letters, one of which
was from Liverpool and contained a post office order.

Being too late to secure a berth on the steamer which was to leave
Glasgow that morning, as all the berths were taken, I decided to take
the steamer for Liverpool, which would leave that evening at 6 o'clock,
and sail from there to New York. I purchased several articles of
clothing, and one of the Saints in the Glasgow branch gave me a hat,
shirt, muffler, etc.

In the evening, at 6 o'clock, I left Glasgow for Liverpool, which place
we reached late in the afternoon of the next day. I at once proceeded
to Brigham Young's office. There Elder Orson Pratt received me very
kindly and asked one of the clerks to take me to a lodging house, which
he did.

The steamer _Virginia_ was advertised to sail for New York the
following Wednesday, June 27th, and I made arrangements to embark on
that vessel.



Queenstown was reached the next day, June 28th. A small steamer brought
us some Irish passengers, also some officers in search of some one. I
felt somewhat nervous on seeing them and wondered who they were after.
Who did they want? was it me? Being anxious to ascertain, I inquired of
an Irishwoman who was near me:

"What do these men want?"

The answer she made surprised me.

"It's only a runaway boy they're after."

I was thunderstruck at these words, but still kept my eye on the
officers. At last, seeing them make their way in the direction where I
was, if it were possible for me to have sunk into the cabin, I should
certainly have done so. Could I hide? No, there was no time for that.

As they approached near me I sat down, folded my arms and said to
myself: "Take me if you will!" Oh, how my heart beat! Another moment
and they passed by. How thankful I felt it was not me they were after!
It transpired afterwards it was a soldier--a deserter--they were in
search of.

In a very little time we were sailing on the "deep blue sea."

We arrived at New York, July 13th, being sixteen days on our voyage.

Two or three hours after arriving I started to find out Mr. Thomas
Taylor's office and was kindly invited in. No time was lost by me
in accepting the invitation, as the heat was oppressive. I felt the
effects very much, for no sooner was I seated than faintness overcame
me. Some cold water and a fan were brought me and I soon recovered. H.
P. Folsom, T. B. H. Stenhouse and others were present. Brother Folsom
was formerly traveling Elder in the Durham and Newcastle Conference,
and I formed his acquaintance at Middlesbrough.

After being in the office a few minutes, Brother Folsom asked me if I
was from Middlesbrough, to which I answered in the affirmative. Knowing
I had worked in a printing office, Brother Folsom spoke a good word for
me to Brother Stenhouse, editor and proprietor of the _Salt Lake Daily
Telegraph_, who asked me how long I would work for him if he paid the
remainder of my fare to the frontier. I responded two years. He then

"I'll make a proposition to you, Robert: I'll give you twelve dollars a
week for the first year and fifteen for the second."

This proposition was eagerly accepted by me.



I slept that night in the office. The next day Brother H. P. Folsom
procured lodgings for me at Sister Mary I. Worthington's, in Brooklyn,
with whom I stayed till the next Tuesday, the 17th of June, when, in
company with her and her family, we left New York about midnight.

Our company consisted of about seven hundred Scandinavians (a ship
having arrived on the 17th) and about one hundred English.

On the 29th of July, about noon, we arrived at Wyoming, a small
settlement in Nebraska Territory. At a short distance the tents of the
Saints attracted my attention, and I soon wended my way there, finding
quite a number of those who had sailed in the _American Congress_. We
were pleased to greet each other.

After dinner I took a stroll over to one of the stores in the
settlement, where I assisted in serving customers and was given my
board as a recompense.

Early in the afternoon of August 2nd, we started on our long journey.
Our train consisted of about sixty-five wagons. The captain's name was
Rawlings, and Brother John Nicholson was chaplain.

About twenty miles was an average day's journey. The emigrants walked
most of the way, riding only in the wagons at intervals to rest
themselves. Each morning, before sunrise, we were aroused by the
sound of the bugle. Then could be witnessed a scene of activity; all
were bustling around, some going for wood, others carrying water and
lighting fires.

While camping at night, after supper had been prepared and disposed
of, we enjoyed good times, especially in listening to singing, in
which some young ladies excelled. Groups of elder ones could have been
seen seated around large fires, conversing about days gone by and
forecasting the future.

Following are some incidents which happened on the plains:

Reaching the North Platte River, and after being camped there two or
three hours, one of our company appeared with two loaded guns, one of
which he hurriedly handed to a young man. We asked what was the matter.
He replied:

"We are surrounded by Indians!"

I then rushed to our wagon to get a pistol which I thought our teamster
had left in the wagon, but could not find it. All the men left camp
to ascertain what was going on. Women and children began to cry and
the scene was heartrending. Those of us left in camp were eagerly
looking around, expecting every minute to be attacked by Indians. Our
camping place was in a lonely spot. On one side, close to us, was the
North Platte River, and on the other, about the same distance, were
mountains. Not a house in sight; in fact, we were a great many miles
away from one. We afterwards learned that the alarm was a false one.
The captain called the company together and chided the men for leaving
the camp without anyone to defend it.

One snowy morning, when probably about a hundred miles from Salt Lake
City, I started out, as usual, on foot. My shoes were considerably worn
out, and one of them was badly used up and so hurt me that, despite
the snow, I had to throw it away and walk barefoot. Approaching our
teamster, I besought him to let me ride, telling him my deplorable
condition. He refused to grant my request. After walking awhile I again
asked permission to ride, but was again denied. The snow came down in
heavy flakes and very few of our company were walking. I trudged along
for about three miles with only one shoe on, when my strength failed--I
could go no farther--and was about to sit down in the snow, at the same
time fervently praying to my Heavenly Father for His divine assistance.
As soon as I had uttered my prayer a shoe came flying out to me. Our
wagon was just passing by and Sister Worthington was the person who
threw it. It was small for me, but with difficulty, after rubbing some
skin off my heel, I managed to get it on and went limping on my journey.



After a long, weary and tedious journey of about seven thousand
miles, Salt Lake City was at length reached on September 30, 1866--a
little over three months' travel from Liverpool to Salt Lake City. It
was Sunday when we arrived. That morning I arose early, and getting
something to eat, left the camp (a few miles up Parley's Canyon), and
wended my way to the "City of the Saints," to find the residence of
Brother T. B. H. Stenhouse. It was a fine, sunny morning; everything
around me looked charming and lovely.

Onward to the heart of the city I went. After many inquiries the
residence of Brother Stenhouse was at length reached. He was pleased to
see me and invited me to take dinner with himself and family. In the
afternoon his son, Lorenzo, took me to his father's printing office,
which was my sleeping place that night.

Next morning I went to the Tithing Office yard, where our train was
camped (it having arrived there that morning). President Young came
into the yard to see us. He shook hands with many of the brethren and
sisters, and they felt quite honored. I was informed that a number of
the Saints who sailed on the _American Congress_ had only arrived in
the city a day or two previous. Although it was over five weeks after
the departure of the _American Congress_ before my leaving England. I
did not lose much time after all.

I removed what little luggage I had to the _Daily Telegraph_ office,
thinking it best to "keep bach" for the present, as I had no relatives
or any particular friend to board me. This I did for nearly eleven
weeks, when, December 19, 1866, James McKnight, an employe in the
_Daily Telegraph_ office, told me that if it suited me I could live
with him. His offer was gladly accepted and I stayed with him for
several months.

During this time letters regularly reached me from my parents and I was
prompt in answering them; giving full particulars about Salt Lake City
and our religion, and often bore my testimony to them. I was here in
Utah without a relative and was very desirous they should receive the
gospel, although the prospects were not encouraging at that time.

In August, 1868, Wm. H. Scott arrived from New York (the Scott family
having emigrated to New York in 1867). I was greatly pleased to meet my
friend. He was the first intimate acquaintance from Middlesbrough I had
seen since coming to Utah.

It is painful, however, to relate that he apostatized in the Summer of
1869. It was about the time when the "Godbeite" movement took place.
From the time Brother Scott embraced the gospel he was one of the most
zealous workers in the cause of truth ever seen by me. He labored
faithfully to assist in establishing the latter-day kingdom; but his
expectations in regard to Utah and her people were not realized. I had
been very fond of him--had loved him as a brother. He had been a friend
and counselor to me in past days, and when I saw that he was as much in
opposition to the kingdom of God as he had been formerly in favor of
building it up, it grieved me very much. I talked and reasoned with him
and tried to show him the error of his way, but it was all in vain. He
became more and more bitterly opposed to the gospel and in the Summer
of 1870 went back to the States.

Correspondence with my parents and also my relatives was regularly kept
up from the time of my arrival in Utah. I was very anxious to induce
them to join the Church, and did all in my power to induce them to do

In the Spring of 1879, I procured the address of the president of the
Middlesbrough Branch--William Garbett--and wrote to him, requesting
that he should see my parents and use his best endeavors to induce them
to embrace the gospel. Brother Garbett and other Saints visited with
that object in view.

On the 20th of September, 1879, I was happily surprised and astonished
to receive a letter from my mother with the following glad tidings:

"I, your mother, was baptized a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of
Latter day Saints, on the 23rd of August, and your father on the 30th
of the same month."

This was very gratifying news, both to myself and wife. After waiting
patiently and anxiously for over thirteen years, my prayers, which were
so often offered up, were answered.

My reply to this letter from my parents informed them how my heart
rejoiced to hear the good news, and stated that we would assist them to
emigrate to Utah the following year.

The time drew nigh for my parents to arrive in Zion. After such a
lengthy absence from them, and knowing how opposed to the work they had
been, but now their eyes were opened and they could see as I saw, I
looked forward with pleasure to the day of their arrival.

They took passage with the first company, April 10th, 1880. I almost
counted the days for their arrival. At last it was announced by
telegram that the company would arrive at 6:30, p.m., April 30, 1880.
Every preparation was made by us for their comfort.



The next morning they were enabled to get a better view of he "City of
the Saints." It was the first of May--a fine sunny day. The orchards
were delightful for the eye to gaze upon; the peach, plum, apple, and
other trees were arrayed in their sweetest attire. The birds were
merry, the bee and butterfly passed too and fro, and everything around
was beautiful.

My parents were much in love with our city and the surroundings. During
the day father was seen to shed tears--tears of joy and sorrow. He was
glad he was here in the land of Zion, but felt sorrowful to think of
his sons and daughter in Babylon. To a neighbor who happened to be near
him, and saw the tears roll down his cheeks, he said he felt sorry to
think that his children back in England were so foolish to stay there,
when they might have been here in this beautiful country.

My parents have often expressed, that they wished they had come here
years ago.

About the latter part of October, 1880, I was much pleased to receive
a letter from my brother Miles, at Middlesbrough, stating that he had
been baptized into the Church.

In September, 1881, I sent his fare to emigrate him to Utah, and he
arrived in Salt Lake City, Nov. 11th.

My readers no doubt, have been wondering what became of Richard
Sedgwick. When I bade him good by in England, I little thought so
many years would elapse before we should meet again. After my leaving
Middlesbrough, he stayed there a little over one year, then emigrated
to New York and resided in Brooklyn, at which place he was married in
July, 1868. Our correspondence continued more or less, from the time
he reached that place till he arrived in the valleys of the mountains,
November 10, 1882. When we met, I should not have known him, nor would
he have recognized me, had I not answered to my name when he inquired
for me. It was nearly sixteen years and a half since we saw each other,
and it was a happy meeting.

