CHAPTER VIII
The following letter from President Brigham Young so well illustrates his peaceable and civilizing policy towards the Indians, that I think it should find a place in this narrative:
"PRESIDENT'S OFFICE, Great Salt Lake City, March 5, 1858.
"DEAR BROTHER:—Your note of the 19th of last month came to hand on the 3rd inst. I was happy to learn of the success and the general prosperity of the mission, and trust that the genial and salutary influences now so rapidly extending to the various tribes in that region, may continue to spread abroad until it shall pervade every son and daughter of Abraham in their fallen condition.
"The hour of their redemption draws nigh, and the time is not far distant when they will receive knowledge, and begin to rise and increase in the land, and become a people whom the Lord will bless.
"The Indians should be encouraged in keeping and taking care of stock. I highly approve of your designs in doing your farming through the natives; it teaches them to obtain a subsistence by their own industry, and leaves you more at liberty to visit others, and extend your missionary labors among them. A few missionaries to show and instruct them how to raise stock and grain, and then not eat it up for them, is most judicious. You should always be careful to impress upon them that they should not infringe upon the rights of others; and our brethren should be very careful not to infringe upon their rights in any particular, thus cultivating honor and good principles in their midst by example as well as precept.
"As ever, I remain your brother in the gospel of salvation,
"BRIGHAM YOUNG."
The sending of an army by the general government to look after the affairs of the Saints, occasioned some excitement and much talk among the people. The terrible wrongs and persecutions of Missouri and Illinois came up vividly in the minds of those who had suffered in them, and greatly intensified the public feeling concerning the wrongs which the general government evidently intended to inflict upon the Saints in Utah.
Elders coming in from the European missions, by way of California, thought the government would send a force into Southern Utah by that route.
It being expected that I would visit the Indians and look after matters a little in that direction, in the spring of 1858 I took five men and went by way of Las Vegas springs to the River Colorado, at the foot of the Cottonwood Islands, 170 miles from the Santa Clara settlement.
As was my policy at all times, I cultivated the good feelings of the Indians in that country.
A small steamer lay at the head of the islands, and a company of men, with animals, were making their way up the river, on the opposite side from us. I requested Brother Thales Haskell to hail the boat's crew from a thicket of willows, while the rest of the company remained secreted. If a boat were sent to take him over, he was to pass as a renegade from Utah, and learn who they were and their intentions. Brother Haskell was soon taken on board of the steamer.
I prayed for him that night, for my mind was filled with gloomy forebodings. I dreamed that the officer in charge of the boat, offered the Indians a large reward for my scalp.
At day dawn I sent two men back on our trail to see if there was any one on it, with instructions if they saw anything wrong to not return, but go on their way homeward.
Soon afterwards we saw the yawl from the steamer land Brother Haskell. He informed us that the company was of a military character, and exhibited very hostile feelings against our people; that the expedition had been sent out by the government to examine the river, and learn if a force could be taken into Southern Utah from that direction, should it be needed, to subjugate the "Mormons."
We were soon on our way homeward.
The first night out from the river, a Las Vegas Indian overtook us, and informed us that soon after we left the river, the steamer came down below the Cottonwood Islands, brought a large amount of blankets and other goods ashore, made some presents to the Mohaves and Piutes, and offered to pay well for the capture of any "Mormon" they found in their country.
When we overtook the brethren sent out early in the morning, they told us that they met two of the boat's crew examining the trail we traveled on to the river. The two men started for the steamer, and the brethren traveled the other way.
At this time there were three or four brethren at Las Vegas Springs, laboring to make a settlement. We counseled together, and it was thought advisable to vacate the place. Some of them started for home. My brother, Oscar Hamblin, remained to assist the Indians in putting in their crops.
Brother Dudley Leavitt and I went thirty-five miles west, on the road to California, to a lead mine, to obtain a load of lead.
As I had some knowledge of smelting the ore, our efforts were a success.
The evening after completing our load, I started up the mountain on the side of which the mine was located, to look at it before leaving. I stepped back, and calling Brother Leavitt, I told him that an Indian was watching our horses, and if he did not bring them in and tie them up, they would be run off as soon as it was dark.
He replied that he would see to it. Being strongly impressed with the danger of losing our horses, I warned him a second time, to which he made an indifferent reply.
