Wednesday, May 14, 2008

An Indian Dinner Party

An Indian Dinner Party
By James H. Martineau

The Paheed Indians, living in the valley of the Little Salt Lake, had given us considerable trouble and loss by stealing cattle. It was thought wise, in the summer of 1852, to give the tribe a dinner, hoping thus to make them more friendly and quit their depredations. So and invitation was given them, and at the appointed time a large number assembled at Parowan Fort.

A long table made of boards placed upon trestles and big enough for all, was laden with an abundance of the best we could furnish, consisting of a variety of vegetables, but no meat or groceries of any kind, the latter being unknown in the colony. And meat was something we could not eat oftener than once in three or four months. President Young had counseled us not to hunt game, for that belonged of right to the natives; no one thought for a moment of killing a cow, and a work ox was safe as long as he could pull a plow. But occasionally a jack rabbit became a victim, the excuse being offered that he had damaged someone’s garden.

But, the absence of meat did not trouble our guests. They hugely enjoyed the dinner as a great novelty, and ate until they could eat no more. When told they could carry away all the food left, their joy was full, and they quickly disposed of everything. But one fellow for a few moments was puzzled. Much of the food was summer squash, cooked quite thin, and mushy. This Indian had two pans nearly full which he wanted, but had no kettle or dish in which to take it. But “Necessity, the mother of invention,” gave him an idea. He wore buckskin leggings, reaching up nearly to his hips, and fastened to his belt. Taking off one legging, he tied a string around the lower end, thus making a bag into which his squaw poured the squash, and carried it away in triumph, as a serious difficulty skillfully overcome.

After dinner the chief, Kanarrah, made a speech, saying the Mormons were good to his people and he hoped they would overlook the stealing his people had done, and explained their temptations by saying, “You plenty bread, plenty cow, plenty horse, plenty everything. Me nothing, no bread, no cow, no nothing, but all the time hungry, squaw and papoose all time hungry. But we no more steal cattle.”

President John C.L. Smith then made a speech, telling the Indians to learn to work, to be industrious, and live like the Mormons, saying if they would do so they would multiply and increase, otherwise they would dwindle away and die out, and in a few years none would be left.

The Indians listened attentively, and we all thought they were thoroughly converted until Kanarrah, in three words upset President Smith’s whole argument. Pointing to our cemetery, he said, “Who lies there?” For the natives, that was enough. Every grave there contained a white man – not a single Indian. Not one of us could find a word to say. Never did I know three words to produce so great an effect, or to so easily overthrow an argument.

The “talk” being over, the natives as usual, began gambling, using a little round ball of wood, held first in one hand, then in the other, as parties sat upon the ground facing each other. If the other could guess rightly which hand held the ball as it was changed from hand to hand, he gained the bet, if not, he lost.

An Indian would gamble away all his property, even his clothes, and then gamble his wife or child away. Such a thing happened now. An Indian had thus lost his wife and told her to go with her new husband, but she did not like him, and slipping away from the crowd quickly entered our house – the nearest one at hand – and hid, first behind the door, and under some clothing which hung there; then in a moment crept under the bed, the next minute crawling out and running out the back door and down into a small cellar, the door of which was open.

Scarcely was she thus concealed when in rushed an Indian, knife in hand, his face like a demon’s. Without a word to us, he looked behind the door, then under the bed, then he tumbled the bedding to see if she could be hidden there. Not finding her, but certain she had entered our house, he rushed out the back way and went to the doorway of the cellar. Seeing the place was empty, he did not enter. Had he done so he would have seen the woman, who stood behind the door, and killed her.

The Indian next rushed to the corral, searched it carefully, and then went to the next one adjoining, and so on along that line of the fort, determined to find his prey. During this time the squaw showed her sagacity, by following him up from corral to corral, quickly going to one just searched by him, while he went on to another. We believe he never found the woman, as we never heard of her murder.

During all this time, which to us was one of much excitement, the other Indians seemed as unconcerned as if nothing unusual was happening.

