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.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
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.
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.
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.
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.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
A Night of Anxiety
A Night of Anxiety
Written by James H. Martineau
In the fall of 1852, Walker, the great Utah chieftain, “King of the Mountains”, as he called himself, came to Parowan, Iron County. He was on his way from the Colorado River to the settlements in Northern Utah and had with him his whole band of about four hundred warriors with their squaws and papooses. He made camp about ½ mile from Parowan Fort, and turned all his horses, nearly a thousand in number, into our fields of grain, some of which were cut and standing in shocks, while the most of the corn, oats, and wheat was still uncut. When we protested, he in a lordly manner replied: “All this land is mine. I will put my horses where I please.”
The president of the colony answered, “If the land is yours, the wheat and corn are not; we planted it, and your horses must not destroy it.”
But Chief Walker was stubborn and defiant; his force of “braves” outnumbered us four to one, and were far better armed, having many guns, others the deadly bow and flint headed arrows which were more to be dreaded than the rifle, as the arrowhead, moistened and loosed from it’s shaft, would remain in the body when the shaft was pulled out, causing often a more deadly wound than would a bullet.
It was a desperate case for the colonists; for they were more than 200 miles from the nearest settlement, and the entire distance was infested with savages. It was impossible for a messenger to reach help, and even if that were possible, before help could arrive, if hostilities occur, all would be over, and the rescuers would find only blackened ruins and mangled remains.
On the other hand, should we suffer our crops to be destroyed to avoid bloodshed, all sustenance would be cut off, and starvation face us, even should we be able to defend the fort. But even then, what could we do without teams and cattle, for they would no doubt be in the hands of the Indians.
All this was anxiously debated in council, and we finally decided to put on a bold front, and if necessary defend our families and property to the last. Accordingly an ultimatum was sent to the chief, as follows: “Take your horses out of our field and keep them out, or we will do so ourselves.”
Walker returned an answer, “I will not take them out. The land is mine, and I’ll put them where I please, and if you turn them out I will burn your houses and kill every man, woman and child. Not one shall be left alive.”
Again, after serious deliberation, it was decided to stand firmly by our last decision. Should we weaken now, we would always in future be outraged by them. It would be better to settle the matter now, once and for all, trusting in our Father to help us in our extremity.
Accordingly, a strong party, well armed, turned the horses out and drove them away a couple of miles. The few Indians guarding them made no resistance, but hastened to Walker with the tidings. The Indians rushed to recover their horses, yelling frightfully, firing their guns and making a fearful pandemonium.
Meanwhile the fort was a scene of bustle and preparation for what might happen would Walker undertake to execute his threat.
A few words now to describe what was called the “fort,” which was founded January 19, 1851, by Apostle George A. Smith, and about a hundred men and a few women. It was built around a square about the size of a Salt Lake City block. The houses all faced and opened toward the center. No windows and very few doors opened outward. The open spaces in the fort line between the houses were filled with a palisade of heavy twelve-foot high timbers set on end, sharpened at the top and placed closely together. Within was a corral large enough to contain all the cow herd and teams, into which they were brought for safety, at night fall. A gate way in each side of the fort was closed at night by strong doors and securely fastened, while sentinels, in military order, guarded the fort by night. In this manner was Parowan guarded for over three years.
In the Indian camp all was excitement and furious rage. The men began the war dance, varied at times by the scalp dance, keeping it up all the afternoon and night, making the night hideous with their frightful yells and screeches. Some, who could speak a little English, ventured near the fort and cried out: “We kill you quick! We cut you all pieces! We burn you—make you yell!”
But in the fort there was no excitement or confusion. While all knew how great was the danger, their trust in the Lord gave them calmness and courage. This was especially the case with the women. They, who so often shriek with real or assumed terror when a mouse happens near, can face death in hideous form with a calmness and courage not surpassed by man. And now, while all well understood the possibility of death, or, still more dreadful, the horrid torture the savages delight to witness, not one of them wept or cried out in fear; and while the writer and every other man was under arms all night, watching for possible attack, each woman calmly did what to her seemed most needful in her own habitation to prepare for what might happen.