The following is Richard Sedgwick's account of his leaving home in 1867:

"I started from home on the 1st of July, 1867. It was on a Monday
morning, and on Mondays we used to commence work at 8 o'clock, while
other mornings, we began at 6. I took the train for Stockton (four
miles away), and on arriving there called at the house of Brother
Thomas Watson, clerk of the Middlesbrough and Stockton branch. The box,
which we had with us when we left our homes the year previous, was at
Brother Watson's house. I told him I wanted it, as it was my intention
to go to Liverpool, and from there to New York. Brother Watson was
not in favor of my going away, and advised me to return home, but my
mind was bent on leaving for New York and then get to Utah as soon
as possible. He kept talking with me till I missed the train for
Liverpool. This was unpleasant, as I was afraid Mr. Carter would send
an officer after me.

"Determined not to be baffled, I took my box, went to the station and
waited for the next train, perhaps two hours, and arrived at Liverpool
about 2 o'clock in the afternoon. It so happened that a steamer had to
leave for New York early next morning. I went to 42 Islington, and got
my passage money which I had paid to sail on the _American Congress_
the year previous.

"Next morning I was up bright and early and went aboard the steamer.
The vessel sailed about half-past 9 o'clock, and it was well she
started at that hour, for I learned afterwards, by letter from my
father, that as soon as Carter missed me, he lost no time in trying
to have me brought back again. A detective was put on my track, who,
fortunately for me, arrived at the Liverpool docks just a few hours too

On September 12, 1881, I received a letter from William Garbett,
president of the Middlesbrough branch, which stated in effect that
there had been a death in his family, another reduction in wages, a
poor harvest on account of incessant rains, and provisions were rising
in price. In answer, I told him my faith was that he would be emigrated
to Utah before the end of the next year. Circulars were issued by me to
his friends, explaining his situation. The result was sufficient means
were procured to emigrate Brother Garbett and family (seven in number)
to Utah. They arrived here in Sept., 1882

Reflecting at various times on the scenes recounted in this little
work, and of the many joyful times experienced among the Saints in
Middlesbrough and vicinity, it occurred to the writer that a revival of
old times and acquaintanceships would be greatly relished by those who
had emigrated therefrom, and it was finally arranged to have a re-union
of the Middlesbrough branch of the church on Thanksgiving day, November
29, 1883.

All the Saints and Elders who had been in the branch were invited to
be present at the 4th Ward meeting house, where the re-union was held.
Dinner was served at 2 p.m., followed by the various exercises, such
as singing, reciting, speaking, etc. The time was agreeably spent till
half-past 6 o'clock in the evening. The attendance was numerous without
being crowded, and the affair was gratifying to all present. It will
remain indelibly impressed upon the memories of all who participated.




Two little shreds of yellow paper which would not pass current for the
value of an ordinary letter stamp! And yet they are to be cherished in
the family Bible as a treasure worthy of loving gaze and reverent touch.

Look at them closer. One resembles a hand and the other a heart. Even
in their freshest and brightest days they would have been condemned by
the artist whose standard is the ideal, and by the anatomist whose sole
appreciation is for the real; for their departure from anatomical truth
is not in the line of artistic license. Still they are sacred to us.

Why are the papers so yellow? you ask. Because more than half a century
has elapsed since they were cut into these shapes. Why so frayed and
worn? Because for years they were carried in a woman's bosom. Why so
stained? Because they have been wept over; and doubtless some of the
bitterest of all tears--the tears which fall from the widowed and the
fatherless, have moistened them. But here is a deeper stain than any
which can be made by any human tears--what is it? The blood of an
honest man, a patriot; the blood which flowed from the real heart of
the man whose real hand clipped these little uncouth models from the
old-fashioned sheet and sent them to his lady-love.

Turn the papers over. What do you read?

"William Anderson sends this hand to his sweetheart, Emeline T.
Stewart. Like myself, it is yours now and forever, if you will it so.

         "NEW VINEYARD, MAINE, Christmas, 1829."

"Dear Emeline:

     I offer my heart to you. Keep it if you can love me and will be
my wife.

"Your true lover--and husband, as I hope to be,

                     WILLIAM ANDERSON."

The writing is cramped, for the hand which laboriously traced so
many words within so small a space, though it belonged to the young
schoolmaster of the village, was quite as well used to carrying a
rifle or wielding an ax in the forest as to this scholar's work. The
composition, too, is heavy: William Anderson was not a poet; he was but
a plain youth whose best effort was to put his honest wish into honest
words, and to send his blunt message freighted with all his hopes for
the future.

Little did he know how his paper hand and heart would be hoarded
to come into the loving care of his descendants! The strong man is
dead--his mangled clay rests amid the decaying beauties of a city by
the banks of the lordly Mississippi. The devoted woman is dead--her
tortured body reposes under mighty Wasatch shadows. But the fragile
papers survive; and the love which brought them into being lives. It
lives eternally, if there be reward in heaven for sacrifice.

William Anderson was the son of a New Vineyard farmer--well to do with
the grosser goods of this world, as well as being possessed of family
pride; and the boy was taught, along with the heavy duties of the
field, something of books. He was indulged, too, in the physical luxury
of a yearly meeting-suit, made out of wondrous fabrics brought all the
way from Boston, a city more distant and mythical in the estimation of
the New Vineyard people of that day than is Benares to this age.

Large families of children were in the sturdy and healthy New England
fashion of the first quarter of this century, and William's brothers
and sisters numbered near a half score. So the boys were impelled to
industry and self-reliance.

Religious profession of some kind was one of the common comforts of
life; and Mrs. Joy Anderson was proud to marshal "for meetin'" each
Sabbath a troop as numerous and well-behaved as the family party of
Charity Carver or Hope Smith. William's mother was of a Puritan family,
and vied with her female neighbors, whose names indicated the same
proud descent, in having every able member of her household a regular
attendant upon divine service.

From the country within a radius of five miles of the plain,
old-fashioned, stone meeting house, came, for gossip as much as genuine
worship, all the settlers--rich and poor, farmers, graziers, woodsmen
and the few traffickers who were able to make their Yankee shrewdness a
means of maintenance.

One of the principal men of the region comprised in the scattered
village of New Vineyard, was Hugh Stewart, farmer and whilom speculator
in lands and timber. His family was wont to journey from his residence
to the church--a distance of two miles in a carryall.

This vehicle was the object of much reverence; and Hugh managed by
frequent applications of varnish to keep it in that state of glossiness
which constituted its chief awe in New Vineyard eyes. Regularly, rain
or shine, its appearance at the last turn of the sandy road leading
to the meeting-house was announced by some watchful youngster and the
waiting worshipers, who usually assembled an hour in advance of sermon
time, rushed to the porch to watch the family of the Stewarts dismount
from their carriage. Though this practice was continued for a term of
years, it never failed to awaken interest. I doubt if the London Lord
Mayor's gilded chariot ever aroused more real excitement among his
satiated townsmen than was evinced at each appearance of this ancient
vehicle at the meeting-house steps.

The occupants of the carryall were invariably checked off upon a score
of fingers: "There's Hugh and Martha, and there's Dan'l and Marchant
and Em'line and Car'line."

If one of these usual attendants happened for any reason to be absent,
there were comments and surmises without number until some active
investigator could ascertain the cause; and once learned, the news was
whispered about from lips quivering with eagerness to tell unto ears
twitching with anxiety to hear.

One of the most intensely interested of the watches was Mrs. Joy
Anderson, who felt all that her religion would permit her to entertain
of envy for the almost regal state in which the Stewarts were brought
to church.

More than one scathing rebuke fell from her very capable tongue upon
the well-calloused understanding of William, the senior Anderson. Her
stock complaint is worthy of preservation as showing how little the
style of marital reproach has varied within three-quarters of a century.

"I don't care for myself, and you know I don't; I don't say a grumbling
word at you for not taking me to New York when Mrs. Stewart went with
her husband though you know well enough you were quite as able to
pay my way as he was to take his wife; and everybody knows that if
anyone deserves a rest I do; but no, I never can go to visit my cousin
Faith Brewster that I think the world of, though I've never seen her
and only heard from her twice in my life, and she may have been dead
these ten years for all I know or you care, and even then it would
only be my duty to visit her grave and I could carry along a little
box of mignonette, in case of, to plant on her last resting place--no
I never say one word about these things, and I always spare your
feelings instead of telling you how often Mrs. Stewart looks at me as
if she had a kind of contemptuous pity for my suffering; but what I
feel so awfully hurt about are the airs that the Stewart children put
on when they get out of the carriage on Sunday at the meeting-house
door; and we've got more than half the distance to travel and you
could well afford something of the kind, and then we could get to the
meeting-house even if some of us were sick, and because we've had not a
day's sickness in the house in fifteen years is no sign we won't have,
but all the more sign that it must come sooner or later--"

Though this some what inconsistent speech was received with no apparent
emotion by the substantial husband and father whom it was intended to
pierce with its sharp sarcasm; it always created a little excitement
among the children.

Mrs. Stewart was really a good woman who was compelled by frequent
attacks of illness to pay some attention to personal comfort, and
who had never thought of triumphing over her esteemed friend Joy
with a glance of pity. Mrs. Anderson was also a good woman; but she
unwittingly taught her children to hold envy and dislike for neighbors.
Probably she was not the first woman, as she was certainly not the last
to pursue this foolish, unchristianlike course.

Little William was often an attentive listener to this wail of his
mother; and from it he tried to conceive a deep and bitter hatred for
the rival aristocratic family at the other end of the village.

Very strangely, this effort of the boy, begun and religiously pursued
under a sense of family loyalty, was utterly unavailing. There was
something in the soft eyes and patient face of Mrs. Stewart which
consumed all his bitter thoughts and made him feel more like kissing
the lady's hand than hating her, even for his injured mother's sake.

Often and often when she was assisting the children from the carriage,
while Hugh--something too careless in this respect, was taking his
horse from the thills or hailing neighbors in a hearty voice, little
Will Anderson felt a barely resistible inclination to rush forward and
offer his help. Was he restrained by a fear of punishment from his
mother, or the dread of a refusal from Mrs. Stewart, or anticipation
of ridicule from the assembled villagers? Not one of these fears
influenced him in the least: he was simply afraid that there was one
of the children that he could not lift. It was not tall Dan, nor fat
March; for he felt that he could toss them both over the meeting house
if such conduct would have been advantageous to the Stewart family;
though either of the boys was as large as two such chaps as Will. And
of course it was not little Carrie, for she was only a baby, three
years old, "lighter than goose down," as Will thought, but did not say
aloud. But it was Emeline.

Will had looked this girl in the face, from a distance, two or three
times--she had brown eyes, deep and true; and brown hair, in heavy,
rich coils. Her face was as full of unsullied beauty as a lily blossom.
It had always a thoughtful expression as if the little brain were
solving some grave problem of more than human interest. At least, all
this is what Will saw and felt in an indistinct sort of fashion. I
doubt if she were quite so ethereally beautiful as Will imagined; for
girls born and reared on New England farms are not as fragile as a
hot-house flower, and I dare say that she laughed as often as other
girls; I know from personal knowledge that in later life she was not
too prim to play practical jokes.

