memories of Nephi Martineau son of James H. Martineau

Histories / Nephi Martineau /
Autobiography
Written by him 4 February 1933
I was born 11 March 1862 at Logan, Cache County, Utah, the fifth child of James Henry Martineau and Susan Ellen Johnson. I always felt that I had been given a choice name of Nephi.
I was one of the first white children born in Logan and remember many incidents of the early settlers and their experiences in dealing with the Indians who mingled at that time with the white people. At one time my mother saw a squaw going past their home and she had something concealed under her blanket. Mother went up to her and jerked aside the blanket and found the squaw had a little white boy, Al Curtis. Mother took the boy back to his parents. Al grew to manhood and was ever grateful to my mother and spoke of it many times.
When I was very young our family had a very hard time to make ends meet and, even though my father was a civil engineer and there was much work to be done in surveying, he was unable to collect the money due him. We children were rather thinly clad at times but we never lacked for food. I usually went barefoot during the summer months.
My schooling was rather meager. We had to pay tuition and for books, so I barely passed the 8th grade.
About this time there were 1200 Indians camped about three miles from Logan. This caused much anxiety among the settlers. There was some fighting and one white boy was killed near Providence. Several Indians were taken as prisoners.
I well remember how outfits with ox yokes, chains and other equipment were prepared to help the saints from Florence, Nebraska to Utah.
Across the street from where the Tabernacle now stands was a ten-acre tract that a large bowery was built, using eight-inch posts with a board in the center and more boards placed horizontally pushed down to make a tight wall which encircled the outside. I well remember seeing assembled on the square wagons, ox teams, cooking utensils, bedding and all camp equipment preparing to go after emigrants to Florence, Nebraska or anywhere to meet them, and young men volunteering to act as drivers to be gone for months on the trip.
In 1870 when I was a boy 8 years old, my sister Elvira was married to Benjamin Samuel Johnson of Spring Lake, Utah. I was privileged to go and live with them for a time. My Uncle Benjamin Johnson lived there, too. He had a large family. He did shoe repairing, raised sugar cane and made brooms from broom corn.
While at Spring Lake I remember going with my Uncle David LeBaron, an older man, to the south. We would make holes through the ice and fish on the lake. They would ship the fish to Salt lake City where they were sold on the market. Uncle David caught many wild ducks in the warm springs and marshes. We stayed there about one week.
At another time I went to the Tintic District with fruit and melons which Uncle David sold and brought back cedar posts which grew in abundance there. At that time the railroad only extended from Salt lake City to Provo, Utah.
When I was 12 years old I began singing in the Sunday School choir and later sang in the ward and stake choirs. In 1893 when the Salt Lake Temple was dedicated I sang with that choir. I sang bass in three operas with Evan Stephens.
On February 14, 1876 I was ordained an Elder by my father James H. Martineau.
In October, 1877 when I was 15 years old I went to Logan Canyon with others to round up cattle to be taken to Arizona. About this time some missionaries were called to make settlements on the Little Colorado in Arizona. Moroni was going so I was permitted to go along to help drive the cattle.
Some of the men killed a bear about two years old. They dressed it and stored it in a cave at Ricks Springs and later ate it.
Our party consisted of Brother John Bloomfield and family, Alex Richards of Mendon, Moroni and myself, four dogs, a dozen chickens, 100 sheep, 125 head of cattle. Nearly all belonged to the man who had gone previous.
Starting out October 1st, we were one month on the road, going about 15 miles a day. It was a good trip and we were given permission from the Presiding Bishop to feed the cattle tithing hay at the small settlement along the way. After making camp the chickens were turned loose to exercise some. When night came they would return to their coop. Arriving at Johnson, there were men to take them on their way across the Colorado.
At the end of the journey we visited some of the ancient places formerly occupied by the Nephites. Signs on the cliffs and prints of moccasins were marked in sandstone in the caves.
While in southern Utah this time I lived with my brothers Henry and Moroni. They had a contract to carry mail from Hillside to Marysvale, Utah, which I worked at. It was a long lonely ride of 65 miles through sparsely-settled country. The cold piercing winds were hard for a boy of 15 years to endure. But prayers to my Heavenly Father gave me courage.
After living there a year I returned back home to Logan, Utah. About t his time my father took a contact to survey five townships in the mountains southeast of Logan. I acted as chief cook for 10 men and we were gone all summer. We used pack animals on some of the route. The beauty of the mountains, the clear cold water, grassy vales and the beautiful mountain deer we saw made this a delightful experience to remember.
I went to school in Logan, Utah and my most outstanding teacher was a Miss Ida Cook who instilled in my heart a great love of poetry which I have held dear all my life. One of the loved poems, the name which I do not remember, was “He walked by the seashore and the pebbles looked so beautiful but when he held them in his hands their beauty vanished.” My children have all loved to hear me repeat “Sparticas to the Gladiators” or “Ye Call Me Chief” as they called it; also “Mister Finney’s Turnip” and “The Mule Who Always Kicked Behind.”