Mother-Courage of a Lioness

Mother-Courage of a Lioness
Written by James H. Martineau

Upon another occasion Mrs. Martineau, (Susan Ellen Johnson) returning to the house after a short absence, saw her little daughter, Elvira (Susan Elvira Martineau – Emma Johnson’s mother)
Crouching upon the floor, the picture of deadly terror, an Indian standing with tomahawk uplifted over her head as if about to dash out her brains.

Nerved with the mother-courage of a lioness she flew upon him, jerked him away from her daughter, and beat h him so soundly that he was glad to get loose from her grasp and make an inglorious retreat. Courageous while the struggle was on, when all danger was past she weakened for a few moments.

The Indian had demanded bread, and when told there was none, told the little girl she lied and said he would kill her. He might not have hurt her, but Indians, with their ungovernable passions, are not to be trusted when they are enraged.

During several years of the early settlement of Utah, especially in the outer settlements, incidents of startling character were not uncommon; but unaccountable as it may appear, women, afraid of a little innocent mouse never quailed in the presence of an angry savage, even if he stood knife in hand threatening instant death.

A Dance on Sunday

A Dance on Sunday
Written By James H. Martineau

A dance by Latter Day Saints on Sunday would justly be considered out of order in any well regulated community, but one at which the writer took part many years ago is worth mention. It was July, 1851 in Parowan.

The people were assembled on Sunday afternoon in the log school house, which was used also for religious and other meetings, and dances, and which by the way, was the first house erected in the colony – when Walker, the great Utah Chieftain, arrived with a large band of warriors and squaws, returning from a predatory expedition the Colorado River. Walker and his brother Ammon, came at once to meeting and were invited to seats on the stand and asked to speak. Walker made a short address in the Ute tongue, which was interpreted sentence by sentence by Ammon, who spoke English quite well.

Walker said he had heard much about the Mormon dances – that they were fine – in fact, unequalled; but he had never seen any, and would like very much to do so. He was told his wish should be granted, and that tomorrow evening we would have a dance in the school house, to which he and his men would be welcome.

Walker replied that this would not do as he was on his way to Salt Lake City and could not wait all that day – indeed, could not waste any time in Parowan. For this reason he asked - and in fact required, in no uncertain manner – that the dance be given “today, this afternoon – immediately”

The presiding authorities of the colony hastily discussed the demand and as we were nearly 300 miles from any assistance should help be needed in case of trouble, the colony being weak in numbers, it was considered best not to displease the Indians, who knew no difference between Sunday and any other day, and to give them the dance they desired.

Accordingly, meeting was at once dismissed, a man sent for his fiddle, and all repaired a short distance to a level piece of ground, accompanied by all the Indians, about a hundred in number. The fiddler came, a cotillion was formed, and the dance commenced. Not a drop of rain had fallen for months, and our dancing floor, destitute of vegetation, soon became very dusty with the energetic tramping of feet and swish of women’s skirts; during the second cotillion one could hardly see the opposite couple for dust. But we all did our best and most artistic dancing to suitably impress our dusky visitors, that they might see that they had not been misinformed as to our ability on the “light fantastic toe.”

Great was our astonishment at the end of the third cotillion as another set was just forming when Walker angrily shouted: “Stop! Get off the ground! You don’t know how to dance! The one lied who told me Mormons could dance! They spoke with a forked tongue! Go home and don’t try anymore dance till you know how = not like papooses! I’ll show you how to dance!”

He spoke a few words to his men and about 60 of them took their places, forming a perfect circle, all facing inwards, while a couple with their tom-toms, or rude drums squatted just outside and began beating time, singing in a monotonous chant, “Ay-yah, ay-yah! Ay-ah, ay-yah!”

The dance consisted of simply stepping at each drum beat – fist to the right, then at a special drum-thump circling to the left, and so on alternately, for about 20 minutes.

We were all astonished. In all their movements, stopping or changing direction, as they circled, there was not the least crowding or jostling or moving in other than as a perfect circle as if one had been marked on the ground; and to all appearances every foot touched the ground at precisely the same instant. They scarcely raised a dust.

When Walker saw he had sufficiently impressed us and instructed us he stopped the dance; saying to us, “Now you can see how to dance – to dance like men, not like papooses, who know nothing.” And away he and his men went, shortly continuing his way as if disdaining longer to stay with so uncultivated a set as we were.