When I returned it was nearly dark and Brother Leavitt had just started for the horses.
All we ever saw of them afterwards was their tracks, and the trail of the Indian that had driven them off.
The Indians in that section of the country did not keep horses, and therefore were not accustomed to the use of them, but stole them for food.
Brother Leavitt was under the necessity of going to Las Vegas, thirty-five miles distant, to get my brother to come with his team to take our wagon home.
As he did not return as soon as expected, I started to meet him. Not meeting him the first day, I stopped in a small cave for the night.
I had nothing to eat, and gathered some cactus leaves, or pods, to roast for supper.
They were a new variety to me, and had scarlet spots on them. (I afterwards learned from the Indians that they were poisonous.)
After cooking them in the embers, I ate a little, but they did not taste right. They produced a burning sensation in my stomach and pain in the glands of my mouth and throat. I soon became satisfied that I was poisoned.
My misery increased, and I became dizzy-headed. With no help near, I felt that my earthly career was nearly terminated, unless the God of Israel saved me, as I knew He had done many times before. I knelt down and earnestly asked Him to be merciful to me in my extremity, and save my life.
I then became very sick at the stomach, and vomited freely. Great thirst succeeded, and I soon exhausted the small supply of water in my canteen. This I soon ejected, when I became easy and lay down and slept until morning.
Not knowing whether my brother would come or not, I continued on my way to Las Vegas.
I was lank and hungry, and if I ever felt the want of food it was then.
About noon I saw my brother coming to my relief. It was a welcome sight.
Still farther west from the lead mine, there were two roads for about thirty miles. One of them was not usually traveled, but came into the main road. Some time before we were there, a company that had taken this by-road, had left wagons on it, and we were desirous of obtaining some of the iron.
When my brother Oscar and I arrived at the lead mine, we concluded to leave the lead where it was, and go west on this unfrequented road, to a spring, twenty-five miles from the lead mine, and get the iron that was left there.
On arriving at the spring we did not find as much iron as we expected, but we put what there was into the wagon.
Before I went on this trip to Las Vegas and the Colorado River, my team, driven by my Indian boy, Albert, had gone with Brother Calvin Read to Lower California. They had been gone nearly three months.
The morning after our arrival at the spring, when at prayer, the Spirit showed to me a company of our people, a few miles still farther west, on the by-road. I told my brother this, and that my team was with them, and my Indian boy was herding the animals on one side of the wagons near the spring.
I proposed that we unload the iron and drive in that direction.
My brother objected and said he had never heard of water in that direction short of twenty miles.
After much persuasion, my brother consented to unload the iron, but he drove on very reluctantly, telling me that I was a visionary man, and always seeing something.
We traveled about three miles, and came in sight of a camp. I found my boy Albert watching the horses; there was a good spring of water and plenty of grass. Just beyond were the wagons.
The brethren said they never rejoiced more to see anyone than they did us. They were unacquainted with the country, and needed our help to get into Las Vegas.
CHAPTER IX
After my return from the Colorado River, I had occasion to go to Salt Lake City. I arrived there soon after the United States army had entered Salt Lake Valley. The people north of Utah County had vacated their homes and moved south.
Through the instrumentality of Colonel Thomas L. Kane, a peaceable solution of our difficulties with the general government had been arrived at, and the Saints were returning to their vacated homes.
It is generally known that the enemies of the Latter-day Saints have accused them of shielding from justice the white men, who, it was supposed, joined with the Indians in the Mountain Meadow massacre. Mr. Cumming succeeded President Brigham Young as governor of Utah Territory in the early spring, before the arrival of the United States army in Salt Lake Valley.
President Brigham Young requested Elder George A. Smith to have an interview with the new governor, and learn his views concerning the Mountain Meadow massacre, and assure him that all possible assistance would be rendered the United States courts to have it thoroughly investigated.
Brother Smith took me with him, and introduced me as a man who was well informed regarding Indian matters in Southern Utah, and would impart to him any information required that I might be in possession of. He also urged upon Governor Cumming the propriety of an investigation of this horrid affair, that, if there were any white men engaged in it, they might be justly punished for their crimes.
Governor Cumming replied that President Buchanan had issued a proclamation of amnesty and pardon to the "Mormon" people, and he did not wish to go behind it to search out crime.