As I grew older my father bought me a nice team of mules and a new wagon. I spent two summers hauling lumber out of Logan Canyon. I received nine dollars for 1000 foot and made two trips per week. This was the only job available. I also hauled rock from Logan Canyon to be used in the construction of the Logan Temple.
My father later moved the family to Arizona and took the team. I remained in Logan. I got a job floating logs down the canyon to the sawmill and earned dollars. This I used as a marriage stake and was married in the Salt lake Endowment House on 14 June 1883 to Emmeline Pamela Knowles.
After buying the wedding ring and paying the railroad fare, there wasn’t much money left to begin our married life, but there was plenty and I now had the companion I dearly loved and had been waiting for. And we have lived happily together all our lives.
In the church at that time cattle were turned into the church as tithing. These cattle were all assembled and put on the range in Idaho during the summer months. In the month of November they were all brought back to Logan and taken to the farm owned by the church which was known as the Church Farm, located about two miles west of Logan City.
There was a fenced pasture of 3000 acres for cattle. The fattest ones were taken to a farm four miles southwest of Logan City to be killed as needed. The poorest of the cattle were left at the church farm and fed tithing hay that had been taken there. On this farm that had been laid out by Brigham Young, it had long sheds covered with bulrushes and other poor quality of hay. There were many different corrals to suit the different grades of cattle. Flowing wells were driven there so there was plenty of water available.
President Young instructed that haystacks were build containing 100 tons of hay in each stack so to shed the rain and snow. Most of the farm was planted in hay with large ditches to carry sufficient water for the hay crop. In winter it took four big loads of hay per day to feed those cattle kept on the winter feeding ground. And so it was to this church farm that I took my young bride, Emma. I had been hired to be the foreman of the farm and at that time I took over, there were 22 men working there.
We used four mowers and two rakes and it was all hand work, pitching the hay from one man to the next to get it to the last stacker on top of the haystack. I had a good helper, just arrived from Sweden. His name was C. J. Clawson, a good man. We worked together nearly seven years. It has always been a faith-promoting plan how so much has been accomplished in the church when so little money was had, all of these wonderful things being done by faithful people to help build the kingdom of God.
t was at this farm where four of our oldest children were born – Howard, Aurelia, Leigh, and Susan. Then in 1890 we moved to Clarkston, Utah. It was a dry farm and not very fertile and later we moved back to Logan. That year, 1893, the dedication of the Salt Lake Temple was held and we went to the dedication.
On February 14, 1896 I left for a mission to the Southern States. I traveled without purse or script and had many wonderful and faith promoting experiences happen to me. I’ve always cherished these experiences and have told many of them to my children over and over!
When I left home for the mission field we had a family of seven children. When I was set apart I was promised that when I should return when my mission was finished and the number in our family should not be broken. The summer after I left home the children all had typhoid fever and were extremely ill but they recovered.
While I was still there Emma bought a farm in Benson, Utah and my brother Lyman moved the family out there in my absence. I returned home in 1898 and immediately began farming. I planted many fruit trees, also raspberries.
On July 7, 1905 a baby boy John was born but he didn’t live. Not long after that we sold the farm in Benson and moved to North Logan, Utah where we lived about a year. The farm was not very prolific and we had the bad luck to lose several of our thoroughbred horses.
We left that place and bought a farm in Weston, Idaho. But the water rights were not sufficient so we sold the place for a large herd of mules, and for a short time lived on a dry farm north of St. Anthony, Idaho. About that time I had the opportunity to get some state land from James Stewart and with our mules we did very well.
About 1913 we bought a nice large home in St. Anthony, Idaho which was located in the 2nd Ward. I was called as a counselor in the Bishopric where I labored 15 years.
In 1935 Mother and I left our home in St. Anthony and came to Logan, Utah where we have been doing temple work since.
In May of 1939 Mother suffered a paralytic stroke. She passed away May 9, 1939 at Rexburg at the home of our daughter Susan and William Chantrill. She was buried in the cemetery here in Logan.
On May 31, 1943 I was married to Mrs. Evelyn Holman Taylor and we have lived here in Logan since that time.
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Father served as a missionary in the Northwest States with Portland as headquarters for six months. He did endowment work in the Logan Temple until his health became such that he was forced to stop.
In the latter part of December, 1950 he had a serious sick spell, and on February 26, 1951 he passed away at the home of his daughter Anita and her husband Lavell Schwendiman in Newdale, Idaho.
He suffered terribly with arthritis for a long time and never once did we hear him complain. He had a strong and enduring testimony of the gospel and lived all his life to the best of his ability. He was a noble man.
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(Written 4 February 1933)
I recall my early childhood, thinking it might be of interest in my life story. I remember Indians coming into town to get beef which was cut up into 20 or 30-pound pieces and given to them.