To an onlooker our appearance must have been anything but dignified and inviting. Imagine a hot day in July, faces covered in dust and lined with furrows down which had coursed streams of perspiration gendered by heat and violent exercise, and clothing with colors indistinguishable for dirt! No wonder Walker looked upon us as a disreputable set, unworthy of further notice.

A Time of Fear and Death

A Time of Fear and Death
Written By James H. Martineau

In the summer of 1882, the small village of Show Low, in Apache County, Arizona stood upon the banks of the creek of that name, which is one of the tributaries of the Li5ttle Colorado River. Show Low obtained its peculiar name from the following circumstance:

The whole surrounding country was possessed by two men, Gentiles, whose herds roamed over its grassy hills and vales, but who after a time began to disagree, feeling that the estate, though large enough for one, was not big enough for two. They finally agreed that its sole ownership should be decided by chance. Sitting by a rude table in their cabin, after having been for some time engaged in card playing, they agreed to shuffle well the cards and each one cut; he who could show “low” to own the whole ranch. This they did, the loser departing contentedly to seek pastures new. And so from this little game of “Show Low” the place took its name.

Only eight Mormon Families dwelt here; and as farm land near by was limited in area, some of the men took up farms in the timber land or “forest” as it was called, some miles away. Among these were John Reidhead and wife, and Benjamin Samuel Johnson and Elvira, his wife; daughter of J.H. Martineau formerly and for many years a resident of Logan City, Utah who took adjoining f arms about seven miles from Show Low. Here they built a double log house in which both families lived during the time of planting, cultivating and harvesting their crops. When this labor was over, they would then return to the little village.

It was about the first day of June when the following tragic scenes were enacted: It was a season, apparently, of most profound peace with the Indians. Not a speck darkened the sky of the toiling settlers – not the faintest rumor of impending evil disturbed the quiet of their daily lives. They were busy as bees, clearing the land, plowing and planting, fencing and building, and already had made quite a creditable showing in the way of substantial improvement. But all this was suddenly to cease; trouble, fear and death were waiting to succeed this time of peace and prosperity.

While these two families of Johnson and Reidhead were thus laboring industriously and contentedly upon their lonely farms, unsuspicious of approaching danger, their guardian spirits one day gave them a gentle whisper, not sufficient to alarm them, but which caused them to find a place of safety, unknowing, themselves, the cause of their action. One morning after breakfast, Reidhead said, “I believe I’ll go down to Taylor and get my wagon fixed.” Said Johnson, “I think I’ll go with you.” Then said Mrs. Reidhead, “If both of you are going, I’ll go too.” “I too” said Mrs. Johnson. “Well,” said Johnson, “Let’s all go” “Yes,” said Mrs. Johnson, “and take the cows and everything.” And so, without any premeditation, and obeying a sudden impulse, but without any real or well defined reason, they did that which no doubt saved the lives of all of them.

They hitched up their teams, loaded up their household gear into their wagons, and with their cows and chickens went to Show Low, intending ere long to return. As the little party thus proceeded on their way to Show Low, Mrs. Johnson, an experienced pioneer, who had already passed through many dangerous and trying scenes with unflinching courage, relates that she felt a fear and unrest which caused her often to look over her shoulder – a nameless dread, which hastening events soon explained. Arrived at the little village-“What did you come in for? Any trouble?” said the surprised people. “No trouble, we just thought we’d come back for a little while.”

But there was trouble, though they knew it not. The dreaded Apaches had again broken out, and were even then upon the war path, plundering scattered settlers horses and shooting their stock. On Wednesday, June 1st, Brother Nathan Robinson, a resident of Show Low, was killed by Apaches, only 1 ½ miles from his home. Riding peacefully along the road, he say a small party of Indians gathered about a dead animal not far from the road; he rode up next to them and while examining the dead ox, was murdered, stripped, and his mangled corpse thrown into the creek and weighted down with stones.