But Will felt that he could not, for his very life, offer to lift this
girl from the carriage step. He was stout and heavy twelve years old;
and Emeline was light and slender nine; yet the exertion, especially
if she should happen to look at him from her wonderful eyes, would be



Will was more than five years old when peace was declared after
the second war with Great Britain; and the subject, in that time
of slow-moving news, was still a matter for frequent talk when he
completed his tenth year. He was then admitted into the ranks of
the "Continental Veterans," an organization of the patriotic youths
who trained along the roads and in the woods adjoining the village,
and told to each other, with passionate interest, all the tales of
adventure and heroism which they could glean from their elders. The
youngsters kept up really an accurate show of a military organization;
including this important feature (which they had learned from the
example of their elders), that all were officers of some rank or other.
In the day-time they built fires in the woods on the banks of the
Penobscot; and pretended that they were surrounded by night, dark as
a stack of black cats. Occasionally they captured a calf and tried it
as a spy by court-martial; usually allowing it to escape, at the last
moment, its sentence of hanging, and then putting the guards on trial
for aiding in the escape.

Four years of this training made Will a major, all the elder boys
ranking from lieutenant colonel upward.

One afternoon late in the Autumn, when they were having a jolly good
time in ambush along the old south road, a picket sentry announced a
body of the enemy advancing rapidly. The hostile party consisted of one
little girl, Emeline Stewart, who was trotting briskly homeward from
her weekly visit to the village sewing school. Will was scouting at
another point in company with Emeline's two brothers; and when one of
the colonels suggested taking the entire force of the enemy prisoner of
war, no dissenting voice was raised.

They met and seized her, poor, timid, little Emeline! She knew these
boys, her school-fellows and playmates, and they were not rough; but
they kept up such a style of martial bravado, and talked so glibly
of court-martial and execution--they rehearsed with such sanguinary
details the precedents established last week by the hanging of eight
Hessian and Tory spies, that the child was struck speechless with fear.

From long practice, the young rogues acted with as much confidence and
presence of mind as if they had been really old soldiers. What alarmed
Emeline most of all was that they never once lapsed back from soldiers
into the village boys of her acquaintance. Look at them with pleading
eyes as much as she would, they gave no response. Without knowing how
they were startling the child, the boys kept on with their cruel work.

A council of war was called, with General Hezekiah Bradford presiding;
and before this pompous assemblage Emeline was commanded to stand and
plead. She burst into tears and then sank down upon the mossy sward,
while the boys, struck with sudden remorse, gazed blankly at her and
then at each other.

At this instant Will and his companions hurried into the camp. A few
words of explanation from one of Will's brothers revealed the whole
situation, including the identity of "the enemy."

While they were gazing at the child's recumbent form, Hezzy Bradford

"Guards, remove the prisoner, and"--

He was about to conclude with "set her at liberty;" but Will did not
wait to hear the conclusion. Deeming this speech but a continuation of
the cruelty shown toward Emeline, he rushed at the president of the
court-martial and with one accidentally-directed bunt, he knocked that
august official from his seat of pine boughs and sprawled him upon his
back, breathless and helpless for the moment.

Without waiting for any consultation or help, Will picked up the
slender child and darted away with her; while the Continental Veterans,
including Emeline's brothers, stood gaping as if they had lost their

Once out upon the road and far enough from the camp to show that
immediate pursuit was not intended. Will was fain to place Emeline upon
a bank, that they both might get breath.

The child looked at him with wonder, at first mingled with fear. But
soon she realized that he was her rescuer and began to thank him in her
tender, cooing way; soon changing to a just and fiery indignation at
her tormentors.

Will's physical exertion had been a trifle compared with the
overwhelming nature of Emeline's glance. He was now ready to wilt. He
might have fled ignominiously, but just at that moment when he felt
himself about to take this course a shout came from the boys in the

Will at once squared himself sturdily, intending to encounter all
comers. But Emeline, with a cry of affright, sprang to her feet and

"Oh, quick, Will! Let us run for home or those wicked boys will catch
me again!"

At this familiar invitation, the boy took the outstretched hand of the
child into his own broader palm; and thus together they ran toward the
Stewart residence, Will giving the little girl a helpful lift at every
step of the flight.

Looking back as they ran, Will saw his comrades emerge from the wood
and shake their warrior fists at the fugitives; but he readily observed
that a hopeful pursuit was deemed out of the question, and that the
boys were not intending to chase.

The gate opening into the Stewart grounds was speedily reached and then
Will stopped and expected Emeline to enter. But she remained outside
long enough to say:

"Will Anderson, you are better than a brother to me. If you had not
been there, so good and brave, what could I have done!"

When the grateful child at last disappeared within the house, Will
turned to walk slowly back to the village.

He traversed the first mile on his return journey with no disturbance
to his happy reflection; and then he entered the turn of the road
leading through the wood. Raising his eyes at some slight sound in
front, he saw a phalanx of the Continental Veterans drawn up in line
across his path; while at the same moment a similar body of troops
closed in from the sides and took position a few steps in the rear of
his person. Will was taken in an ambuscade, which was performed so
successfully and with such perfect regard to military precedent, that
it is probably talked of to this day in New Vineyard among the great
grandchildren of the Continental Veterans.

A colonel solemnly placed Will under arrest; and then, by command of
General Bradford, the troop marched to the encampment in the depths of
the pine wood.

The court-martial so abruptly dismissed an hour before was now
ceremoniously re-convened, and William Anderson, major in the
Continental Veterans, was charged with an attack upon his superior
officer. The accusation was proved and the sentence of the court,
General Bradford still sitting as presiding officer, was that the
culprit be dismissed the service.

As the sentence was being pronounced, Will sprang to his feet and

"Boys, don't carry this further. I believe in military discipline, but
let us settle this matter outside of the army.

"Hezzy, if I hit you, I did it accidentally; but I'm ready to take
the consequences, and I'll stand up and fight you until you get
satisfaction. Come on, you're bigger than I am and you're three years
older; you're sure to get the best of it. Let's fight it out between us
two and let that settle the matter."

Such a plan did not entirely suit the general. He remarked:

"You're sentenced; and you'll have to quit the service. But I'll give
you plenty of `consequences' besides, so make ready."

This truthful historian grieves to say that in the fight which ensued,
General Bradford disgraced his uniform by cowardice; that most of the
boys were afraid to interfere even when they saw the plainest rules of
combat violated by the strapping Hezekiah; and lastly, that the hero of
this sketch was whaled in a most sanguinary fashion.

To Will's credit be it said that he fought with all the energy of his
being, administering occasional terrific blows on the rosy nose of the
general; and that he made no cry for quarter even when soundly thrashed.

After the encounter, the boys dispersed to their homes.

Will's heart was full of grief--not so much for the licking as for his
dismissal from the ranks of the Continental Veterans. But he tried to
bear up bravely in the hope that Emeline's kind feeling for him was
permanent and not dependent upon his military position.

The Stewart boys went home with some shame in their minds for the
unsoldier-like part which they had played in the thrilling events of
the afternoon. But they sought to make amends by describing Will's
chivalry and pluck in most extravagant terms to Emeline and all the
other younger members of the household.

Emeline was deeply interested in the recital; and her soft little heart
was torn between reverence for Will's heroism and indignation at the
baseness of his persecutors--even her own brothers coming in for a
lecture which made them hang their heads and look at each other in a
most woe-begone fashion.

During the next few days Will had much to suffer; for big boys who
were high officers in the Vets. laughed at him, and little boys, whose
highest temporary aspiration was to belong to that corps, sneered and
chuckled whenever they caught sight of this dismounted "knight of the
sorrowful visage."

Seven weeks passed before Christmas morning dawned in that bitterly
cold Winter of 1823. With the rising of the sun that day, two boys
drawing a sled on which was seated a little girl, well wrapped and
cuddled, appeared at the door of the Anderson residence--the girl was
Emeline and the boys were Dan and March, whom she had forced into
reluctant service. They entered the big kitchen, upon the invitation of
Mrs. Joy, and amid a chorus of salutations in which the visitors bore
their part.

When they were fairly in the house, with the biting frost shut out and
the tumult ended, Emeline asked for Will.

It is very unromantic but it is truth that the object of her inquiry
was at that particular moment seated at one corner of the fireplace,
straining himself black in the face to draw on a pair of damp cowhide
boots over a pair of similarly damp woolen socks--all of which personal
belongings he had been seeking to dry by the morning fire, when this
astounding interruption came.

Will succeeded in getting both boots on "as far as the heels," but go
no further they would; and when his father called him to come forward,
the poor boy got up and walked in agony and distortion toward Emeline.
He was at least three inches taller than common, from the fact that
his chubby heels rested upon the high, implacable stiffening of the
boots; and his face wore a twisted look of agony which, coupled with
his abnormal height, would have made him unrecognizable by casual

Most of the family laughed, and Dan and March joined in the
hilarity--for really Will did appear grotesque; but Emeline either from
absolute unconsciousness or gentle cunning, did not seem to notice
the boy's awkward situation, and she began to take to him with a
self-possession entirely unruffled.

"Will," she said, "I have brought you a pair of mittens for a Christmas
gift. They're my first knitting and mother says they're not good enough
for a present; but they're the best I can do now, and I offer them to
you because you've been so kind to me and had to suffer so much for my
sake. I hope you will wear them, will you?"

Emeline had ample time for this long speech. Poor Will was dumb and
gulping. But before it was ended his confusion had shrunk his feet so
that he was able to literally sink into his boots, and with this relief
his face had changed from a purple hue to a good tint of health. He
found his voice in time to answer:

"That I will, if mother will let me--that is, I mean if your mother
will let me."

And so the blushing boy stretched out his hand and took the package,
but Emeline kept a tight hold of one end of the cloth in which the
mittens were wrapped, as she was under positive instructions from her
thrifty mother to return the piece of hickory, for which the shoulder
of Dan's second-best shirt was even then yawning.

The separation of the gift from its wrappings was soon achieved, and
the hickory tucked into the depth of Emeline's pocket. Then wholesome
maple sugar was produced, and with it a few pieces of sugar candy
such as some of those young lips had never before had an opportunity
to smack over. During the hilarity which ensued, Will was doing his
best to creep back into a state of self-possession. But this work was
prodigious and slow; for when he had several times fairly arrived at a
stage of comparative comfort, a friendly glance from the kind little
knitter sent him again into a state of confusion. After the Christmas
luxuries had been distributed and given lodgment in capacious stomachs
or economizing pockets, the Stewart children departed and left Will
to the ungentle raillery of his family. Being amply able to care for
himself in a family contest with either ridicule or logic as the
weapon--or, what is sometimes as good as both, a downright unreasoning
self-assertiveness, Will felt no pain during the assault to which he
was subjected; rather, he derived keen enjoyment from it.

In the afternoon sacred services were held in the meeting house; for
these people gave to every observance, which they deemed holy, their
highest esteem, and nearly all the inhabitants of the village were
present. Probably the good old preacher who was a new comer to the
village, had delivered forty other Christmas sermons, or even the same
sermon forty other times; but familiarity with the subject had not
lessened his power.

He first stilled the buzz of gossiping whisper when he announced that
his text would be form one of the great poets; and the congregation
bent with horror to hear what dreadful thing he next would utter. Even
into this remote corner of the New World had penetrated the evil fame
of the irreverent poet lord, "Childe Harold," and even the very name of
poet brought with it an oppressive sense of sin.