Brother Smith urged that the crime was exclusively personal in its character, and had nothing to do with the "Mormons" as a people, or with the general officers of the Territory, and, therefore, was a fit subject for an investigation before the United States courts.
Mr. Cumming still objected to interfering, on account of the President's proclamation.
Brother Smith replied substantially as follows: "If the business had not been taken out of our hands by a change of officers in the Territory, the Mountain Meadow affair is one of the first things we should have attended to when a United States court sat in Southern Utah. We would see whether or not white men were concerned in the affair, with the Indians."
At Salt Lake City, I was appointed sub-Indian agent.
During the summer of 1858, when I was at my home on the Santa Clara, one morning about 9 o'clock, while engaged in cutting some of the large branches from a cottonwood tree, I fell a distance of twenty or thirty feet to the ground. I was badly bruised and was carried to my house for dead, or nearly so.
I came to my senses about 8 o'clock in the evening, and threw off from my stomach quite a quantity of blood. I requested the brethren who were standing around to administer to me, and they did so. From the time I fell from the tree until then was lost to me, so far as earthly matters were concerned.
During the time my body lay in this condition, it seemed to me that I went up from the earth and looked down upon it, and it appeared like a dark ball. The place where I was seemed very desirable to remain in. It was divided into compartments by walls, from which appeared to grow out vines and flowers, displaying an endless variety of colors.
I thought I saw my father there, but separated from me. I wished him to let me into his compartment, but he replied that it was not time for me to come to him.
I then asked why I could not come.
He answered, "Your work is not yet done."
I attempted to speak about it again, but he motioned me away with his hand, and, in a moment I was back to this earth. I saw the brethren carrying my body along, and it was loathsome to me in appearance.
A day or two after my fall from the tree, I was carried to the Mountain Meadows, where I was fed on goat's milk and soon recovered.
In the autumn of this year, 1858, I received instructions from President Brigham Young to take a company of men and visit the Moquis, or Town Indians, on the east side of the Colorado River.
The object of this visit was to learn something of the character and condition of this people, and to take advantage of any opening there might be to preach the gospel to them and do them good.
My companions for this trip were Brothers Dudley and Thomas Leavitt, two of my brothers, Frederick and William Hamblin, Samuel Knight, Ira Hatch, Andrew Gibbons, Benjamin Knell, Ammon M. Tenney (Spanish interpreter), James Davis (Welsh interpreter), and Naraguts, an Indian guide.
A Spanish interpreter was thought advisable, from the fact that the Spanish language was spoken and understood by many of the Indians in that region of country. A Welsh interpreter was taken along, thinking it possible that there might be some truth in a report which had been circulated that there were evidences of Welsh descent among these Indians. An Indian guide was requisite, from the fact the none of the brethren had traveled the route. This was the first of a series of journeys to this people.
The company, consisting of twelve men, including myself, left the Santa Clara settlement on the 28th of October. Our general course of travel was a little south of east. The third night we camped at Pipe Springs, a place now occupied by a stone fort, and known as Winsor Castle.
While there, two or three Piutes came to our camp. One of them asked me to go with him to some large rocks, which lay under the high cliffs near by. As we approached them he showed me a human skeleton. "There," said he, "are the bones of Nahguts, who killed your ox on the Clara. He came as far as here, was taken blind, could not find the spring and died."
The following evening we camped at the foot of the Kibab, or Buckskin Mountain, with the chief and nearly all the tribe of Kibab Indians. They provided supper by cooking a large number of rabbits.
They put these in a pile, and covered them with hot ashes and coals. When sufficiently cooked, the chief performed the ceremony of thanking the Father for the success of their hunt, and asked for a continuation of His blessings in obtaining food. He then divided the rabbits among the company. We all joined in the feast. They gave us meat and we gave them bread.
I noticed an Indian sitting moodily, alone, and eating nothing. I sat down by him, and asked what he was thinking about.
Said he, "I am thinking of my brother, whom you killed with bad medicine."
I told him that his brother had made his own medicine, that he came to the Clara, killed an ox, and had brought a curse upon himself. I advised the Indian to eat with the company, and not make any bad medicine and kill himself.
This very prevalent idea of good and bad medicine, among these Indians, gives evidence of a very general belief in witchcraft.
The Indian took a piece of bread, saying he did not wish to die. I was told by our guide that this Indian had said, that in the night, when I was asleep, he intended to chop an axe into my head, but being afraid it would make bad medicine for him, he did not do it.