Although no breath of ill rumor had as yet, ruffled the peace of the villagers, the wife of the murdered man felt a sad premonition and alarm for her husband all day- a fear which her neighbors endeavored in vain to dispel. With streaming eyes and wringing hands she exclaimed again and again-“My husband is dead! My husband is dead! I know he is killed!”

“About two o’clock the next morning,” says Mrs. Johnson, “I was suddenly awakened by a rough shake of the arm and the voice of a boy calling out: “Mrs. Johnson! Get up quick and run to the barn! The Indians have broken out. Run quick!” and away he sped to awaken others.” The night being warm, and her husband absent, she had made her bed out of doors, upon the ground. Hastily dressing, she snatched her child and fled to the barn – the rendezvous appointed – crossing in her flight a deep rocky gulch upon two long, slim poles which lay across it – a feat she would not have dared assay at any other time, as a misstep would result in almost certain death or broken limbs. Arrived at the barn, she found the people all gathered – three old men – the rest being women and children, whose husbands and fathers were away from the settlement. Who may know the agony of those helpless ones, as the night dragged slowly along; the nameless dread that their loved ones already might have been butchered, and the uncertainty of their own fate. With what intensity is every faculty strained – how many uncanny sounds they hear – or think they hear. With what piercing glances they fearfully peer into the surrounding gloom, fancying, every now and then, that they see dusky forms stealthily approaching. Tears dim their eyes and prayer fills their hearts as mothers look upon their darling children, and think, with a chill shudder, of what has been and of what may be again.

But while others were in dread, Mrs. Johnson was calm. Her husband and four year old boy were absent, and should, as he intended when he went to Taylor, have returned the day previous. No one knew what was hindering his homecoming. Should not she, too, be very anxious? Here is the key to her calmness – a little secret well worth knowing by the youth of Utah; she was a woman of faith, and had been trained from her youth that the Father hears and answers the prayers of those who trust in him; she went by herself and asked that if her husband and boy were alive and should return to her, that she might have the testimony of a peaceful mind and an assurance of their safety. She arose with this testimony in her soul, and thenceforward felt no fear, much to the surprise of her associates – a faith fully justified next day when her loved ones returned safe and unharmed. The writer mentions this little incident to impress upon the youth the fact that God is ever willing to hear and answer the prayer of faith and give peace to the troubled soul.

We will here mention that about 11 p.m. it was decided to send a messenger to Taylor, nine miles distant, for aid; but who would venture alone upon such a dangerous errand? Should one of the men go? There would be only two left to defend the helpless flock in case of attack; and how could a woman undertake such a fearful risk? But a boy of fourteen years – John Reidhead – volunteered and went. Every heart was filled with supplication to the Father that he might reach his destination in safety, for who could say that he might not fall into an ambush of skulking savages? As he sped along the rocky road, it seemed to the anxious listeners in the barn that the resounding clatter of his horse’s hoofs could be heard for miles, and must surely be heard by the Indians and bring them upon him.

He reached Taylor and informed Bishop Standifired of the danger of the people in Show Low. The Bishop seized his gun, stepped to the door and fired his piece as a signal of alarm. As the report echoed through the stillness of the night, men hastily sprung from their beds and hurried to the Bishop’s to learn what was the matter. A party of twenty men quickly volunteered to go to the relief of Show Low, arriving there about daylight, much to the joy of the waiting ones.

But Brother Nathan Robinson had not yet returned, nor did any one know aught concerning him. Parties well armed went out in search and were for hours unsuccessful, until someone, passing by the crystal stream, saw something under the water and under a pile of stones, that drew his attention. It was the body of Brother Robinson, stripped and mangled. Nearby they found some of his clothing. Tenderly, and sorrowfully, they laid his stiffened form across two horses, and so they brought him back to his sorrowing wife and children. Guided by the moccasin tracks of his murderers, they found the place where he had been killed, and where still lay the remains of the ox. They found too, the trail of his horse, where unsuspicious of danger, he had turned from the road and ridden up to a place occupied by supposed friends, but instead, he rode into the gloom of death. Who may know his thoughts, when suddenly assailed wounded and beaten to earth, he knew the hour of his death had come – his beloved wife and children to be evermore deprived of his loving, helpful hand! But his was not a solitary case; in this beautiful southern clime, such has been the fate of hundreds!