We boys used to go down to the willows below the hill and if we saw a chance, to go inside the teepee. We saw them at their work, making gloves, tanning deerhide or cooking on their small file. It was a sport to go down to their camp and wrestle their young boys or trade them out of some buckskin strings. I have watched them bend some willows over a hole near the bank and chew up some raw minnows, spit them in the water and watch the fish eat them. Then with a spear they would have a small opening in the bushes so they could pull them out. Old Chief Arimo lived below the hill.
Many a hot summer day I spent swimming in the hole by the Thatcher gristmill.
I saw a big fight in our schoolroom one day between teacher and pupil. I think the school was on the side of the pupil.
Just as soon as the snow was off we used to go digging segos. Our implement was a sharp stick about two feet long and many times we took some home to Mother, who really enjoyed them.
My father was away from home quite often, surveying for the railroad and villages.
The first reaper, a little machine to cut wheat and push it out of the way in a bundle, came to Logan. I slipped away from home and followed into the field some distance and after watching it cut for some time, I started for home. On the way I saw three small boys laying down by the road. Now I being a small boy and had heard the folks talk about gorillas, I thought these boys might be some. So I was afraid at first to go past them. But finally I took courage and passed them with the speed of a deer. I knew all the time that they were boys.
At eight years old I was baptized in the canal close by. I was later ordained a deacon and a teacher, at which time I was invited to sing alto in the choir with some other boys my age.
I had to go to the canyon along with Moroni. We had a span of mules, one of which would balk in the river every time we crossed with a load; an old wagon that had come across the plains with the emigrants, and one of the wheels had been made on the plains and the tires were loose. I had to sit and watch the rear ones and see if they were coming off.
I have sat on a load of wood coming home in every kind of storm. Mother would walk out some distance to meet us. The road was narrow and many of the dugways were dangerous. Some nights we would camp in an old milkhouse and what scanty clothes I had were far from comfortable.
Moroni took me up to lead the horse while snaking out the wood. One night after work we were all preparing supper when I had to poke in the fire. I moved a stick which flipped into Mark Fletcher’s soup. He was an apostate and the language he used, I never forgot. I should have been more careful.
That winter I visited a few weeks with my sister Elvira and husband to Springlake, three miles south of Payson, Utah. I got a pair of boots for Christmas. A heavy snow two feet deep came. We took an old white horse and plenty of string and went out in the sagebrush to hunt rabbits. We came back with all the horse could carry. We tied the hind legs of two rabbits and hung them over his back.
Another Uncle David LeBaron took me west to Utah Lake with him. He had cut 200 holes in the ice and put a small stick across with a baited line. The next morning we would go out with a small hand sleigh and take the nice white trout with but few dark spots on them. We might get 50 or 60 of them, which he shipped to market.
When Moroni and I were up Logan Canyon with a crew to get cattle, we came upon a black bear about two years old. We were on horseback. He finally climbed up a quaking aspen about four inches thick at the bottom. After trying to get the rope over his head we succeeded and pulled him but he clung tight. Moroni sawed the tree down at the butt and we had some meat. We took him to camp and had a chance to test out scones and bear meat which all pronounced good.
It was about this time Moroni and I helped drive cattle to southern Utah.
We lived at Hillsdale, named after my grandfather Joel Hills Johnson who, by the way, composed the words to the hymn, “High On a Mountain Top.” But he had moved away and his son, my Uncle Seth Johnson, had me carry the mail. They clothed me up as best they could and let me go down the line 65 miles on horseback, having generally only one mail bag. I was able to make the trip twice a week and got $18.00 for the week. Some of the time the weather became real cold, but through this job we were able to buy what things we were in need of.
A man named Wilson made some small ox yokes, small enough to be used on yearling steers, so I and some other boys spent our time catching and yoking up steers. We got them so they could be driven alone. Ox bows were made by putting small oak saplings in the hot ashes and when warm through, we would bend them around a pole and leave them until they would stay bent.
At Hillsdale everyone was rebaptized for the renewing of their covenants, so I went into the water also.
Reminiscing some more about my early life and mission:
Returning to Johnson, the land of ancient lore, a hill standing out on the level covering about three acres proved to be sandstone and the only way to get on top of it was to go up a narrow ridge, near the top, crawl through a hole just large enough to let the body through. The top is flat and there on top were two mounds of clay from which potteryware with spades and other things had been taken.
Nearby was a large smooth space on a sand rock where could be seen the outline of many animals and on another stone were the tracks of birds and beasts. Not far away was a large grotto capable of housing 50 people. On ahead on a sloping place were the prints of feet in the sandstone. A person had walked across there when the sandstone was soft enough underfoot to give away and leave the imprints of a foot on the rock.
My father James H. Martineau secured a contract to do government surveying about six townships east of Cache Valley and extending into the Bear Lake Valley. In the company were Ed Hansen, George Lewis, Fred Benson, Jesse Martineau, and others. While camping in the tops of the mountains we ran out of meat. We killed a porcupine and I cooked him in a bake oven and all in camp pronounced it just fine. I spent three summers with the surveying party.