After climbing dangerous cliffs and crossing extensive fissures in the rocks, the tenth day out from home we crossed the Colorado River, at the Ute Ford, known in Spanish history as "The Crossing of the Fathers." The trail beyond the river was not only difficult, but sometimes very dangerous.
While traveling in the night, one of the animals that carried our provisions, ran off. Two men went in pursuit of it, while the company went on.
The third day after losing our provisions, having had but little to eat, we came to a place where sheep had been herded, then to a garden under a cliff of rocks. It was watered from a small spring and occupied fine terraces, walled up on three sides.
As we passed, we saw that onions, pepper and other vegetables, such as we raised in our own gardens at home, had been grown there. On arriving at the summit of the cliff, we discovered a squash, which evidently had been left when the crop had been gathered.
We appropriated it to our use. It tasted delicious, and we supposed it to be a better variety than we had before known, but we afterwards found that hunger had made it taste sweet.
Four miles farther on we came to an Oriba village, of about three hundred dwellings. The buildings were of rock, laid in clay mortar. The village stands on a cliff with perpendicular sides, and which juts out into the plain like a promontory into the sea. The promontory is narrow where it joins the table land back of it.
Across this the houses were joined together. The entrance to the town on the east side, was narrow and difficult. The town was evidently located and constructed for defense from the marauding tribes around.
The houses are usually three stories high. The second and third stories are set back from the front the width of the one below, so that the roofs of the lower stories have the appearance of terraces.
For security, the first story can only be entered by ascending to the roof, and then going down a ladder into the room below.
After our arrival in the village, the leading men counseled together a few minutes, when we were separated and invited to dine with different families.
A man beckoned me to follow him. After traversing several streets, and climbing a ladder to the roof of the first story of a house, I was ushered into a room furnished with sheepskins, blankets, earthen cooking utensils, water urns, and other useful articles.
It seemed to me strangely furnished, yet it had an air of comfort; perhaps the more so, for the reason that the previous few days had been spent in very laborious traveling, on rather low diet.
The hostess made a comfortable seat with blankets, and motioned me to occupy it.
A liberal repast was provided. It consisted of stewed meat, beans, peaches and a basket of corn bread which they called peke. It was about the thickness of brown paper, dry and crumbling, yet quite palatable.
The hostess, apparently surmising that I would not know how to partake of the bean soup without a spoon, dexterously thrust her fingers, closed tightly together, into the dish containing it, and, with a very rapid motion carried the soup to her mouth. Then she motioned me to eat. Hunger was pressing, and a hint was sufficient.
The day following, the two brethren we had left behind came in with the runaway mule, and a part of our supplies.
We visited seven of these towns, all similarly located and constructed.
The people generally used asses for packing all their supplies, except water, up the cliffs to their dwellings. The water was usually brought up by the women, in jugs, flattened on one side to fit the neck and shoulders of the carrier, and this was fastened with a strap which passed around in front of the body.
Most of the families owned a flock of sheep. These might be seen in all directions going out in the morning to feed, and returning in the evening. They were driven into or near the towns at night, and corralled and guarded to keep them from being stolen by the thieving Navajoes.
We found a few persons in all the villages who could speak the Ute language. They told us some of their traditions, which indicate that their fathers knew the Mexicans, and something about the Montezumas.
A very aged man said that when he was a young man, his father told him that he would live to see white men come among them, who would bring them great blessings, such as their fathers had enjoyed, and that these men would come from the west. He believed that he had lived to see the prediction fulfilled in us.
We thought it advisable for some of the brethren to remain with this people for a season, to study their language, get acquainted with them, and, as they are of the blood of Israel, offer them the gospel. Elders Wm. M. Hamblin, Andrew Gibbons, Thomas Leavitt and Benjamin Knell were selected for this purpose.
Bidding adieu to our Moqui friends, and to our brethren who were to remain with them, we started for home. Sixteen days of hard travel would be necessary to accomplish the journey.
We expected to obtain supplies at the Oriba village, but failed on account of scarcity. We had nothing for our animals but the dry grass, and they were somewhat jaded. The cold north wind blew in our faces, and we lit no fires at night, as they would have revealed our position to the roving Indians.