After some days it was decided to abandon Show Low. The people there were too few to hold the place; and other settlements near it were not strong enough to furnish constant aid. So willing hands and teams helped move the settlers to places of greater safety, some of whom never saw their homes again. Mrs. Johnson says that so it was with her and her husband; they abandoned home, farm, crops, a shingle mill and almost all they had, and were suddenly brought into a state of destitution. But with that innate irrepressible vitality, so characteristic of Mormonism, they yielded not to discouragement, but again set to work with stout hearts and industrious hands to repair their fortunes. And as it was with them, so has it been with many Mormon pioneers. They have indeed made the desert bloom, but its thirsty soil has been moistened by their tears, and their weary sighs have stirred in pity the leaves of the lone mesquite. But now the dawn begins to appear - the beginning of the end approaches; and soon shall the words of Father Jacob be fulfilled, and the seed of his beloved son possess the land he gave him.

A Leap for Life or Death

A Leap for Life or Death
By James H. Martineau

It was in the spring of 1851 that the writer, residing in the newly established settlement of Parowan-or Little Salt Lake as it was commonly styled- conceived the idea of ascending a mountain peak not fa5r away to view the surrounding country. Such an enterprise had always been to him a delight, but in the trip of which we now speak, he narrowly missed a tragic termination.

Young and thoughtless, he took no water with him upon this expedition, and after a toilsome climb of about five miles up a long mountain ridge, over jutting rocks and rugged cliffs, found himself at length on the summit, triumphant and delighted, but perspiring at every pore, and suffering much from thirst, which was greatly aggravated by breathing through his open mouth as he toiled and panted up the weary ascent.

Later on he learned the importance of keeping his mouth closed under such circumstances, thereby preventing its becoming so dry and parched. When deprived of water, a man can do without it three times as long, if he will breathe only through the nose, keep his mouth shut, and abstain from talking. But here he was - very thirsty - upon a high mountain - and no water within miles.

For a while he enjoyed the grand but desolate view, extending from Mount Baldy in the distant north to the dim ranges in the west and south, with the newly planted fort at his feet, and the Little Salt Lake eight or ten miles distant – the very embodiment of desolation, as it lay stagnant and sullen, surrounded by marshy shores of glistening white slat in which no plant can live.

But the day waned, and he must descend. To avoid the long, roundabout route by which he had reached the summit, the thought occurred that it would be better to take a short cut directly down the mountain side. So he entered a slight ravine, whose rocky bottom, bare of all vegetation, would afford an easy pathway. Swiftly he descended, every few yards jumping down rocky steps of a few feet, pleased to see how quickly he was reaching the foot of the mountain. By this time the little gulch had grown to be quite a big one, with walls upon each side too high and too steep to be climbed. His downward leaps too, became more frequent and of greater depth - but this was well – he would sooner reach the bottom.

At length a drop of nine or ten feet landed him upon a shelf or rocky platform about ten feet broad, shut in on each side by high perpendicular walls. Advancing towards the edge he was horrified to see that his next drop – if he chose to make it – would be into a fearful abyss. It was a sheer descent of over 100 feet. Of course he would go back a little and take another route. Turning back to the rock he had only now descended, he tried to climb it, but to his dismay he could not. Although but a few feet higher than his head, the face of the rock was very smooth and had no angles or projections by the aid of which he night ascend.

For a long while he strove desperately to climb the rock; he took off his shoes hoping that his bare feet might give him sufficient hold upon the rock to make his way. In vain. His utmost endeavors raised him not more than one or two feet – then down he slid. Still he continued, trying first one place, and then another, but all to no purpose. Must he die here when it seemed as if he could almost grasp the top by an upward spring, and once upon its top be safe? It seemed past belief – but it was true! It was impossible to return; and as he began to more fully realize his predicament and evident inability to escape, who may realize his feelings? He knew he was where no man had ever been and lived to tell the story; he was where no one would ever think to look for him; he was where a call for help could be heard by no living soul!

Only the ravens that slowly circled above his head, seemed to be concerned in his future fate.