As our little one room house had a door opening outward, my wife (Susan Ellen Johnson) barricaded it with furniture and bedding to keep out any bullets fired at the door, and then spent the most of the night melting lead and making bullets for me and for such others as desired her help. She sat at the fire as calm and unconcerned as if cooking a meal. She was then, not quite seventeen, but was as cool and brave as any man, not withstanding her youth. From the days of Kirtland she had passed through the persecutions and dangers of the Saints and had learned to put her trust in the Lord.
All night long the war dances continued, but when day appeared the Indians found the fort too strong for attack and left us in peace, having learned a lesson they never forgot; for never again did they attempt to over ride the colonies of Southern Utah. The colonists also, learned the value of the counsel always given by that wise pioneer George A. Smith, never to be the aggressor, but to be always prepared for defense. It was his motto, often repeated in my hearing. “Better carry a gun twenty years and not need it, than to want one two minutes and not have it.” He counseled us never to leave the fort for work in the field, the canyon, or to hunt cattle on the range without arms for defense. Obedience to his wise counsel was the temporal salvation of those weak colonies. Never less than two ever went to the canyon for wood; while one loaded the wagons, the other kept guard. In the field each man kept his gun ready for instant use, and the cow herd was guarded by well armed men. At times men took their rifles with them to Sunday meetings, each man sitting with his gun between his knees. This was done in order that the Indians could not visit the dwellings and take the guns while all were absent.
The present generation cannot understand such conditions, but these were the experiences of many of the early settlers of Utah. And it was the sturdy heroism of the men and women pioneers, their faith and endurance, perpetuated by their children, that has given Utah her proud standing as a state in the Union
Written by James H. Martineau
In the fall of 1852, Walker, the great Utah chieftain, “King of the Mountains”, as he called himself, came to Parowan, Iron County. He was on his way from the Colorado River to the settlements in Northern Utah and had with him his whole band of about four hundred warriors with their squaws and papooses. He made camp about ½ mile from Parowan Fort, and turned all his horses, nearly a thousand in number, into our fields of grain, some of which were cut and standing in shocks, while the most of the corn, oats, and wheat was still uncut. When we protested, he in a lordly manner replied: “All this land is mine. I will put my horses where I please.”
The president of the colony answered, “If the land is yours, the wheat and corn are not; we planted it, and your horses must not destroy it.”
But Chief Walker was stubborn and defiant; his force of “braves” outnumbered us four to one, and were far better armed, having many guns, others the deadly bow and flint headed arrows which were more to be dreaded than the rifle, as the arrowhead, moistened and loosed from it’s shaft, would remain in the body when the shaft was pulled out, causing often a more deadly wound than would a bullet.
It was a desperate case for the colonists; for they were more than 200 miles from the nearest settlement, and the entire distance was infested with savages. It was impossible for a messenger to reach help, and even if that were possible, before help could arrive, if hostilities occur, all would be over, and the rescuers would find only blackened ruins and mangled remains.
On the other hand, should we suffer our crops to be destroyed to avoid bloodshed, all sustenance would be cut off, and starvation face us, even should we be able to defend the fort. But even then, what could we do without teams and cattle, for they would no doubt be in the hands of the Indians.
All this was anxiously debated in council, and we finally decided to put on a bold front, and if necessary defend our families and property to the last. Accordingly an ultimatum was sent to the chief, as follows: “Take your horses out of our field and keep them out, or we will do so ourselves.”
Walker returned an answer, “I will not take them out. The land is mine, and I’ll put them where I please, and if you turn them out I will burn your houses and kill every man, woman and child. Not one shall be left alive.”
Again, after serious deliberation, it was decided to stand firmly by our last decision. Should we weaken now, we would always in future be outraged by them. It would be better to settle the matter now, once and for all, trusting in our Father to help us in our extremity.
Accordingly, a strong party, well armed, turned the horses out and drove them away a couple of miles. The few Indians guarding them made no resistance, but hastened to Walker with the tidings. The Indians rushed to recover their horses, yelling frightfully, firing their guns and making a fearful pandemonium.
Meanwhile the fort was a scene of bustle and preparation for what might happen would Walker undertake to execute his threat.