The journey home was very laborious and disagreeable. With provisions scarcely sufficient for our journey, we again lost some of them by a runaway, and, failing to get meat from the Indians as we expected, we were reduced to very short rations.
At Pipe Spring the snow was knee deep, and falling fast. We made only eight miles to Cedar Ridge the first day, from that place. As night came on we counseled together over our situation.
Taking into consideration our empty stomachs and the difficulty of traveling in the snow, it appeared quite impossible to get home without killing one of our horses for food. We lived on this rather objectionable kind of food for two days.
On arriving home it was very pleasant to find a change of diet, and our families and friends all well.
During our absence, the brethren had some difficulty with the Santa Clara Indians, and the management of it seemed leading to bad results. I visited the natives, and found that there were no bad intentions on their part, and they were all much pleased to have the matter understood and settled.
The brethren whom we left with the Moquis returned home the same winter.
A division arose among the people as to whether we were the men prophesied of by their fathers, who would come among them with the knowledge that their fathers possessed.
This dispute ran so high that the brethren felt that but little or no good could result from remaining longer. Besides, the chief men among the Moquis advised their return.
The brethren suffered much privation and hardship in this effort to preach the gospel to this people. The Indians said that they did not want to cross the Colorado River to live with the "Mormons," for they had a tradition from their fathers that they must not cross that river until the three prophets who took them into the country they now occupy, should visit them again.
Their chief men also prophesied that the "Mormons" would settle in the country south of them, and that their route of travel would be up the Little Colorado. This looked very improbable to us at that time, but all has since been fulfilled.
CHAPTER X
Early in the autumn of 1859, I again visited Salt Lake City, when President Brigham Young called upon me to make another visit to the Moquis, and take with me Brother Marion J. Shelton, whom we had called to labor with that people, to learn their language and teach them.
He directed me to leave with him one of the brethren who had been with me for some time among the Indians. President Young also put in my charge sixty dollars worth of goods, consisting of wool-cards, spades, shovels and other articles which would be of value to the Indians, with instructions to dispense them in the best manner to create a good influence among them.
I returned home, and immediately made arrangements to carry out these instructions.
Our company consisted of Marion J. Shelton, Thales Haskell, Taylor Crosby, Benjamin Knell, Ira Hatch, John W. Young and myself.
We left the Santa Clara settlement on the 20th of October. Nothing of special interest occurred on our journey, except that at one time we did not find water where we expected, and were suffering with thirst, when some Piutes saw our fire and came to us. They informed us where water was located and in the morning piloted us to it.
We arrived among the Moquis on the 6th of November. We visited and talked with them three days.
I was at a loss to know who to leave with Brother Shelton, and was desirous that it might be made manifest to me. My mind rested upon Brother Thales Haskell. I went to him and told him that he was the only one I could think of to remain with Brother Shelton, but he had been out so much that I disliked to mention the subject to him.
He replied that he was the man, for it had been made known to him that he would be asked to remain before leaving home, but he had said nothing about it.
We left our Moqui friends and Brothers Shelton and Haskell on the 10th of November, and arrived home on the 25th. Brothers Shelton and Haskell remained on their mission until early spring, when they returned home and reported that the Moquis were kind to them, but they could not make much progress in the object of their mission. The fathers of the people told them, very emphatically, that they still believed that the "Mormons" who had visited them were the men prophesied of by their fathers, that would come among them from the west to do them good. But they could make no move until the re-appearance of the three prophets who led their fathers to that land, and told them to remain on those rocks until they should come again and tell them what to do.
Under these circumstances the brethren thought best to return home.
In the fall of 1860, I was directed to make another effort to establish a mission in some of the Moqui towns, and take with me George A. Smith, Jr., son of the late President George A. Smith.
I left the Santa Clara in October with a company of nine men: Thales Haskell, George A. Smith, Jr., Jehiel McConnell, Ira Hatch, Isaac Riddle, Amos Thornton, Francis M. Hamblin, James Pierce, and an Indian we called Enos. We took sufficient to sustain us in the Moqui country for one year.
In speaking at a public meeting the day before leaving, I said I felt different from what I had ever previously done on leaving home; that something unusual would happen. What it would be I did not know. Whether we should ever see home again or not I did not know, but I knew we were told to go among the Moquis and stay for one year, and that I should do so if I could get there.
When we arrived at the crossing of the Colorado River, I again felt the same gloomy forebodings I spoke of before leaving home.