He lay flat upon the rock and crawled carefully forward to look below, but a momentary glance filled him with dread no words can tell. Instinctively he shrank backward, trembling as with an ague. Again he looked down; rough, ragged rocks were there, and must be his lonely bed until the resurrection morn! A large pine tree stood in the canyon below, a little distance from the foot of the precipice upon whose side he hung so high in the air, but its feathery top was far below his level – a full 25 or 30 feet.

Of all this he assured himself, by several trembling downward glances, for he could endure the sight only for a moment. What must he do? Could he do anything? Must he die a lingering death by starvation upon the little ledge where he now stood – or should he end all by a plunge to the cruel rocks below that uplifted their jagged arms as if impatient to receive him?

How wondrous is human thought! With what lightning speed may thought fly through the mind! It has been said that in the few moments passed in drowning, a man’s whole life – even trivial things – will pass before his mental vision; and that what he thinks in a minute would require hours in the telling. So now a thousand thoughts flashed through his mind. Suppose he were to jump – could he then be sure of instant death! He might be crushed and mangled, and still live for a time in torment – perhaps be torn by wild beasts while still alive; he might – oh! Numberless were the horrid thoughts that surged tempestuously through his brain. His friends, his orphaned sisters far away, waiting for years in vain for tidings from their only brother!

But he must be cool – he must think; in this dire strait he needs the use of every faculty, and he must be calm. While he was upon the mountain summit, being fond of sketching, he had made a hasty view of the scenery spread about him – the fort, the lake, and the distant mountain ranges. He thought of this, and proceeded to sketch the view before him. It was indeed a scene worthy the pencil of a better artist - of a master. The canyon, several hundred feet in depth, was walled upon its further side by a precipice along whose front stood a row of mighty monolithic columns, each more than a hundred feet in height, the spaces between, worn and seamed and hollowed out by the frosts and tempests of untold centuries. Thus they stood- mighty and majestic, as if hewn by Titanic hands – sentries guarding the portals to the dark abode of the gnomes and vengeful spirits of the mountains. In spite of his desperate case he could not repress a feeling of rapturous awe as he looked upon a scene of such surpassing grandeur, and for a time lost a sense of his imminent danger as he drew his little sketch.

Probably an hour was thus occupied in making his drawing which his wife – then to him unknown – still treasures as a sacred memento. His whole attention had been given to the work, and when done, his mind was clear and calm as today it is after the lapse of so many years. Carefully he considered his position, and plainly saw he must do one of two things – climb the rock behind him, or face a fearful death.

Again, with an energy born of despair, he sought to reach the ledge above him, which seemed so near and yet so far – so infinitely far above his up stretched hands. In vain! And most unwillingly he admitted the fearful truth.

Three alternatives were now presented:-to die where he was of starvation; to throw himself upon the rocks below, and so end all quickly and surely; or attempt to leap into the top of the pine which stood so far below, with almost a certainty of being impaled or torn in pieces upon its unyielding branches, and thus to meet a fearful lingering death. But could he leap far enough out to reach the tree? Another trembling, downward glance made him doubt. The pine stood so far from the precipice, it seemed that should he do his best he could only brush the outward tips of its branches in his swift descent, and fall at last upon the hungry, waiting rocks.

Reader, think what it is to be compelled to choose the time and manner of your death – a fearful, cruel death at best. Alone! Not a friend to say good-bye as you leave this bright world, to enter that one, so mysterious – so unknown! We have been taught something concerning it; we have a faith, a belief, but as to a positive knowledge – who has gained it? Who has visited that unknown clime and returned again to tell us its secrets? To know these things, we must ourselves experience the change.

How all these thoughts and many more, spread through his mind! But he must decide, and quickly too. If he hesitate too long, hunger and thirst will so weaken him that he cannot make the desperate leap, even should he bring his courage to the point; if he must – oh what dread significance does that word must sometimes possess! – The sooner the better. If he misses the tree top it is but death after all; and death comes to all sooner or later. What matters it if it come today or tomorrow, or a year hence? Besides, he may reach the tree in safety; he may be able to seize a limb! But if he does, can he hold to it with grasp powerful enough to assist his descent, falling so far as he must, and so swiftly? No matter; he must!