A few words now to describe what was called the “fort,” which was founded January 19, 1851, by Apostle George A. Smith, and about a hundred men and a few women. It was built around a square about the size of a Salt Lake City block. The houses all faced and opened toward the center. No windows and very few doors opened outward. The open spaces in the fort line between the houses were filled with a palisade of heavy twelve-foot high timbers set on end, sharpened at the top and placed closely together. Within was a corral large enough to contain all the cow herd and teams, into which they were brought for safety, at night fall. A gate way in each side of the fort was closed at night by strong doors and securely fastened, while sentinels, in military order, guarded the fort by night. In this manner was Parowan guarded for over three years.
In the Indian camp all was excitement and furious rage. The men began the war dance, varied at times by the scalp dance, keeping it up all the afternoon and night, making the night hideous with their frightful yells and screeches. Some, who could speak a little English, ventured near the fort and cried out: “We kill you quick! We cut you all pieces! We burn you—make you yell!”
But in the fort there was no excitement or confusion. While all knew how great was the danger, their trust in the Lord gave them calmness and courage. This was especially the case with the women. They, who so often shriek with real or assumed terror when a mouse happens near, can face death in hideous form with a calmness and courage not surpassed by man. And now, while all well understood the possibility of death, or, still more dreadful, the horrid torture the savages delight to witness, not one of them wept or cried out in fear; and while the writer and every other man was under arms all night, watching for possible attack, each woman calmly did what to her seemed most needful in her own habitation to prepare for what might happen.
As our little one room house had a door opening outward, my wife (Susan Ellen Johnson) barricaded it with furniture and bedding to keep out any bullets fired at the door, and then spent the most of the night melting lead and making bullets for me and for such others as desired her help. She sat at the fire as calm and unconcerned as if cooking a meal. She was then, not quite seventeen, but was as cool and brave as any man, not withstanding her youth. From the days of Kirtland she had passed through the persecutions and dangers of the Saints and had learned to put her trust in the Lord.
All night long the war dances continued, but when day appeared the Indians found the fort too strong for attack and left us in peace, having learned a lesson they never forgot; for never again did they attempt to over ride the colonies of Southern Utah. The colonists also, learned the value of the counsel always given by that wise pioneer George A. Smith, never to be the aggressor, but to be always prepared for defense. It was his motto, often repeated in my hearing. “Better carry a gun twenty years and not need it, than to want one two minutes and not have it.” He counseled us never to leave the fort for work in the field, the canyon, or to hunt cattle on the range without arms for defense. Obedience to his wise counsel was the temporal salvation of those weak colonies. Never less than two ever went to the canyon for wood; while one loaded the wagons, the other kept guard. In the field each man kept his gun ready for instant use, and the cow herd was guarded by well armed men. At times men took their rifles with them to Sunday meetings, each man sitting with his gun between his knees. This was done in order that the Indians could not visit the dwellings and take the guns while all were absent.
The present generation cannot understand such conditions, but these were the experiences of many of the early settlers of Utah. And it was the sturdy heroism of the men and women pioneers, their faith and endurance, perpetuated by their children, that has given Utah her proud standing as a state in the Union
Monday, March 10, 2008
Autobiography of Son, Nephi Martineau
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.
My next work was in the Logan Canyon, hauling logs down from where they were cut to the sawmill to be made into railroad ties. It was so steep I could put one-third of the load tied behind to drag as a snarler.
I later found a job haying for an Aaron Farr.
I also drove a delivery wagon for the U.O. Lumber Company and that is where I first saw Emma Knowles, to notice her. She worked for Hyrum Hayball at the millyard. I attended singing practice, she and Addie also, and from that time on I never lost sight of her. My labors continued in the area and I was 21 in March.
So on June 14th myself and Emma went to Salt Lake city to get married. We wanted to start out right. I can never forget how we went through the Temple block where many men were busy cutting the stones for the Temple. We thought all eyes were on us and were nearly frightened stiff.
After our ceremony a kindly lady approached us and said, “Would you like me to say a few words to you?” I said, “Yes,” of course. Her words were “Never but one of you get mad at once. Neither one of you will always be right, but either one may be wrong some of the time” - - kind words which helped us on our way through life.
We bought a home in Westfield while I was working on the Church Farm as foreman for seven years. We had many happy times there with our folks, Aunt Aurelia and Uncle Henry Nibley, who lived there.