The false impression was soon removed. In a voice rendered tremulous
by age and feeling, the minister repeated some of the verses of
Milton--the Christian whose earthly sight had been lost at last to make
his Heavenly vision more complete. As the wonderful words of adoration
filled the house of worship, every head was bowed in contrition for
unworthy thought:

         "This is the month and this the happy morn,
            Wherein the Son of Heaven's eternal King,
         Of wedded maid and virgin mother born,
            Our great redemption from above did bring;
         For so the holy sages once did sing,
            That he our deadly forfeit should release,
         And with his Father work us a perpetual peace."

Having won his congregation to solemnity of feeling, the preacher
taught them that "All good Christians celebrate the day of Christ's
nativity, a day of joy both in heaven and on earth: in heaven for a day
of glory unto God on high; on earth for a day of peace here below, and
good-will towards men; a day of joy to all people past, present and to
come; such a day as wherein, after long expectation, the best return
was made that ever came to the poor sons of men; such a day as the Lord
Himself made. Let us therefore rejoice therein!"

Even impatient and restless youth was awed by the manner and words of
the earnest minister; and the boys restrained within unusual bounds
their desire to be out of church amidst the hearty enjoyments of the

When the service was ended, the people dispersed more slowly and
thoughtfully than was their wont; but humanity cannot long be kept
upon such an exalted plane of feeling, and soon began the gossip and
familiarity common to the occasion. Especially among the young people
was the reaction quickly noticeable; and while the elders were speaking
of the latest birth, death and marriage, the children were already
beginning to romp even at the very door of the meeting-house. The
youngsters, despite their exceptional appreciation of the sermon, and
even more as a wilful revulsion from their noteworthy behavior, were
determined now to compensate themselves for self-sacrifice; and they
gathered in a noisy crowd in the street passing before the house of

The sun was sending down his best Winter beams, and the snow was made
just moist enough for sport; so a contest of snow-balling was at once
informally arranged between the boys. Hezzy Bradford was one of the
leaders, and when he and his rival had each made choice of two or three
of the larger boys, someone already chosen said to Hezzy:

"Take Will Anderson--there he comes. He's the straightest thrower of
the lot."

But Hezzy, whose dislike of Will had been steadily augmenting since the
fight in the pine grove, was not ready to make peace with his victim.
So he shook his head and sneeringly cried:

"Here comes the baby who wears mittens to a snow-balling match, for
fear that his fingers will get wet. Watch me tip his cap off!"

With these words Hezzy threw an icy snow-ball which he had been
carelessly making while choosing sides. The missile flew straight to
its mark, and Will felt his head stung sharply as his cap tumbled into
the road.

Will saw the hand of Hezzy and knew that retaliation meant a renewal of
hostilities; but he did not hesitate. He pulled off his valued mittens,
crowded them into his pockets and in a moment proved that any praise of
his accurate throwing was not ill bestowed. He cast a snow-ball fairly
into Hezzy's ear, rather staggering that blusterer, and causing a peal
of laughter to go up from the crowd.

As our boy had expected, Hezzy declared war and rushed forward to
summarily punish this reckless antagonist.

Was it that the insult to the mittens had nerved Will with a superhuman
strength? or was it that all the indignation of weeks became suddenly
centered in his arm? Whatever may have been the reason, he fought with
an effective vigor, before which Master Hezekiah Bradford, general,
village bully and aspiring sweetheart was compelled to go ingloriously
down. Briefly and plainly told, Will, to his own astonishment, no
less than to the marvel of the spectators, licked Hezzy until that
great military commander was glad to cry for quarter and surrender

More than one oppressed youngster was gladdened by the result of this
combat; and so great was the excitement, produced that the general
contest was incontinently forsaken.

Hezzy was led away by his brothers and one or two others, who gave him
a kind of contemptuous attention; but the majority of the boys crowded
near to the conqueror.

From this hour, Will's rank among his companions was undisputed. He
had soundly thrashed the commander-in-chief of the Continental Vets.;
and without any request from himself, he was speedily restored to his
former rank of major, only to relinquish that position very soon to be
installed in the chief place vacated, in profound disgust, by Hezekiah

Nor was this the least of his triumphs. When next he met Mrs. Stewart
she praised his powers in unstinted terms. Though the conscientious
lady could not exactly approve of fighting among boys, nevertheless
she felt that Will's troubles and subsequent victories were traceable
directly to his manly defense of her daughter; and Mrs. Stewart could
not withhold her congratulations. And Emeline, herself, from out her
brown eyes looked such pleasure at him during the next school session
that he felt almost self-reproachful at receiving so much reward.



In those times the months moved on in serene procession with the people
of New Vineyard. In a later age of rapidly-recurring marvels we are
wont to speak of the first quarter of this century as a "slow-poke,
old-fogy time;" we contemptuously wonder how men endured the tedious
drag of the seasons.

In William Anderson's journal I find a note which gives token of the
dawn of this great modern day of progress. He writes:

"_August 2_, 1824.--Not many days ago, Mr. Stewart gave me a newspaper
to read; he said something was in it which ought to interest a bright
boy like myself. (I only repeat this because Emeline's father said it.)
The paper is the _Hancock Gazette and Penobscot Patriot_, of May 26,
1824; and it tells of a wonderful ship which has come into the lower
waters of our river. It works with fire instead of wind and it can
walk against tide, or current, or gale, as well as a horse can trot
against a breeze. I have heard before of this marvelous thing called
a steamship, but never thought it was a true wonder; but if it is
really traveling up against a heavy Penobscot current, fire or steam
or something else that is unusual must move it, for I am sure that no
landward breeze that ever came off the Atlantic could do such a work.
At any rate, I must see this strange ship and decide whether I shall
believe or not."

The biographer finds that Providence favored Will with a trip to Bangor
later in the year. How he came to be thus blessed the excited youth
does not relate--beyond the fact that he went with his father, who
adventured so far from home as a factor of the log men of the upper
Penobscot to deal with the opulent lumber-mill owners at Bangor. Much
that ensued upon this important journey is lost to us, through Will's
hurried state after his return. But we learn that the steamship was
actually a fact; for Will stepped on board the _Maine_, a boat of one
hundred tons burthen, commanded by Captain Porter--the first steamer
and the first steamer captain to be in Penobscot waters. And it is also
proven that the wondrous vessel could move without the aid of sails;
for after Will had disembarked he saw her shift her moorings a quarter
of a mile directly against wind and current.

What most fills the journal at this period is that Will was scratching
an aching and unresponsive head, seeking to decide upon some suitable
present for Emeline which could be compassed by the contents of his
little bead purse. After much anxiety he felt a sudden thrill of
satisfaction as he remembered the poet whose sublime words the old
preacher had quoted last Christmas day. He found, after much search, a
shoe shop where books were also kept (for in those days business was
not so scrupulously and appropriately divided as now). But, alas! the
only copy of Milton was priced at twenty-seven shillings, while his
purse held scarcely half that much!

He turned away in utter disappointment, when the thought came to him:

"Why do I seek the modern poet who sang of Jesus? The book which tells
all we know of Him, I am sure is easier got."

He retraced his steps, and upon the cobbler-bookseller's shelves he
found a red morocco-bound Testament, which was offered at thirteen
shillings; and this he bought and later reverently packed away among
the wonderful supplies which had been purchased by the elder William
under distant direction of the precise and thrifty Mrs. Joy.

It was bleak November when the two Williams Anderson returned to New
Vineyard. What holiday secrets they had in store they kept well; and
the Christmas Day brought many surprises.

To Emeline--found upon the Stewart mansion door-steps that sacred
morning--came a little package which, unwrapped, showed a Testament
bound in red morocco. That precious little book is now before the eyes
of this historian. Upon its yellow-stained title page are discernible
these words:

     "My friend, EMELINE T. STEWART,

             "You will please accept this Testament as a gift from

         "Your Friend,


"EMELINE:--Ask, and ye shall receive. Knock, and it shall be opened
unto you."

Four years slipped away. During this time Will was bashfully loving
Emeline; and Emeline, well, she was bashfully watching Will's love.

This wondrous flower of affection grows by "bashful watching" just as
morning glories unfold in greeting to the hour of enchantment. And when
the Christmas Day of 1828 came, each of these dear children went to
church and watched the other.

The sermon was, for Christmas, a novel one, both in text and treatment.
It related to marriage as a state ordained for man; and the text was
from Fuller's "Holy State," wherein it is declared:

"It is the policy of the Londoners, when they send a ship into the
Levant or Mediterranean Sea, to make every mariner therein a merchant,
each seaman adventuring somewhat of his own, which will make him more
wary to avoid, and more valiant to encounter dangers. Thus married men,
especially if having posterity, are the deeper shares in the state
wherein they live, which engageth their affections to the greater
loyalty. And though bachelors be the strongest stakes, yet married men
are the best binders in the hedge of the commonwealth."

Will's mind must have been holding a thought not utterly foreign to
the text; for he unconsciously nodded approval of the very sensible
sentiment; and then he glanced at Emeline. The same instant, her eyes
were lifted from a strained look at the floor and were turned in his
direction. One long gaze passed between them; and this was Will's
informal proposition of marriage and Emeline's informal acceptance.



It was five hours less than one year later in the serene chronology
of New Vineyard, when Will sent his paper heart and hand to Emeline.
His trusty younger brother, Barton, was his messenger; and to escape
observation, the boy was compelled to go early and return quickly. At
breakfast, Will saw Barton enter the house and one glance told that the
mission had been successfully performed.

Some hours later, at the regular Christmas services in the
meeting-house, Will saw Emeline. His look was an anxious question,
and hers was a gentle affirmative answer; and this was Will's formal
proposition of marriage and Emeline's formal acceptance.

William Anderson and Emeline T. Stewart were wedded in their little
town of New Vineyard, September 6, 1831.

Is this too abrupt? It might be if marriage were the end of the story;
but unlike fiction, in real life the most uneventful period of human
existence is from engagement to marriage; and unlike fiction, in real
life the importance of existence comes after marriage.

Not long did they remain in their little village home. For William had
decided to seek a greater measure of prosperity in the wide lands lying
far beyond New Vineyard in the mysterious West.

Happy indeed was the fortune which carried them away from Maine. Their
long journey across half a continent was a revelation of Divinity to
their souls. Mountain, forest, lake, cataract, valley--breathed with
beauty and grandeur. Two ardent beings, viewing all things under the
radiance of their mutual love, saw the majesty of the land, the water
and the arching cloud space above, with reverent eyes--for beyond these
tangible evidences of sublime power, they sensed the Eternal Cause.

It was in the days and weeks of lonely journeying that they learned
how to pray; they felt that never again would supplication and song
of praise to Almighty God be formal lip-service given only at stated
intervals--rather it would be an hourly and often silent communion with
the Creator. In the day, they felt the Holy Presence in every glory
which adorned the earth; at night, in the quiet of the woods, they
gazed through swaying tree-tops, and saw the stars shedding earthward a
serene beauty: and they knew that the God who, from His far-off seat of
power, could unfold the swamp-pink flowers by the side of their lonely
path, and could send through unfathomed space the light of countless
spheres to cheer the silent watches of the night--could also lend His
special care to the sentient worshiping creatures of His love.