On the morning before crossing, the brethren said I had spoken discouragingly several times, and they wished to know if there was any one in the company that I did not wish to go on.
I assured them that there was no one that I did not wish to go along, but I knew there would be something happen that would be very unpleasant, and that there would be very hard times for some of us.
Young George A. Smith said: "You will see one thing, that is, I will stick to it to the last. That is what I came for."
We all crossed the Colorado River with a firm determination to do the best we could to fill our mission.
The second day's travel from the river we found no water, as we had expected, and what little we had brought with us was exhausted.
About two o'clock in the afternoon, four Navajos came to us, and told us that if we went on to the next watering place we would all be killed. They invited us to go with them to Spaneshanks' camp, where they assured us we would find protection.
We counseled about the matter, and concluded that the animals were too nearly famished for want of water to reach Spaneshanks' camp. If what the four Navajos told us about danger ahead was true, we were in danger from enemies if we went on to water and of perishing with thirst if we attempted to reach Spaneshanks' camp.
As the water was but a short distance ahead on our route, we concluded to push on to it and risk the consequences.
I requested Brother Thales Haskell to go on with the company and water the animals, he having been there before, and being, for this reason, acquainted with the ground. I directed him, for security, to take our animals on to the top of a table rock where there were about forty acres of grass, and which could be reached only through a narrow pass in the rocks, which would enable us to easily defend ourselves in case of attack.
The Navajos were gathering around us from different directions, and the Indian interpreter we had brought with us informed me that they were evidently bent on mischief. I determined to remain behind with them for awhile, and learn what I could by the interpreter and by observation. The interpreter learned from their conversation, that they were determined we should not go on to the Moqui towns, but they appeared undecided whether to kill us or let us go home.
We had taken two Indian women with us, thinking that they might be a great help in introducing something like cleanliness in cooking, among the people we were going to visit. The Navajos said we might go home if we would leave them.
I directed the interpreter to tell them that one of the women was Brother Hatch's wife, and the other was mine. They replied that they would not kill the men who had married them.
Two of the Navajos then hurried on to our camp, which was by the narrow pass, on to the table rock. There the Navajos made a treaty with us that if we would trade them the goods we had brought along, and especially the ammunition, we might go home.
As it seemed impossible to fill our mission, we felt justified in concluding to return.
The following morning we commenced to exchange articles of trade for blankets. While thus engaged, our animals were taken off the rock to water. When returning from the water, Brother George A. Smith's horse turned back on a trail, which, in a short distance, led over a hill and out of sight.
As he started after it, I told him that he had better not go alone, to which he made an indifferent reply. Something else immediately attracted my attention, and he was forgotten until the Navajos in our camp suddenly left, when I learned that he was after his horse, alone and out of sight. I sent two men after him.
They went about a mile, and found him lying by the trail, with three bullet wounds through the lower part of his body, and four arrow wounds between the shoulders.
I mounted a horse and rode to the spot, and learned that Brother George A. had found a mounted Indian leading off his horse, and that he took the Indian's horse by the bit, when the stolen horse was readily given up, with which the owner started for camp.
The Indian who had taken the horse and a companion then rode a short distance together, when one came up by the side of Brother George A., and asked him for his revolver. Not suspecting any treachery, he passed it to the Indian, who handed it to his companion a little in the rear. The latter then fired three shots into him, with the revolver only a few feet from his body.
Brother Smith was paralyzed, and soon fell from his horse. The two Indians then dismounted, and one threw his buckskin shirt over his head, and the other shot the arrows between his shoulders.
We took the dying man on a blanket near to the camp, when he earnestly requested us to lay him down and let him die in peace.
During this time about forty Navajos had gathered at a difficult place on the trail leading to the Moqui towns, probably anticipating that we would make an effort to go in that direction.
I sent our interpreter to ask them what they meant by shooting a man after they had agreed with us that if we would trade with them we might go in peace.
He returned with a message to the effect that three relatives of the Indians had been killed by pale faces like us, and, to avenge their death they had shot one of our men. They said: "Tell Jacob that he need not bury him, for we will eat him, and the women and children will help do it. We want to kill two more; and if Jacob will give them up or let us quietly kill them, the rest of the company may go in peace."
The question was asked me, "What are you going to do?"