Our next venture was at Clarkston, Utah where we bought 160 acres of land for 20 young steers and two big mares. Joseph Dalley jumped it and we had a lawsuit and it was finally decided in my favor. Mother had a dream about it being jumped before it came out exactly as she dreamed.
She also dreamed about Lucy Lavery being taken by her mother who had passed away. This also came true. Mother’s twin sister Addie married Luke Lavery who was a strong Catholic. She or they had this little girl and Aunt Adeline passed away. When Lucy was about six years old he intended to place her in a Catholic convent. Her mother came and took her as mother had dreamed and she died.
I had just bought 300 head of cattle but had to be gone from the farm most of the time, but Mother stayed there with her four little kids, and it was there that Mabel was born.
One of our large horses got out in the wire and cut very severe, but Mother stopped the flow of blood and saved the horse.
We raised good crops of grain and it was at that time I was called on a mission. We sold 40 acres of the 160 so that I could go.
I got ready in the fall of 1896 and spring of 1897. I set out for Salt Lake City and the Southern States. Cattle prices were down and I had to sell at a sacrifice, but wanted to go and do as I was asked. I left Logan, and reaching Salt Lake City with my companion William Anderson of Logan decided as we were on our way, that we would call on the Presiding Bishop of the Church, W. B. Preston, who received us kindly and gave us some fatherly advice and each some money in our hands and “God Bless You.”
We arrived in Kansas City and went out to Independence, Missouri and were highly impressed with the location.
Our next stop was at Chattanooga, Tennessee. We stayed at the Rosmeyer Hotel, received our instructions from the mission president, and left for Glassow, Kentucky, where I met Elder D. J. Blake from Provo.
After laboring three months and getting broke in, and having many experiences of value to me, and getting acquainted with the way of the Lord and rejoicing in the same. The people were mostly Catholics and although we were traveling without purse or script, they did their part in finding us entertainment. I got a good chance to study the people and their religion.
In this and many countries were many large distilleries where whiskey was made. We met many who said they could not read our tracts.
Along some time in June we were to Buffert, Ohio County to our conference where we had the privilege of meeting all the Elders of out District. We met President Elias Kimball and we had a meeting long to be remembered. We were given instructions which enabled us to go forth with greater zeal and energy.
At our Priesthood meeting I was given a new companion, Junius J. Tanner of Tooele, Utah. We walked to our county seat, started tracting and holding meetings. We were not united in spirit so weren’t in exact harmony. When one wanted to go one road the other would want to go another way.
After working about three weeks I said to him one morning, “We are not united, are we?” He said no. I said, “Let’s see if we can get closer together.” So we had our prayer together, then stepped aside in the small brush and each had a private prayer, after which we sat down on a log, suddenly embraced in love through the kindness of the Lord, and from that time on we were as one. I learned to love him and we from then on could see alike in our work. We went forth in the spirit of our calling and held more meetings in a given time than any of the Elders.
Many kindnesses were shown me of the Lord, how He cared for us. I had my shoes half-soled on one occasion. My shoes were about gone and had been told to trust in the Lord for that which we might need. I went out in a cornfield and told the Lord I needed shoes and I received the assurance that I would get them. Aunt Aurelia Nibley lived in Oregon and she got a $1 greenback. The thought came to her to send it to me in Kentucky. The Lord put it in her heart to send it to me.
In about three days it came. I went to the store and asked the price. At that time shoes were cheap. The merchant said the only pair that would fit me cost $1.75 but, said he, “I will let you have them for $1.35.” So I handed him the dollar. He said, “I think you can get the balance.” We were going to leave Thursday night after meeting for another neighborhood. On Thursday afternoon a man came up to me and said, “Here’s 35 cents. You may need it.” I paid the merchant and went on my way rejoicing.
There was one family converted out of that neighborhood, the Richardsons, who later moved to Utah. Another companion was J. J. Tanner of Utah, a man full of faith and energy and was one who really got me started out good. Our monthly reports were among the leading ones in our state.
Another incident happened in that county. We were visiting in a home in Campbellsville and a mother stood just inside the door with her tiny child in her arms about four years old. Her eyes were sunken and her body so thin and puny. She had chills and fever. As I passed I clasped her hand and uttered a prayer in silence to the Lord. I also rebuked the disease and asked the Lord to bless her.