Far away upon the prairie they at last decided to make their home. They
settled in Bureau County, Illinois; and William became a sturdy western
farmer. In the ten years following their marriage three children came
to make their domestic happiness complete. The eldest was a son,
Augustus; the others were daughters, Caroline and Martha.

Each season of the year brought its allotted toil, and the reward of
perseverance and thrift was earthly prosperity.

Occasionally they heard rumors of a strange sect of religious
believers, with a prophet, who dwelt in a wonderful city on the banks
of the Mississippi, far to the south-west of their home. And one Summer
day in 1841, four strange men, plain but pleasing in appearance,
stopped at their door. These men were missionaries of the Church of
Jesus Christ, journeying from the city of Nauvoo to proclaim His words
to the honest-in-heart throughout the land. They left their marvelous
message with William and Emeline, with the admonition to pray to God
who would reveal whether the doctrine was true or false; and one of
them in leaving prophesied in these words:

"You will yet see the time when you will regret having let this hour
pass unheeded--this hour wherein you have the opportunity to accept,
through baptism, the gospel of our Lord."

The prophecy was fulfilled. Before many days had elapsed the truth was
plain to the minds of William and Emeline; and they awaited anxiously
the visit of an Elder who might give them membership in the Church of
their Savior. When weeks passed without the appearance of missionaries
William regretted his obduracy at the time when he was first pressed to
accept the truth.

Later, another opportunity came, and on the 15th day of August of that
year, 1841, in the waters of Bureau Creek, William was immersed in
sacred baptism. Afterward, Emeline rendered similar reverence to the
requirement of the gospel.

As soon as he could garner his crops, William felt that he must hasten
to the beautiful city of the Father of Waters. He carried with him on
the eventful journey to Nauvoo his wife and their three little ones;
and they reached the city on Thursday, September 30th, 1841.

On the day following, the great conference of the Church was to have
opened; but the storm prevented the assembling of the Saints. And
after learning that the meetings were postponed for one day, William
left his wife and children comfortably shielded in their wagon from
the blast while he wandered about regardless of the storm. He looked
with awestruck vision upon the temple which was rearing its majestic
presence toward heaven; and he gazed with curiosity at the place which
was being excavated for the foundation of the Nauvoo House.

The next day, Saturday, October 2nd, the people crowded to the meeting
ground and organized themselves into their quorums in order. The corner
stone of the Nauvoo House was laid that morning; but in the afternoon
services in the conference meeting were held.

The Sabbath came--a bleak day; but William and Emeline, with their
little ones, were at the meeting grounds, and they saw and heard that
day the Prophet of God.

The very sight of Joseph, graceful, erect, commanding; with flashing
eyes and animated gesture, was enough to thrill these humble believers
with joy. But when they heard his voice, with its wonderful impressive
sweetness, they shed tears of happiness.

Joseph's sermon was upon the glorious principle of redemption for
the dead; and he portrayed the greatness of Divine compassion and
benevolence in this plan of human salvation. He said:

"View two brothers--equally intelligent, learned, virtuous and
lovely--walking in uprightness and all good conscience, so far as they
are able to discern duty from the muddy stream of tradition or from
the blotted page of the book of nature. One dies and is buried, never
having heard the gospel of reconciliation. To the other the message of
salvation is sent; he hears and embraces it and is made the heir of
eternal life.

"Shall the one become the partaker of glory and the other be consigned
to hopeless perdition? Is there no chance for his escape? Sectarianism
answers, `None, none!' Such an idea is worse than atheism. The truth
shall break down and dash in pieces all such bigoted Pharisaism. The
sects shall be sifted, the honest-in-heart brought out and the priests
left in the midst of their corruption."

Such was the new and exalted nature of the instruction; and when the
conference was ended William and Emeline had determined to sacrifice
their distant possessions and gather with the Saints in the beautiful
city. But their desire was not immediately fulfilled; for William was
called to preach and discuss through the States; and in his absence
Emeline nobly and cheerfully toiled for her children and their dear

Nearly three years of missionary labor, broken by intervals of farm
toil, had passed when, on the darkest day of the darkest June ever seen
by the summers of this great land, a treasonable massacre took place
at the little stone jail in Carthage. The appalling news of this great
national crime reached out with sudden horror to all the abiding places
of the scattered Saints.

William heard the dread story and hastened home. His property was
fairly given away, and soon he was with his encompassed and persecuted
brethren in Nauvoo.

Immediately he was enrolled in the Legion; later he was appointed
sergeant; and still later, captain.

I have here the original certificate of his rank as sergeant. The paper
is old and the ink is faded; but every letter is legible. It reads:

                                                         "May 12th, 1845.


     "This is to certify that William Anderson is appointed first sergeant
in the second company, fifth regiment, second cohort of the Nauvoo
Legion. And he is therefore to obey all orders and commands of his
superior officers with fidelity according to law and military rule and

     "Given under my hand May 12th, 1845.

                             "ISAAC ALLRED, Capt."

William Anderson and Emeline were faithful; and they received the
blessings of the temple. And on "Tuesday of the first week in February,
1846, I [William Anderson] received in marriage in God's Holy House,
Drusilla Sargent."

In all the tragic history of the ensuing two years, William was
a staunch actor. It was a piteous time! History shows no greater
brutality than that which was perpetrated against the city and the
Saints, by officially protected mobs; and in the trying days every man
was compelled to show his mettle. William Anderson's journal is filled
with the record of this awful period. Its simple, unaffected words show
how closely allied were the people of Nauvoo to the sublime martyrs of
other centuries.

The history of that brief time should be read by every youth in Utah.

On the 10th day of September, 1846--after the cruelly-enforced
migration of many of the people of Nauvoo--there were left to guard
the city and its remaining population of women and babes, sick and
tottering old men--only 123 citizens who were capable to bear arms.

And this was the hour selected by the fiends incarnate for their
descent upon Nauvoo. The city was surrounded by an efficiently-armed
mob, nearly 2,000 strong; and a bombardment was begun by the besiegers.

When the thunder of the mob's traitorous guns shook the air of Nauvoo,
William sprang up to answer the call of duty.

Emeline and Drusilla clung to him--a fearful foreboding of personal
evil seemed to take sound and volume with every reverberation of the
artillery discharges. But he was firm. He pressed his fond and faithful
wives--his helpmeets given him of God--to his martial bosom; and then
he left them to solace themselves by prayer while he rushed to the

Then these two good women--sisters, nay dearer to each other than
sisters--knelt down, with arms clasped about each others waists and
prayed to the All-Merciful to bring their good husband home in safety
from the battle.

One day, two days passed. It was the morning of the 12th day of
September, 1846. William was bidding farewell to his wives and his
children; when Emeline sobbed anew:

"Oh, my beloved! Let not Augustus go to the battle today. He is but a
child: think, William! he is only fourteen. Each day he has followed
you, taking his gun on his shoulder to fight the wicked enemy and to
brave a dreadful death. Let him stay with me!"

Even as she spoke, the thunder of the cannonade shook the city; and
William sprang away to hasten to his post, while Augustus gave a
ringing cry and fled from the house.

The two women and the little girls were left alone--Emeline and
her younger sister wife, the loving Drusilla, and Caroline and
Martha--white and trembling.

Hours elapsed, during which these good women were praying as they

The sounds of the battle waging around the city neither distracted them
from devotion nor domestic duty.

Gradually there came a lull; and a momentary hope sprang up in their
hearts. But even while the precious thought was taking form, a rattle
of musketry shook the window panes; and a moment later the deep boom of
a siege gun--shaking the houses from chimney to cellar--told that the
struggle was renewed in all its fierceness.

When this grim messenger dispelled their hope with his harsh voice,
Emeline pressed her hands to her bosom and sank upon the floor. As she
dropped she cried:

"Drusilla, my friend, this instant has widowed us and has taken from
this house its only son. I feel the dread fact her in my heart!"

The younger wife and the two little girls hastened to the side of
Emeline, and there they knelt, weeping and moaning. The premonition
seemed too real to be disputed.

While the women and children were rocking back and forth in their agony
of apprehension, a hurried knock was heard at the door; and, without
waiting for a response, a brother soldier of William stalked into the
room. He saw the piteous sight; and all his gallant hardihood gave way.
Mingling his heavy tears with the rain from gentler eyes, he sobbed:

"My sister, our Savior help you! Brother Anderson is dead! God's will
be done!"

The spirit of courage sustained Emeline, and she cried:

"Where is our husband? Alive he was ours--and we will have his clay now
life is ended. Call my boy to bring his father's body home. God's will
be done!"

While the grief-shaken soldier was replying, another breathless
messenger burst in, saying between his gasps of haste and sorrow:

"Your boy is dead! Oh, Sister Anderson, he fell a martyr--brave, manly,
beyond his years--he took a soldier's part: he has met a soldier's

Did this last blow send Emeline swooning? No: in such a crisis a noble,
religious soul is exalted beyond the reach of earthly mourning.

Calmly she spoke:

"I will go forth and find our dead--my murdered boy and our martyred
husband--Drusilla. Do you prepare couches for their home-coming."

But Drusilla was herself a heroine:

"No, my sister," she said, "your duty is at home. Often your life has
been threatened by this mob. They will watch our husband's body, and
if you appear you too will be sacrificed. I am not known as Captain
Anderson's wife. I will go out and secure the bodies of our dear ones,
while you shall remain with these fatherless babes of yours--of ours."

Drusilla rushed from the house as she spoke. Emeline would have
followed; but one of her husband's comrades had remained to restrain
her, and besides, her little daughters clung at her skirts, determined
to prevent her going forth.

So Emeline stayed at the stricken house, preparing for that last solemn
home-coming of her soldier spouse and son. While she toiled to fit a
bed for the dear forms--now stilled through earthly time--she recalled
from her memory that the anniversary of her wedding day was but six
days past; and in another fortnight she would be 34 years old--already,
in her early prime, she was the widow of a martyr and the mother of a
murdered patriot.

Drusilla went abroad through the smoky streets of Nauvoo, escorted
by one of the heroic defenders, to the east side of the city. There,
resting where he had fallen against a wall, was the bleeding body of
her husband. Bravely this fair young woman took from her own shoulders
a cloak and laid it across the mangled form.

She breathed a prayer, beseeching strength and courage; and then she
sought the place where lay Augustus, the slain son. Tenderly, as if he
had been her own boy or brother, she spread her apron over his face.

Then she followed the procession which escorted the bodies of these
martyrs to their home.

Who shall speak the agony of the ensuing hours! Two bodies, beloved
in life, beloved still in death, were resting in that stricken house.
While Emeline and Drusilla, and the little daughters, all robbed of
their defenders, wept and moaned in a torture such as seldom comes to

As she sobbed and prayed, Emeline took from the bosom of her husband
a tiny, blood-stained packet. It contained a little flower of hair,
Drusilla's, her own and Will's; and also those slips of paper--the hand
and heart. The morning when Will first went out to battle, she and
Drusilla had pressed this packet upon him and bade him wear it in his

Poor, disappointed creatures! What can the love of women avail against
the hate of men? Nothing.

Emeline pressed the moist hair flower into Drusilla's hand; but the
heart and hand, crimson-flecked now, she placed next her own heart.
They had been the sign of love in youth and rosy life; they should be
cherished to remind her of the immortality which death can bring.