Under the trying circumstances, it was a serious question; and the query was an earnest one with us all, "What can we do?" The heavens seemed like brass over our heads, and the earth as iron beneath our feet. It seemed utterly impossible to reach the Moqui towns, which were almost in sight, and like certain death to attempt to escape in the night with our jaded animals.
Our interpreter thought it would be better for two of the company to die, than for all to be killed.
I told him to go and tell the Navajos that there were only a few of us, but we were well armed, and should fight as long as there was one left.
He turned to go, rather reluctantly, saying again that he thought it better for only two to die than all.
I replied that I did not think so; that I would not give a cent to live after I had given up two men to be murdered; that I would rather die like a man than live like a dog.
As the interpreter turned to go, the two Indian women we had brought with us wept aloud, and accused me of bringing them along to be murdered. I went a little way off by myself and asked the Lord to be merciful, and pity us in our miserable and apparently helpless condition, and to make known to me what to do and say to extricate us from our difficulties.
I returned to camp and told the company that we would leave as soon as possible.
Some thought it was certain death whether we went or remained where we were.
I told them, however, that there would not be another one of us injured.
Our four Navajo friends who had come to us the day before, had remained, and now helped to gather our animals and pack up.
We were soon on our way.
I told Brother George A. that we must return home to save our lives, for we could not go any farther, as the Navajos were guarding the pass.
"Well," said he, "leave me; it will make but very little difference with me; it may make much with you. You cannot go very fast if you take me."
We put him in a saddle upon a mule, with Brother Jehiel McConnell behind him, to hold him on.
We left our camp kettles over the fire containing our breakfast, untouched, and all our camp outfit that we could possibly do without.
The Navajos who had been guarding our trail beyond the camp, started after us, coming down like a whirlwind.
Some of our party predicted that in ten minutes there would not be one of us left, but there was no flinching, no wilting in the emergency.
I again predicted that there would not be one of us hurt, for so the Spirit whispered to me.
The Navajos came almost within range of our rifles, and then turned suddenly to the right.
As they passed, the mule that carried our supplies went after them; but, to our surprise, it was brought back to us by a friendly Navajo.
We traveled as fast as possible, while the four old gray-headed Navajo friends guarded our front and rear. They often asked us to leave the dying man, as he was no longer of any use; that the one who shot him would follow to obtain his scalp, and that if we stopped to bury him they would leave, for our enemies would have his scalp if they had to dig his body up.
About sun-down George A. asked me to stop, and said that everything looked dark to him, and he was dying.
Our Navajo friends again said if we stopped they would go on. I said to Brother George A., "It will not do to stop now."
He asked, "Why?"
When I told him, he said, "Oh, well, go on then; but I wish I could die in peace." These were the last words that he said.
A few minutes afterwards, the Navajo friends said, "The man is dead. If you will leave him, we will take you to Spaneshanks' camp, where you will have friends."
Our last ray of hope for getting the body of George A. where we could lay it safely away in the rocks, was now gone. I said to the company, "What shall we do?" The answer was, "What can we do, only lay the body on the ground and leave it?"
I replied that such was my mind, for we would only risk our lives by making an effort to bury the dead, in which we would probably be unsuccessful.
We wrapped the body in a blanket, and laid it in a hollow place by the side of the trail, and then rode on as fast as our jaded animals could well carry us, until late in the night.
We halted on a patch of grass, held our animals by the lariats, and also put out a guard.
I sat down and leaned over on my saddle, but could not sleep. The scenes of the past two days were before me in vivid reality. The thought of carrying the wounded man with his life's blood dripping out of him along the trail, without his having the privilege of dying in peace, combined with the leaving of his body to be devoured by wolves and vultures, seemed almost too much to bear.
My imagination pictured another scene. South of us, in the distance, we could see a large fire, around which we presumed the Navajos were having a war dance over the scalp of our brother.
Then the thought of conveying the sad news to his father and mother and affectionate sister, all old and valued acquaintances of mine, pierced me like barbed arrows, and caused me the most bitter reflections that I have ever experienced in my life.
CHAPTER XI
At daydawn a Navajo came to us, and asked me to give him something as a present. I did so, and, as he turned away, I recognized Brother George A. Smith's revolver in his belt.
We were soon on our way for Spaneshanks' camp, where we found water, grass and friends.