We did not call back for a month or more when we did come, the mother said that an Elder had touched the child and it was well and strong from that moment. We never told her that a prayer was offered in her behalf.
I want to mention here Elder Tanner. He was a younger Elder than I, but he was a noble man. I learned later that he and his family were drowned somewhere in the Big Horn, Wyoming country by his car going over the bank into a deep pond.
I need to mention, too, William E. Shaffner, an old Civil War soldier who took us in. He mended my shoes, did my washing and ironing, gave us money and applied for baptism. But my companion and I hesitated. May he some day come into the fold. One night say why didn’t we baptize William Shaffner, but we were traveling, tracting out the county and I have thought since that we should have done it.
November 17, 1896 I got a new companion, Elder T. G. Ballam, of Hyde Park, Utah. We were asked to go to Lebanon, Marion County, and work with Elder J. C. Cutler of Salt Lake City. But he was homesick and asked to be released to return home.
So I returned to Campbellsville and found Elder Junius J. Tanner, my old companion for three months. Our field of labor was in a Catholic county, but our joy was full while we labored together. He was a kind-hearted noble Elder, full of faith, and many were our experiences together.
A Mrs. Bricken invited us for Christmas dinner at her hotel, said she felt impressed that we were good men, engaged in good work, and a long way from home. She cooked a good dinner but we were so busy 20 miles away holding meetings, that we could not come.
Later we held a meeting in the courthouse every night for about a week. Every night her some came to us after the meeting and took us home with him.
We used to get our washing done “gratus” whenever we were working. “The labor is worth the hire,” or so the saying goes.
On one occasion I stayed at a Catholic home. I left my shirt to be washed and a spirit whispered, “Don’t leave it as you may not get back to it before you need it.” But I went contrary and when I got it, it was so blue it was spoiled. I always tried to listen to the whisperings after that.
Elder Woodmansee had the spirit of discernment and prophecy, and I was surprised at times to see how his predictions came true.
While traveling along the road one morning I made two marks in t he path and prayed to the Lord to lead Elder to make a mark alongside my marks the way we should go. When he came up I said to make a mark alongside one of these. He did and the direction led us to the home of a widow who had received a tract and after studying it, prayed to the Lord, “If it is true, send some Elders to my home again.” We were on the way in answer to her prayer. Her name was Jane Ables. We called on her. She had been bed-ridden for four years she said.
Elder Woodmansee promised her she would be baptized and walk out of the water after having been carried into the same. The promise was fulfilled and she was healed. Quite a number of people came out to witness her baptism.
I have learned to put me trust in the Lord wherein he says, “Prove me herewith and see if I will not open you the windows of Heaven and pour you out a blessing that there will not be room to contain it” (Malachi, last chapter).
It seemed as though the Spirit of the Lord was with us to give us faith and courage to do what was asked to do day by day. How often it seemed that people were waiting meals for some cause, and we must have been the cause as the Lord says in the 84th Section of the Doctrine and Covenants, “My angels shall go before you to prepare the hearts of the people to receive you,” and so it was.
I cannot say I ever went hungry, although I postponed meals, not having any money in my pocket but traveling entirely without purse or script. I tried to feel my responsibility of my calling, tried to weigh my thoughts before I spoke so as not to mislead anyone.
It is now 40 years since I was called February 14, 1896 and now it is February 2, 1936. So many beautiful thoughts have left my mind. But my testimony has increased as time goes by. I love the Gospel with all my heart and hope to be able to continue to the end.
While laboring with Elder John Woodmansee we held a funeral of a small girl. We had many good dinners cooked for us and enjoyed each other’s companionship. And when he passed away in Salt Lake City I spoke at his funeral. I will ever bless his memory. He passed away in 1935 and I went from St. Anthony, Idaho to attend the funeral. Other speakers were J. Golden Kimball and John M. Knight of Salt Lake City.
Another companion I worked with was this Fred T. Ballam of Hyde Park, already spoken of. We left Marion County and went down to Wayne County. We fasted two days as usual and called upon the county officials and told them our object in the county. We were bid God-speed.