This was almost the end. Emeline's brave boy, Will Anderson, who had
given her his fidelity in childhood, had bestowed upon his country his
fidelity in manhood. To the oppressed of his countrymen he had extended
the help of his strong _hand_; in their defense his _heart_ had been
pierced by a bullet. He and his son, Augustus, were buried at Nauvoo.

A time of anxious toil ensued; for even through the darkest tragedy
runs a thread of the commonplace. And in the midst of the anxious
commotion and labor Emeline and Drusilla became separated. They never
met again in this life; and from that hour Drusilla's history is to
this writer unknown.

Emeline Anderson lived to emigrate to Utah and to receive the blessings
of this fair land. She accepted through the remainder of this life the
name of a worthy man, and she reared a third daughter. She carried with
her until the hour of her death the tear-stained, blood-stained _heart
and hand_; and when she was no more, these hallowed shreds of paper
passed into the possession of her children.

This is a life sketch. Those of the characters who have gone seem now
not to have been torn away by the rude hand of death, but to have faded
gently into the past, leaving their looks, their love, their loyalty
for their descendants.


By O. B. Huntington.



On the 18th of September, 1854, I started for Carson Valley, by the
advice and consent of Brigham Young, and in the employ of Colonel E. J.
Steptoe of the U. S. army.

I went south of the Great Salt Lake and across the then unknown deserts
where now are many towns, villages and cities, the settlement of which
was hastened some years by that trip of exploration.

The city of Genoa, immediately under the shadow of the Sierra Nevada
Mountains, consisting of about a dozen or fifteen houses, was the only
actual settlement between Grantsville and Hangtown, California, a
distance of one thousand miles by the wagon road over the Goose Creek
Mountains, which are one hundred miles north of Salt Lake City; and to
find a shorter road so as to save this one hundred miles and to avoid
the mountains was the object of my journey.

At the time of which I write this great mountain country of five
hundred miles in each direction from Salt Lake City, was an almost
unknown wilderness, a country inhabited only by Indians and wild game,
excepting the few settlements of this people; and the country was but
little explored, except so far as the wants of the people made it

Colonel Steptoe was sent by the United States government, with two
companies of the U. S. army, as a military governor to take the place
of Brigham Young. This was a very quiet, secret movement of our nation
to establish a new form of republican government over this people; but
thanks to that overruling, inspirational power of God that has so often
turned the hearts of men, and the good, honest sense of Col. Steptoe,
who, when he had spent eight or nine months with this people, declined
the dishonorable and unrepublican office of military governor of Utah.
He said that no man but Brigham Young could govern this people, "and
if he stepped into Governor Young's place, Brigham Young would still
govern the people." He therefore decided to leave for California as
early in the Spring of 1855 as he could, and in order to find a new
route through south of the Lake he sent an exploring party through to
Carson and back that Fall, late as it was.

He applied to Brigham Young for suitable persons for so arduous and
hazardous an undertaking. I was chosen as one and was furnished an
interpreter (my nephew, C. A. Huntington), and an Indian guide, a young
man by the name of Natsab, a son of the Indian chief who was ruler in
Salt Lake Valley when we first settled the country--these two were
designed to return with me. Besides these was Col. John Reese, now
living in Salt Lake City, and he was an excellent companion. His home
was in Carson Valley, which at that time was a part of Utah Territory,
and he had two men with him, one Willis and a man by the name of Davis,
who had been to California, made a raise, returned to the States and
was now making his way west again with a very fleet race-horse in hope
of opening another "stake" by gambling.

My outfit consisted of six animals to ride and pack, a quantity of
goods to use as presents in making peace with the savages we might pass
on the way, a good compass to guide us on cloudy days in the deserts
and a good quantity of provisions and bedding.

When we had got about two or three miles from Salt Lake City we
found eleven men, formerly of Col. Steptoe's outfit of teamsters,
camp-followers, etc., who, knowing of our search for a short route to
California, determined to sail under the "Mormon" flag as far as Carson.

I had no objections, because their numbers would lend us an appearance
of strength among the native tribes. They were rather poorly mounted,
armed and provisioned, which latter condition occasioned me eventually
some annoyance and suffering, compelling the whole company to live
on horseflesh during two hundred and fifty miles of the journey; and
during one day and night we were without even that.

For some time nothing of importance occurred on our way, except that we
had one horse shot accidentally and one of our strangers lost a mule in
a night march across a mud desert.

On the 28th of September, as we were passing through a large valley of
meadow land with scattering bunches of tall wheat grass and stools of
greasewood, an Indian, naked except for a covering about his loins,
with gun in hand, stood before us suddenly and stopped our movements.
After a very short and unedifying oration he fired his gun in the air,
and instantly there arose an Indian from behind every bunch of grass
and greasewood all around us until there was quite an army in view,
and we saw it was necessary to talk in persuasive tones and our orders
were enforced with many presents, in giving which the interpreter was
very expert. The Indians guided us to some very fine springs of water
and small ponds not far distant, where we distributed quantities of
tobacco, pipes, paints, calico, etc.

At this place we passed the night; but in the morning the Indians
were all gone, which to men acquainted with Indian natures, indicated
hostile intentions, and we therefore traveled cautiously to the west
side of the valley, where we nooned at a little creek which came down
out of a great range of mountains lying to the east of us, running
north and south as far as we could see. Here Mr. Davis said was as good
a prospect for gold as any place he had seen in California. We dug a
little dirt and washed it out and found several rubies, one very large
and fine. We therefore called the place Ruby Valley.

We soon moved on south a few miles; but feeling forebodings of evil,
stopped about 2, p.m., on a fine, grassy place near a spring and sent
Mr. Davis ahead to reconnoitre the country, which was mostly clear and
open to the end of the valley, about twelve miles distant. He rode
cautiously about five miles when, on looking over his left shoulder, he
saw an Indian on foot running towards the road behind and dropping into
the grass as Davis looked around. He instantly wheeled his horse and
sped for camp. Just as he started back an Indian on horseback started
from some willows near by to cut off his retreat, but that racehorse
outran the Indian pony, although the latter had the advantage.

When these facts were known in camp every man prepared for the worst.
We had chosen an open piece of ground where we could not be surprised
in daylight. We were preparing an early supper so as to have it over
before any surprise might be undertaken. Just as we were sitting down
to eat, seven Indians on horseback rode slowly towards our camp, came
past our horses which were grazing near and dismounted near our fires.
We saluted them kindly with "how-de-do," and they replied. They were
all dressed in coats, pants, overcoats, caps, etc, and rode well shod
horses, excepting one short, thick-set Indian, about twenty-three
years old, who wore buckskin pants, a hickory shirt, a Panama hat and
with his hair cut short and straight around his neck; he was very wide
between the eyes, rode a very large mare without a saddle. He came to
my mess where I, my nephew and Natsab were just sitting down to eat,
and shook hands.

We sat with guns and pistols in our laps. I told all our company to be
very careful, as this one could talk English. The interpreter tried to
talk with him, but to no effect until he spoke in the Snake language,
when he answered some. They were observing our actions, habits, etc.,
and making their calculations how and when to take our scalps. I felt
that under the Panama hat was a dreadful chief for blood and plunder,
and that he could talk English; and I was right in my judgment or

As soon as the interpreter and I were done eating, we walked around the
horses after cautioning the men. While driving the animals a little
nearer camp he asked me if I had noticed a secret sign, a strange
motion, the Indian made as he shook hands with us, and he showed it to
me, stating that he believed these Indians were of the tribe and party
who had done so many murders on the Humboldt, among the California gold
seekers, and that he believed they were banded with whites by secret
oaths, signs and pass-words. Immediately after he told this I felt a
strange but bright sensation come over my mind and I could see with
my heart, or my spirit could see without my eyes. I told him we would
leave the horses and go quickly to camp, where he should go up to that
Indian (the chief), give him the same sign he had given us, and that we
would then be safe among them.

He did this and the effect was astonishing. The Indian shook hands and
hugged him heartily.

I gave further instructions to the interpreter what to say about a
certain man whom we knew lived on the Humboldt River, where so much
murdering had been done, and with whom I went to school in Nauvoo.
Every word had its effect as I anticipated, and the chief understood
that this man who lived on the Humboldt, and whom very many believed to
be the cause of all the murdering done there for money and plunder, was
our friend from boyhood; but the opposite might be said to be nearly
true, as we held no sympathy in common, although we had been boys
together. The chief called that man his "daddy," meaning father.



We will now leave these few Indians and seventeen white men, all
in peaceful, friendly chat, and go back to the 15th of September,
1854--three days before we left Salt Lake City.

On the corner of East Temple Street, just two blocks south of the
Temple site was a cottonwood log, on which two young men were sitting
in earnest conversation. One was about twenty-four years old, a very
tall, muscular man, not less than six feet, two inches in height,
with black eyes, set wide apart under a heavy forehead and over high
cheek bones. The whole countenance indicated a cruel and heartless
disposition. The other young man was just twenty years old, medium
height, with a well formed body, small, sharp, twinkling blue eyes,
regular features and a rather large head.

They had been quarreling; and when they arose from the log it was
agreed that the one who _crossed the other's path should die!_

The older man was to start for his lone log house on the Humboldt,
about sixty miles from Ruby Valley, in a week or two, by way of Goose
Creek Mountains; and the young man was to start just three days
from that time for Carson Valley, as Indian interpreter for a U. S.
exploring company, traveling west from Salt Lake City. When we told
"Bloody Chief," for such was the name of the chief who visited our
camp, that we were special friends to the bad young man we thought not
of the terrible consequences that might result from that deceitful
stratagem to save our lives then. We told the Indians frankly that we
were coming back in a little more than one moon, but did not tell them
there would be but three of us.

On the morning of September 30th, the same seven Indians came into our
camp without a gun, pistol, bow or arrow. All were merry and jolly, and
traded everything they could, and ran foot-races. They wanted to run
horses, but ours had too long a journey before them to admit of racing.
The main object and effort of the Indians was to get that race-horse,
but they did not succeed. They escorted us about eight miles on our
way and told us all they could of the country ahead in the direction
we wanted to go. They showed us a great deal of gold and silver coin,
jewelry and pocket-knives, which they doubtless obtained by killing
people on the Humboldt.

We left the valley at the south end, passing over a low divide and
through a narrow, rocky canyon, full of scattering cedar trees, making
as nice a place for ambush as an Indian could ask for the massacre of

Many incidents occurred worthy of note in a mere narrative; but as I
design to show the inspiration of the Lord in our preservation, I shall
only give so much of our journey as is necessary to bring you to the
circumstances in an easy and natural way. All of God's works are done
in a natural way; and He applies a law in one instance which would not
do in another. The inspiration of God to different men and to the same
man in different ways is a matter upon which I desire to enlarge some
little. Sometimes an idea is received in the mind that is foreign to
anything that ever existed there before. The person follows that idea,
which is so new and to him unusual, and develops a wonderful piece of
machinery or a principle in philosophy, manufacturing or something
otherwise useful to man. That idea came as other ideas, he will say;
but I am of the opinion that it is the inspiration of God that brings
out of chaos the very useful inventions and discoveries--this is the
simplest form of inspiration.

Another man is perhaps laboring, as usual, in the field and is suddenly
inclined in his feelings to go to his house. Perhaps he tries to
smother the feeling, but finally yields and reaches home just in time
to extinguish a fire that would certainly have consumed his house if he
had not gone just as he did.