With nerves at highest tension he plants himself at the base of his fatal rock to get as much run as possible – only four steps at best. He starts, but at the third step the bottom of the abyss appears in view, and upon the instant his knees lose all strength, and he is scarcely able to totter back to the rock to compose himself.

Let not the reader think him easily shaken or hysterical. Not so. From his boyhood he was accustomed to being in dangerous positions, nor was he ever subject to dizziness, but never before had he been in so fearful a position as this. Since that day he has many times faced death, sometimes when he felt assured that each breath would be his last. But then he had company; there was excitement, as with a soldier in battle who falls and scarcely knows he is struck.

But it must be! He must leap, even should it be into eternity – and again he essays it – but in vain! When that dreadful depth comes in view, his strength leaves him in spite of his will. He could not help it. Then when all hope seemed failed did his guardian angel come to his aid, breathing faith to his sinking soul and renewing his hope. He remembered a prediction upon his head, made long before by a silvery haired old man – a prediction as yet unfulfilled. He remembered, too, the promise in the Holy Scriptures – “Ask and ye shall receive.” Faith, though weak and timid, sprang up in his heart and quickly grew into a living power. He knelt and asked for strength to make the leap, for strength to leap out far enough to reach the tree-top; and that he might be able to seize a limb and stay his fall. The Father in His mercy heard his prayer.

He rose to make a last attempt. And now, as he rushed at the dizzy brink, his sinews seemed of steel- his limbs full of strength – all fear and weakness fled. He shot far out into the empty air – and immense leap – and swiftly descending fell into the center of the pine!

How it all happened he never knew, for in his downward flight he was for the time unconscious of motion, perception, or of trying to see or grasp at anything; but suddenly he realized that he was safe! He found himself holding with each hand a separate limb with a grasp like that of death. Not a scratch nor a bruise upon him – not a rent in his clothing!

Was not this verily a miracle? He so esteemed it then, and all these years have not changed his belief. Some will say there are no miracles; that what we term miracles are simply the result of natural or spiritual forces whose laws are to us unknown. What matter? Nothing can alter the belief of the writer that in this case a power higher than that of mortality gave strength for the prodigious leap, and courage to his soul; guided his curving pathway in mid air to a spot of safety; directed his hands to and gave him hold of those unseen branches of the pine, and strength to retain his hold and stay his swift descent. In a word he believes the God of heaven hear and answered his prayer. Why should He not today as ages ago? Has He changed? Is he today less merciful than when Daniel besought His aid, or the multitudes of ancient saints in their afflictions? Faith and reason answer – No!

It was easy to descend the tree limb by limb until the lowest was reached, and to drop from that about 20 feet to the ground- the blessed, friendly ground. No longer hungering for a sacrifice. Safe! Safe! How feeble are words in expressing the deeper emotions of the soul! We instinctively recognize this in such cases by silence – the eloquent sealing of our lips.

Before again starting homeward he carefully estimated as well as he could the height of his rocky shelf above the bottom of the canyon. The pine was a large one – full four feet in diameter, and was at least a hundred and twenty or thirty feet in height. This he judged by the length of trees of similar size cut by lumbermen near the mills: This; added to the thirty feet between its top and the rocky shelf, would give a distance of a hundred and fifty feet; and this he believes nearly correct.

To follow the canyo9n to the plain was an easy matter, and he arrived at the fort sometime after dark, much to the relief of his friends to whom his unwonted absence had been cause for alarm. But he did not then, nor until long after, tell anyone of this thrilling experience. His matter-of-fact comrades, accustomed to peril themselves, would have laughed at him and called him a fool for getting into such a scrape; and although his judgment might acknowledge it, his vanity would rebel.

To young men, the even tenor of whose life has never brought them into situations so trying, let me say, do not scoff at prayer, nor doubt the overruling power of our Heavenly Father, who is able and willing to hear the prayer of faith and humility now as in ages past. If you have not this faith, labor for it until you receive it – this precious gift of God – a blessing, a pearl beyond all price. He who speaks to you, nearing the end of this mortality, knows whereof he speaks.