We were laboring in an area where a battle had been fought and there were signs of it. We had an experience and were holding our first meeting. We sang the “Children’s Prayer Song.” There seemed to be a stillness prevail in the house and all assembled after the closing prayer. Silence prevailed. One woman arose and said, “Here is water. What does hinder me from being baptized?” I told her we would have to teach her the gospel and she would have to get consent of her husband. Later this was done.
Elder Ballam and I labored together three months and became great friends. We went into homes and sang for the sick people. I loved him as a great speaker and singer. We enjoyed each other and were able to get into many homes.
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.
My next work was in the Logan Canyon, hauling logs down from where they were cut to the sawmill to be made into railroad ties. It was so steep I could put one-third of the load tied behind to drag as a snarler.
I later found a job haying for an Aaron Farr.
I also drove a delivery wagon for the U.O. Lumber Company and that is where I first saw Emma Knowles, to notice her. She worked for Hyrum Hayball at the millyard. I attended singing practice, she and Addie also, and from that time on I never lost sight of her. My labors continued in the area and I was 21 in March.
So on June 14th myself and Emma went to Salt Lake city to get married. We wanted to start out right. I can never forget how we went through the Temple block where many men were busy cutting the stones for the Temple. We thought all eyes were on us and were nearly frightened stiff.
After our ceremony a kindly lady approached us and said, “Would you like me to say a few words to you?” I said, “Yes,” of course. Her words were “Never but one of you get mad at once. Neither one of you will always be right, but either one may be wrong some of the time” - - kind words which helped us on our way through life.
We bought a home in Westfield while I was working on the Church Farm as foreman for seven years. We had many happy times there with our folks, Aunt Aurelia and Uncle Henry Nibley, who lived there.
Our next venture was at Clarkston, Utah where we bought 160 acres of land for 20 young steers and two big mares. Joseph Dalley jumped it and we had a lawsuit and it was finally decided in my favor. Mother had a dream about it being jumped before it came out exactly as she dreamed.
She also dreamed about Lucy Lavery being taken by her mother who had passed away. This also came true. Mother’s twin sister Addie married Luke Lavery who was a strong Catholic. She or they had this little girl and Aunt Adeline passed away. When Lucy was about six years old he intended to place her in a Catholic convent. Her mother came and took her as mother had dreamed and she died.
I had just bought 300 head of cattle but had to be gone from the farm most of the time, but Mother stayed there with her four little kids, and it was there that Mabel was born.
One of our large horses got out in the wire and cut very severe, but Mother stopped the flow of blood and saved the horse.
We raised good crops of grain and it was at that time I was called on a mission. We sold 40 acres of the 160 so that I could go.
I got ready in the fall of 1896 and spring of 1897. I set out for Salt Lake City and the Southern States. Cattle prices were down and I had to sell at a sacrifice, but wanted to go and do as I was asked. I left Logan, and reaching Salt Lake City with my companion William Anderson of Logan decided as we were on our way, that we would call on the Presiding Bishop of the Church, W. B. Preston, who received us kindly and gave us some fatherly advice and each some money in our hands and “God Bless You.”
We arrived in Kansas City and went out to Independence, Missouri and were highly impressed with the location.
Our next stop was at Chattanooga, Tennessee. We stayed at the Rosmeyer Hotel, received our instructions from the mission president, and left for Glassow, Kentucky, where I met Elder D. J. Blake from Provo.
After laboring three months and getting broke in, and having many experiences of value to me, and getting acquainted with the way of the Lord and rejoicing in the same. The people were mostly Catholics and although we were traveling without purse or script, they did their part in finding us entertainment. I got a good chance to study the people and their religion.
In this and many countries were many large distilleries where whiskey was made. We met many who said they could not read our tracts.
Along some time in June we were to Buffert, Ohio County to our conference where we had the privilege of meeting all the Elders of out District. We met President Elias Kimball and we had a meeting long to be remembered. We were given instructions which enabled us to go forth with greater zeal and energy.
At our Priesthood meeting I was given a new companion, Junius J. Tanner of Tooele, Utah. We walked to our county seat, started tracting and holding meetings. We were not united in spirit so weren’t in exact harmony. When one wanted to go one road the other would want to go another way.