The inspiration of the Holy Ghost which is given to all who obey
the gospel by baptism and the laying on of hands of the Elders, was
promised by the Lord to every one that earnestly and sincerely repents
of his sins and obeys the gospel, and "it shall guide him into all

I will tell you, my young friends, how that Holy Ghost will guide you.
If, when you are made clean from sin by baptism, you do not willingly
enter again into sin, pray often, keep the Sabbath day holy, always
try as earnestly as you can to be a peacemaker, help every institution
of Zion, cheerfully obey every call of the Lord through those who have
the authority from God to call, and live lives of purity in every way,
that Holy Ghost will be in you all the time and influence you in all
your thoughts, words and actions, bring to your mind things forgotten
when you need them, and suggest to your mind principle and doctrine,
when really necessary, that has never been taught you in this life, but
which you knew before you came to this world.

I will mention another incident of inspiration in my own experience,
different from the one already related concerning the secret sign among
the Indians.

In 1867, I had a friend who was going to San Bernardino, California,
and was to start on the second day after the following conversation
between us:

"Oliver, come and go to California with me."

"I cannot."

"Yes you can; you can go as well as not."

"I have nothing to leave for the support of my family during the
Winter;" (I having been sick for five or six months, and unable to earn

"I'll lend you what money you want," said he.

"Well, I cannot go, and there is no use thinking or taking about it," I
finally replied.

That evening I was going home and thinking of my family affairs, but
nothing about going with my friend. A voice, sounding as though it was
about a foot from my left ear, whispered:

"Go with Hyrum to California."

The voice was as distinct as any I ever heard, and I half turned to see
if anyone was there, but saw no one; and after debating a short time in
my mind decided that I must not refuse, and I said mentally, "Well, I

The next day I saw Hyrum and told him I would go with him and I wanted
fifty dollars to leave with my wife. He handed me the money and I
started with him on the following morning.

My health improved all the way there. I worked at carpenter work all
Winter and returned in the Spring, a sound, healthy man.

Other advantages and information gained while gone, prove to me that I
was inspired or told to go and do the very thing that was necessary for
my present salvation. It was a very important mission to me; and how
important no mortal but myself knows.



Three days after leaving our newly-made friends, the Indians, we were
on a hard desert, where in one place we crossed a field of crystallized
mineral of some kind, which had the appearance of ice, and rode our
horses safely over it. That night, on the same desert, one of the
fattest horses in the company failed and was left just before we had
crossed the desert, and it was nearly morning when we camped. At
daylight I sent for the horse to eat, as we were then out of provisions.

The uninvited increase of the company had very small rations at
starting, and when their food was exhausted I fed them until there was
nothing left to eat for any of us, then we killed the horse and lived
on its flesh for one week.

Two days after killing the horse we were on another desert and traveled
until far into the night, for we could see no end to the desert; and
since living on horseflesh for food we crowded the animals to make the
best time possible to get where better food could be had, and more
water, for we found water scarce and both men and beasts were in a
suffering condition. About 2 o'clock in the morning a stop was made
to rest the animals, for they had neither food nor water for over
twenty-four hours. The saddles were removed and the animals were turned
loose in the desert, where neither bush, stick nor grass could be seen.
Being loosened, the animals all began feeding on something, though we
could see nothing. We set out a guard, as usual. In the morning we
found the horses feeding on a weed or grass of a wine color, about four
inches high, covering in area about eight acres, and nowhere else did
we ever see any more of that kind of feed.

We reached Carson on the 15th of October. We could not start back until
word could be got to and from San Francisco. It was getting late in
the season and we soon began to feel uneasy about the Winter snows we
might encounter, but I had thought of this all the way and took such
notes of the route as would enable me to recognize the way again even
if the mountains should be covered with snow. I kept what sailors would
call a "log book," in which was written a regular description of every
landscape--certain shaped mountains here, a grove of cedars there,
etc.; and at every turn of the road, consulted the compass, noting the
various directions, and had some certain land-marks at each turn, with
estimates of distances between points.

While not otherwise engaged in Genoa, as it is now called, I made a
map of the road we had traveled, noting every watering-place, desert,
mountain, grove of timber, plot of grass, etc., not forgetting to mark
my distances as well as the points of compass.

While at Genoa, Natsab, the Indian, left me one night and started home
on foot and alone and made his way in safety. It was a week before I
found which way he had gone, and feared much that the Indians there
had killed him. I saw him after I arrived home and asked his reason
for leaving me without notice. He said he was afraid we would have to
stay all Winter; and that if I had known he was going to leave I would
stop him and make him stay too, and that was too long to live among the
whites; he would have got sick and perhaps died.

At last the word came from San Francisco, and a man also to go with us
to Salt Lake, which was very acceptable. Col. Reece resolved to fit
up two men besides himself and accompany me one or two hundred miles,
just to explore the country; for of the route we were to take nothing
was known by white men, and we were all enthusiastic to search the
unexplored regions.

On November 2, 1854, I started for home, with five animals for my own
outfit of myself and the interpreter. Our through friend and partner
for the trip back, Mr. Kinsey, had two horses, thus making seven
well-loaded animals for three men to take care of. One large mule
carried a keg of water as a reserve for times of distress. We each
carried a canteen of water on our saddles as we rode; and several times
our riding horses would, when our canteens were only partly full so
that the water would sound as the motion of their bodies shook them,
turned and hunted for the water and whinnyed coaxingly for a little sup
of the water they had carried so long.

Carson River, at which point Mr. Davis overtook us, sinks or empties
into a lake of its own, which is about twenty miles across. Around the
lake is a very flat and large extent of country, wet and marshy, which
affords great quantities of a grass known as "bayonet grass;" this
yields tufts or bunches of black, rich seed that the Indians manage to
cut and dry and then thresh or pound out the seed for their Winter's
bread. We saw many large-sized stacks of the remains of their threshing
at their threshing-floors, which were mostly inaccessible to horses,
being on small, dry places in the midst of the sodded marshes that
yield the grass.

After passing around the south end of the lake we crossed a low divide
and entered a new valley some thirty miles from the lake. Where we
entered this new desert valley was among rolling hills of sand blown up
by the wind, some perhaps twenty feet high and covering from a half to
a full acre of ground. In passing among these hills and valleys I saw
the heads of two Indians who had not yet seen us. I took in the whole
situation at a glance: a large alkali desert was before us in which was
no water, while that we had in store was small and poor. Those Indians
were not there without water being near, and if we could get them we
could perhaps induce them to find or show us water. Our horses in the
sand made no noise traveling, so we started at our best speed and soon
overtook those whom we wanted as guides. They took us to water, though
very reluctantly, and indeed not until they understood that they must
do so.

We would never have found the water of ourselves; for the spring was in
the top of a little elevation that covered perhaps five acres in the
center of a valley. The spring was round and perhaps five feet across.
It gave a rapid supply of water, but had no visible outlet. The Indians
had fenced it with tall greasewood brush stuck in the ground as thick
as they could put it, except at an opening about eight inches wide
which would permit rabbits to enter, where they were trapped. A pit
about two and one-half feet deep was dug in this opening and a strong,
wiry sand-grass was fastened on either side of the hole so that the
ends would overlap at the center of the hole or pit, making apparent
smooth floor. When a rabbit jumped on it went down into the pit, which
had no water in it. The grass readily sprang back to its place and was
prepared for another rabbit. This continued until the pit was full,
for it was so narrow and deep there was no chance to jump out. Three
similar pits, at a distance from the spring, was prepared for antelope.

We camped here, used the greasewood for cooking supper and refreshed
our horses. We kept the Indians all night with us so they could not
notify others, who would perhaps prove dangerous. It was the intention
to take them a day on the journey, but they escaped when we were not
watching them. We traveled, after getting a full supply of water, all
that day, all night and until 2 o'clock in the afternoon of the next
day without any rest, except that got by stopping to eat and drink and
tend the animals. This long journey was necessary in order to find
grass and water.

About half or three-quarters of a mile before coming to the water our
animals began to crowd ahead--pull on the bit--which surprised us all,
as there were no signs of water, such as willows, trees or grass, in
sight to attract our attention, nothing but the smooth desert of small,
short desert brush, with occasional fields of sage brush. Suddenly our
animals stopped at a little, swift-running brook not more than two or
three feet wide.

Here we rested, watered and prepared for our journey. Towards evening
we moved about two miles to some low sand hills, which generally afford
an excellent grass called sand-grass. The next day we spent in trying
to get more easterly over the mountains, but failed.

The second day after watering we would gladly have passed through the
range of mountains by a canyon; but thinking it impossible, had started
on north again nearly a mile, when someone called behind us. On looking
around we saw two Indians running towards us. We waited until they came
up. They then enquired where we were going, and on being told, said we
would all die if we continued in that direction for it was three days'
travel to water. They led us to water in the mountains and stayed with
us that night and were well pleased with their newly-made friends, but
not more so than we were; for they seemed more like kind old friends,
and in the parting got their full share of presents.

On that camp ground I set the compass, but to my surprise one end of
the needle dropped down and remained thus. Move the needle where I
would it did the same. We were on a mountain of iron and probably some
magnetic ore was near.

The next day was the 12th of November, 1854, and by favor of one of
these good red men we got through the mountains to a fine, large spring
creek, and there camped. Now, who can deny the hand of the Lord and His
power in sending these natives with softened hearts to call us from
certain death and kindly bring us through to these beautiful springs?
None of us did; even the Gentiles with us acknowledged His hand in that
act of the savage Indian.

The next morning, Col. Reece, with his two men, left us and turned
south to explore three or four days in that direction and then turn
westward on their course home. During this journey he made the very
important discovery of the Reece River and country now so profitable to
the State of Nevada.

We continued our course east one day and a half, and then struck the
southern extremity of our outward route, which was a very plain trail
at that place and was just at the foot of a long slope approaching a
high, rocky, rugged mountain, over which we had to pass.

Indians and snow-storms were alike a dread to us to encounter; and the
former were now before us when within about half a mile of the mouth
of a very narrow, rocky canyon. They had the advantage of us, for they
were nearest the rocks that overhung the road and were on the run in a
half bent posture when first seen on the side of the mountain, but they
straightened and sprang to the race right manfully when once in sight,
until they were safe among the rocks, where they took positions of
safety, only exposing their heads.

We approached slowly, all the while consulting as to what was the
best policy to pursue. We did not want to go around the mountain to
the south, for of the distance we knew nothing, and to fight we were
afraid; for numbers and position were against us, there being only four
of us and seven we could see of them. Speaking of four of us reminds
me that when eighty miles from Genoa, a man by the name of Davis came
to us from California, having heard of the exploring party going to
Salt Lake. He had a very large herd of sheep _en route_ for California,
which was obliged to Winter in Utah, and being anxious to join it he
was willing to take chances with us.

The most feasible plan now was to make friends of them with presents.
This being decided upon we concluded to try it, and if it failed we
must try to force a passage. We consoled ourselves with the saying, "a
coward cornered is the worst man in the world to fight." By some means,
however, we expected, by the help of the Lord, to get through.