That evening our Indian messenger came, and had an interview with Spaneshanks.
Our interpreter informed me that the message sent to our Navajo friends was, that they ought to kill us that night; and that Spaneshanks replied to the message that he was chief in that country and we should not be hurt.
We were further informed that the party that had done the mischief were from Fort Defiance.
We were warned that ahead of us was a narrow pass, where the Navajos had lately attacked the Utes, and killed their chief, Wahnonee, and that possibly they might attack us in the same place.
The following morning we left the friendly Spaneshanks, and, by making good use of our time, we watered our animals and got them on to a table rock before dark.
Deep cuts and fissures setting in from the north and east rendered our location unapproachable except by the way we had come. We placed one watch in the most difficult part of the trail, and felt safe for the first time in six days. In the morning we discovered a gun barrel with the stock shivered to pieces, shreds of blankets and clothing, and other signs which indicated that the place had been recently occupied. We concluded it was the spot where the Navajos had taken advantage of the Utes.
The second day from Spaneshanks' camp we crossed to the north side of the Colorado River. Four days afterwards on the Buckskin Mountain, the Piutes brought us an abundance of pine nuts.
The supply was very acceptable, as edibles were scarce in camp.
Five days subsequently we arrived home on the Santa Clara, jaded and worn with hard travel and much anxiety of mind.
Our relatives and friends had been much troubled in their minds concerning us in our absence. Some had unfavorable dreams, and they were filled with gloomy forebodings. A young lad, a nephew of mine, told his mother that there was something the matter with me, for he saw me walking along and weeping bitterly. He asked me what was the matter, and I replied, "Do not ask me, for it is too bad to tell."
I know that some people do not believe in dreams and night visions. I do not believe in them when occasioned by a disordered stomach, the result of eating unwisely, but in those of a different nature I have often been forewarned of things about to come to pass, and I have also received much instruction.
I wrote quite a full account of this trip to President George A. Smith, after which he came to my house on the Santa Clara.
In conversing with him about the affair, he remarked, "I was much shocked on hearing of the death of my boy; but upon reflection, we all, in the Historian's Office, came to the conclusion that the Lord wanted the young man just in the way He took him."
President Young also looked upon the matter in the same light.
After this conversation, Brother Smith gave me a note from President Brigham Young, in which was a written request to raise a company of twenty men, and bring in what we could find of the remains of Brother George A. Smith, Jr. Winter having set in, I considered this a difficult task.
It was necessary to go to Parowan for men and supplies, a distance of some seventy miles. This accomplished, we were soon on our way.
Our route was a difficult one to travel in the winter season. The ford of the Colorado was deep and dangerous at any time, but especially when the ice was running. Sometimes there were steep rocks to climb, at other times the trail ran along the almost perpendicular sides of deep rock fissures, narrow, with frequent short turns, where a misstep might plunge us or our animals hundreds of feet below. Sometimes the precipitous rocks were covered with ice, which had to be hacked with our hatchets before we could feel any surety of a foothold.
At one time we waited until nearly midday for the sun to melt the frost and ice on a steep rock, that we might be able to get our animals out of a gulch on to the plain above. On this occasion my pack mule slipped and fell, then rolled and slid down to within about a yard of the edge of a chasm below. We fastened a long lariat to the animal, and saved it and the pack.
On arriving at the place where we had left the body of young Brother Smith, we found the head and some of the larger bones. We prepared them for carrying as well as we could.
At our last camp in going out, the chief who had led the hostile Navajos on our previous trip, came to us, accompanied by his wife, and said if he had known what he afterwards learned about us, he would have protected instead of injuring us.
Nothing of special interest took place in returning home. I went with the remains of George A. Smith, Jr., to Salt Lake City, and delivered them to his friends.
This completed one of the most trying series of circumstances of my life. That the misfortune was no greater is due to the kindly Providence of our Heavenly Father, and the faith in Him and confidence in each other, of the brethren involved in it.
President Young proffered to pay us for our trip. I replied that no one who went with me made any charge, and, as for myself, I was willing to wait for my pay until the resurrection of the just.
On my return to the Mountain Meadows, I found my family out of flour, and the roads blocked with snow, so that a team could not get in nor out of the Meadows. I had left my family with plenty of food, but they had lent it to their neighbors. I was under the necessity of hauling both fuel and flour for them on a hand sled.