After working about three weeks I said to him one morning, “We are not united, are we?” He said no. I said, “Let’s see if we can get closer together.” So we had our prayer together, then stepped aside in the small brush and each had a private prayer, after which we sat down on a log, suddenly embraced in love through the kindness of the Lord, and from that time on we were as one. I learned to love him and we from then on could see alike in our work. We went forth in the spirit of our calling and held more meetings in a given time than any of the Elders.
Many kindnesses were shown me of the Lord, how He cared for us. I had my shoes half-soled on one occasion. My shoes were about gone and had been told to trust in the Lord for that which we might need. I went out in a cornfield and told the Lord I needed shoes and I received the assurance that I would get them. Aunt Aurelia Nibley lived in Oregon and she got a $1 greenback. The thought came to her to send it to me in Kentucky. The Lord put it in her heart to send it to me.
In about three days it came. I went to the store and asked the price. At that time shoes were cheap. The merchant said the only pair that would fit me cost $1.75 but, said he, “I will let you have them for $1.35.” So I handed him the dollar. He said, “I think you can get the balance.” We were going to leave Thursday night after meeting for another neighborhood. On Thursday afternoon a man came up to me and said, “Here’s 35 cents. You may need it.” I paid the merchant and went on my way rejoicing.
There was one family converted out of that neighborhood, the Richardsons, who later moved to Utah. Another companion was J. J. Tanner of Utah, a man full of faith and energy and was one who really got me started out good. Our monthly reports were among the leading ones in our state.
Another incident happened in that county. We were visiting in a home in Campbellsville and a mother stood just inside the door with her tiny child in her arms about four years old. Her eyes were sunken and her body so thin and puny. She had chills and fever. As I passed I clasped her hand and uttered a prayer in silence to the Lord. I also rebuked the disease and asked the Lord to bless her.
We did not call back for a month or more when we did come, the mother said that an Elder had touched the child and it was well and strong from that moment. We never told her that a prayer was offered in her behalf.
I want to mention here Elder Tanner. He was a younger Elder than I, but he was a noble man. I learned later that he and his family were drowned somewhere in the Big Horn, Wyoming country by his car going over the bank into a deep pond.
I need to mention, too, William E. Shaffner, an old Civil War soldier who took us in. He mended my shoes, did my washing and ironing, gave us money and applied for baptism. But my companion and I hesitated. May he some day come into the fold. One night say why didn’t we baptize William Shaffner, but we were traveling, tracting out the county and I have thought since that we should have done it.
November 17, 1896 I got a new companion, Elder T. G. Ballam, of Hyde Park, Utah. We were asked to go to Lebanon, Marion County, and work with Elder J. C. Cutler of Salt Lake City. But he was homesick and asked to be released to return home.
So I returned to Campbellsville and found Elder Junius J. Tanner, my old companion for three months. Our field of labor was in a Catholic county, but our joy was full while we labored together. He was a kind-hearted noble Elder, full of faith, and many were our experiences together.
A Mrs. Bricken invited us for Christmas dinner at her hotel, said she felt impressed that we were good men, engaged in good work, and a long way from home. She cooked a good dinner but we were so busy 20 miles away holding meetings, that we could not come.
Later we held a meeting in the courthouse every night for about a week. Every night her some came to us after the meeting and took us home with him.
We used to get our washing done “gratus” whenever we were working. “The labor is worth the hire,” or so the saying goes.
On one occasion I stayed at a Catholic home. I left my shirt to be washed and a spirit whispered, “Don’t leave it as you may not get back to it before you need it.” But I went contrary and when I got it, it was so blue it was spoiled. I always tried to listen to the whisperings after that.
Elder Woodmansee had the spirit of discernment and prophecy, and I was surprised at times to see how his predictions came true.
While traveling along the road one morning I made two marks in t he path and prayed to the Lord to lead Elder to make a mark alongside my marks the way we should go. When he came up I said to make a mark alongside one of these. He did and the direction led us to the home of a widow who had received a tract and after studying it, prayed to the Lord, “If it is true, send some Elders to my home again.” We were on the way in answer to her prayer. Her name was Jane Ables. We called on her. She had been bed-ridden for four years she said.
Elder Woodmansee promised her she would be baptized and walk out of the water after having been carried into the same. The promise was fulfilled and she was healed. Quite a number of people came out to witness her baptism.