After talking and preaching to the natives half an hour or more the
interpreter allured them down near us--so near that presents, small
articles we had on our persons, were given them by one of us while
the other three guarded against any treacherous surprise. They were
then told to go with us to the top of the mountain, where we would
camp for the night and we would there give them more valuable articles
which were on the horse. They finally consented and told us to go on
ahead; but feeling safer with their backs to us than ours to them we
succeeded in having them take the lead. They were strong, fierce,
desperate-looking men, and we did not care to give them any advantage
over us, so we kept our eyes on them and our hands on our guns, even
after we had camped at a nice spring in a large opening in the top of
the mountain.

Our greatest safety against these and other Indians that might be
lurking around, was to take their bows and arrows into our possession,
which we did very quietly after giving the promised gifts. They looked
rather sorry at seeing themselves entirely in our power.

For our future safety I thought it best to teach our neighbors a lesson
in gun tactics, for we felt sure their knowledge of guns was limited
to hearsay, they were so very wild and unacquainted with white men. My
plan was as follows: I went into a narrow ravine well out of sight, cut
a couple of leaves out of my memorandum book, doubled them, shot a hole
through the center and then cut them in two. One of these I secretly
gave to Mr. Kinsey. The interpreter and I then got into high words. The
Indians wanted to know what we were talking about. He told them that I
thought I could beat him shooting. They manifested much interest in the
matter. I took a leaf from my book, folded and cut it exactly like the
first and put it in the split of a stick about three feet long, gave
this to Mr. Kinsey, all in plain view of the natives, and he put it
up about one third of a mile off, but exchanged papers on the way and
substituted the one with a hole in the center.

The interpreter shot with a dragoon revolver and sent an Indian for
the mark. He came back on the run and talking as hard as he could. The
Indians all joined in the talk but superstitiously avoided touching the

I could not, of course, shoot better than that and therefore did not
try; besides, it was getting dark.

The following morning, which was the 17th of November, one of the
natives volunteered to go with us, saying that he "lived over that
way." He ran on foot by the side of our horses all day and we rode most
of the time on the gallop.

That night, about 1 o'clock, the Indian ran away from the guard--one
man with gun in hand--and got clear with his life and two blankets that
were not his.

In the morning we found his tracks in the trail ahead of us and we
were satisfied that evil was designed against us. We were but a
day-and-a-half's ride from the south end of Ruby Valley, and two and
one-half days' ride from the north end, where most of the Indians were.

That day, at noon, we came to water on a high ridge, from which I
could see a canyon pass through the mountains at the north end of
Ruby Valley, which lay north by north-east from us, and the south end
nearly east, leaving a great angle or elbow for us to make, which was
an object to save. From one place only on this high ridge could be
seen this low place in the distant mountains; and as soon as my eyes
rested on it the idea was given me that we could get through that pass
and save a great distance, and what else it might save I did not know,
unless it was our hair. I at once informed the men of the gap in the
mountains and my idea that it was best to travel that way; they agreed
with me. We turned our horses that way and every one of us felt right
sure then that in the plan was our safety.

We traveled that afternoon and until perhaps 12 o'clock in the night
and camped on a creek at the foot of the gap, probably ten miles from
the top, where we made neither light nor noise.



Early in the morning of the 19th we were in motion, fearing that that
day might bring the greatest trial of our lives. Right on the divide we
met about fifteen old men, women and children, but none that could draw
the bow in battle were there. The interpreter, who was well versed in
Indian policies and tactics, said:

"There, boys, that tells the story--not a warrior here and these are
sent off out of danger."

We came out into the valley about 2 o'clock very still, slow and
cautious, but saw no signs of life near. We had to ride hard so that,
if possible, we might get across the valley unobserved. We succeeded,
and just as the sun was setting we reached a little basin or valley
among low hills on our old trail, where there was a fine spring of
water. We looked carefully all over the country behind us as we left
the valley, but saw no signs of life except many smokes.

Our hearts nearly came to a standstill as we turned the ridge down into
the little basin, at the sight of seven Indians on the run for the
water. We had to have the right of water even if necessary to fight for
it; and we started on the run. The ground was so open that we could see
no point of advantage the Indians could gain by getting to water first,
so we rode more leisurely and we came together at the spring.

As they appeared in every motion to be friendly, we dismounted, threw
off our saddles and packs as though we were at home, never forgetting
to keep our eyes open and revolvers handy. The first thing to test
their friendship was to smoke--if they would smoke with us they would
talk, and if they would talk we could be friends and learn something.

When the oldest man had smoked, he asked in astonishment how we got

The interpreter said: "We rode here on our horses."

"Yes," said the old man, "I saw you do that; but what road did you

He was told, and replied:

"That is the only way you could come."


Then he went on to tell us that the Indian, Natsab, who ran away in
Carson, had passed there telling when he thought we would be along.
The Bloody Chief we saw in the valley going out came all through the
valley, calling the men to the rocky canyon that leads out of the
valley and there they thought to kill us all and divide the spoils,
expecting the whole seventeen men to return.

"Why didn't you go?" was asked.

The old man fumbled among his rags and pulled out a piece of tobacco
about one and one-half inches square and said, "I showed him that
tobacco and told him you gave me it, and I could not fight you as long
as that lasted."

"What it that had all been gone?" was asked.

The old man had as mild and pleasant eyes as I ever saw in an Indian's
head, and he raised them with as much honesty and simplicity as a
child, after looking in the fire a minute, and said:

"I don't know what I would have done."

His heart seemed to correspond with his eye.

The six men with him were his sons and sons-in-law. He kept them from
going to fight us. His camp was about a mile from the spring. After
talking awhile we tried the "long shot" game on them and found the
paper shot through the center as before. We wanted to impress all
Indians with the belief that when they fought us, the farther off they
could get the safer they would be.

Then we smoked again and all had lunch. The Indians got lots of gifts,
the whites none. Then came the good old man's last advice and council:

"I do not know whether they will get track of you before morning or
not; but they _will_ get on your track," said the mild-eyed man. "You
must not let the sun see you here. To-morrow when the sun looks down
from behind the top of that mountain you must be a long way from here.
Ride hard all day; and when night comes, don't stop riding, but ride
hard all night, and in the morning you will be in the Goshute land and
they will not follow you there. They have long been wanting your meat,
and when they find only your tracks they will ride like the wind."

When he had done talking, they all arose with a mild dignity, wrapped
their remnants of blankets around them, turned their faces towards
their home among the cedars and none looked around, except the
mild-eyed man, who gave us a look of mingled pity and hope, then nodded
his head towards their home, gave a motion of the hand and a prolonged
sigh, as much as to say, "I'm going home to sleep."

The old man's advice to us was carefully followed. I examined my
journal and notes of the country before we started. The whole day's
travel was over a level country from one valley to another, with no
high divide or hardly a separating hill; but at noon I found myself
lost, in spite of all my care and even extra caution preparatory for
such an important day. I could not find any lack of attention in myself
and no responsibility was upon any other person in the matter--the
route was very plain, and yet I had gone to the left of a mountain
instead of to the right. I knew where we were, although there was no
trail on either route, yet I knew we had taken the wrong side of the
mountain. I was afraid of the result and questioned whether it would
give our pursuers any advantage. Should we turn back or go ahead? was
another question.

Our lives was the game we were playing for that day, and the
responsibility of correct moves was upon me. The thought made me
sweat like rain. I told all the men and asked them to ride slowly,
very slowly, while I rode up the mountain to see if I could make any
discovery. I rode to a good, secure place and there knelt upon the
ground and, with my whole soul, asked God to show me what to do in this
trying time of uncertainty.

I arose and mounted my horse, fully satisfied. I knew how it would
terminate. An impression a feeling, some would call it, made me
understand this: "Go on; you will come out all right;" that is, keep
going as you are going, and you will come around to the right place,
was what it meant.

Some might ask, How did you get that information? I can only tell you
that it was spoken in those words to my soul. It was planted instantly
in my understanding by the power of God. It was revealed to my spirit
independent of the body.

I rode down and overtook my fellow-travelers in perfect cheer and told
them that we would go on, we were going just right.

Just before sunset we came to the very water I had intended, in the
morning, to reach, which was in a nice, grassy vale close by a large
cedar grove, and on looking back on the route I designed to come, we
saw, on a point of the mountain, three smokes near to each other, which
among Indians means to rally to some appointed place. We all, Gentiles
though two of the company were, acknowledged the hand of God in guiding
us, as we thought, the wrong way.

Water, grass and rest our animals must have in order to carry us safely
through the night. We could see the Indian smokes; they could see ours
and very likely see us. We must make them think we were going to stay
all night, so we drove the horses away from camp quite a distance and
towards the Indians, gathered a good lot of wood, ate supper and waited
impatiently for the mantle of night to be thrown over our movements.

As soon as I felt sure the Indians' keen eyes could not see our moves
through the darkness, two men ran for the horses and drove them around
so the fire would not show their forms. The other two men carried the
saddles far back from the fire, where we hastily saddled and left the
horses in care of one man while the other three went to the fire, put
on all the wood and lazily passed and re-passed between the distant
Indians and the fire, then mounted and rode with good speed from our
comfortable fire and beautiful Antelope Spring. This place received
its name, Antelope Spring, as follows: On approaching this place, as
we went west, we saw a drove of antelope feeding just in the edge of
the scattering cedars, and one antelope quite a little behind the rest,
which one of our men prepared to shoot; but all the animals seeing us
ran away. The one behind was thrown into a dreadful fright, and could
not run with the others, while the man prepared to shoot. He resolved
to be an antelope no longer, and with magical power threw off his
antelope skin, and in the twinkling of an eye, stood up a tall Indian
with bow and arrows in hand. He followed us to camp and there showed us
all about the transformation.

We rode all night as fast as we could and at dawn came into a little
gulch, where water was found. Here we turned our animals loose and
all but two of us laid down and slept until sunrise. That morning
was beautiful to us. We now felt ourselves out of danger and quietly
pursues our journey homeward, without any other important event
occurring. We reached home on the 25th of November, 1854.

This was an important event to us and our families and friends. One
thing that made it more important to my wife and relatives was a report
from a man who undertook to overtake us a day or two after we left
Salt Lake City for Carson. He was a relic of the army, and failing
to overtake us as soon as he expected, became faint-hearted from the
forbidding and uninviting surroundings of a lone man among Indians
and deserts, and turned back. He arrived safely in Salt Lake City and
undoubtedly thought himself very fortunate in so doing; and to excuse
himself beyond the possibility of reproach among his associates, he
made up an inexcusable falsehood and told that he came to the place
where the Indians had massacred every one of our party. The deed had
just been done and the bodies lay mangled and stripped of clothing.
He was obliged to make a hasty retreat to avoid being discovered and
served the same.

On arriving in Salt Lake I delivered all U. S. property in my
possession to Colonel Steptoe and as soon as possible made my official
report in writing and got my release. In my report was given an outline
of the road, which, however, he did not think practicable for his army
in the following Spring. From my journal of the trip and the map, I
formed what was called in those days a guide book, which was a minute
account of the road, by which a stranger to the country could safely
travel it without danger of being lost.

Our Delegate to Congress then was acquainted with this book, and as he
was about to start for Washington by way of San Francisco, he offered
to take the guide book and if he could sell it to Congress he would
give me half the proceeds. In San Francisco he was offered $1000 for
it, but would not let it go for that amount. I think he did not sell
it, for I never received any money for it.

*** End of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Eventful Narratives - The Thirteenth Book of the Faith Promoting Series" ***

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