I have learned to put me trust in the Lord wherein he says, “Prove me herewith and see if I will not open you the windows of Heaven and pour you out a blessing that there will not be room to contain it” (Malachi, last chapter).
It seemed as though the Spirit of the Lord was with us to give us faith and courage to do what was asked to do day by day. How often it seemed that people were waiting meals for some cause, and we must have been the cause as the Lord says in the 84th Section of the Doctrine and Covenants, “My angels shall go before you to prepare the hearts of the people to receive you,” and so it was.
I cannot say I ever went hungry, although I postponed meals, not having any money in my pocket but traveling entirely without purse or script. I tried to feel my responsibility of my calling, tried to weigh my thoughts before I spoke so as not to mislead anyone.
It is now 40 years since I was called February 14, 1896 and now it is February 2, 1936. So many beautiful thoughts have left my mind. But my testimony has increased as time goes by. I love the Gospel with all my heart and hope to be able to continue to the end.
While laboring with Elder John Woodmansee we held a funeral of a small girl. We had many good dinners cooked for us and enjoyed each other’s companionship. And when he passed away in Salt Lake City I spoke at his funeral. I will ever bless his memory. He passed away in 1935 and I went from St. Anthony, Idaho to attend the funeral. Other speakers were J. Golden Kimball and John M. Knight of Salt Lake City.
Another companion I worked with was this Fred T. Ballam of Hyde Park, already spoken of. We left Marion County and went down to Wayne County. We fasted two days as usual and called upon the county officials and told them our object in the county. We were bid God-speed.
We were laboring in an area where a battle had been fought and there were signs of it. We had an experience and were holding our first meeting. We sang the “Children’s Prayer Song.” There seemed to be a stillness prevail in the house and all assembled after the closing prayer. Silence prevailed. One woman arose and said, “Here is water. What does hinder me from being baptized?” I told her we would have to teach her the gospel and she would have to get consent of her husband. Later this was done.
Elder Ballam and I labored together three months and became great friends. We went into homes and sang for the sick people. I loved him as a great speaker and singer. We enjoyed each other and were able to get into many homes.
My Recollections of Grandpa Martineau
By Annis Leatham
To me Grandpa Martineau was sweet, kind, honest and brave. When I was small I would crawl all over him, play with his mustache and comb his hair by the hour. He had the patience of Job and I loved to be around him.
I remember my mother telling of his honesty and I know how brave he was, because when our two families took homesteads at Tetonia the land we settled was open government range and had been used by a certain family to graze their cattle. One day they came with guns and loud voices to tell Grandpa he had to move or they would shoot him. Grandpa picked up a stick and held it behind his back while he explained to them that he didn’t want any trouble, but he was there legally and had as much right to the land as they did. Paying no attention to their shouting and swearing, he spoke quietly and politely and after awhile they went away and left him alone. I’m sure he sought the Lord’s help at this critical time.
He loved music and had a beautiful bass voice. He loved to put on pageants for the boys and girls at the Industrial School for Flag Day. I remember hearing about two of them. One had an Indian theme and one was Hawaiian.
He was a loving husband and father. He used to tell Grandma how beautiful she was. No sacrifice was too great for his family. I am very proud that I had the privilege of being his granddaughter. (16)
To me Grandpa Martineau was sweet, kind, honest and brave. When I was small I would crawl all over him, play with his mustache and comb his hair by the hour. He had the patience of Job and I loved to be around him.
I remember my mother telling of his honesty and I know how brave he was, because when our two families took homesteads at Tetonia the land we settled was open government range and had been used by a certain family to graze their cattle. One day they came with guns and loud voices to tell Grandpa he had to move or they would shoot him. Grandpa picked up a stick and held it behind his back while he explained to them that he didn’t want any trouble, but he was there legally and had as much right to the land as they did. Paying no attention to their shouting and swearing, he spoke quietly and politely and after awhile they went away and left him alone. I’m sure he sought the Lord’s help at this critical time.
He loved music and had a beautiful bass voice. He loved to put on pageants for the boys and girls at the Industrial School for Flag Day. I remember hearing about two of them. One had an Indian theme and one was Hawaiian.
He was a loving husband and father. He used to tell Grandma how beautiful she was. No sacrifice was too great for his family. I am very proud that I had the privilege of being his granddaughter. (16)
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