CHAPTER XII
It was nearly two years before we made another trip to the Moqui towns. Many of the brethren appeared to think that no good could be accomplished in that direction. In the autumn of 1861, many Saints were called from the north to form settlements in Southern Utah. The city of St. George was founded, and settlements were extended, so as to occupy the fertile spots along the waters of the Rio Virgen and Santa Clara.
During the winter of 1861-2 there was an unusual amount of rain-fall. About the middle of February, it rained most of the time for a number of days, and the Santa Clara Creek rose so high that the water spread across the bottom from bluff to bluff, and became a turbulent muddy river.
Our little farms and the cottonwood trees that grew on the bottom lands were disappearing. The flood wood sometimes accumulated in a pile, and would throw the current of water on to ground which had apparently before been safe from its inroads.
Our fort, constructed of stone, and which was one hundred feet square, with walls twelve feet high and two feet thick, stood a considerable distance north of the original bed of the creek. Inside the walls were rooms occupied by families, and we had considered it safe from the flood.
One night, when most of the people were asleep, some one discovered that the water was washing away the bank on the south side of it, and also that the water was beginning to run around it, between it and the bluff. It was raining heavily at the same time.
The people were removed from the fort as soon as possible, and some temporary shelter was constructed of boards, blankets, etc.
While I was making an effort to save some property near the caving bank of the stream, the ground on which I stood suddenly slid into the water, about twenty feet below, and took me with it.
I still stood on the mass of dirt, but realized that it was being rapidly washed away from under me, and that I was liable at any moment to be precipitated into the raging torrent.
The thought flashed through my mind that there was not one chance in a thousand of my being saved. I heard someone say above me that I was gone; it was of no use to try to save. I shouted at the top of my voice "It is of use to try to save me! Bring a rope and throw to me, and haul me out before the bank caves and I am gone!"
In a few moments I felt a rope drop over my head and shoulders. I lost no time in grasping it, and was pulled up just as I felt the last foothold giving way under me.
Again was my life preserved by that kindly providence which has so often saved me when in imminent peril.
What seems remarkable in the history of that gloomy night is, that in a few minutes after being rescued from death myself, I should be the means of saving another life.
A heavy and rapidly increasing current of water was now running between the fort and the bluff.
In some way or other a sick woman had been left in one of the rooms of the fort, and her husband was almost frantic with the idea that his wife was lost, as he did not think she could be got out. She had a young child, which was safe outside, while the mother was in peril.
I took the rope that had been the means of saving myself, tied one end of it to a tree, and holding on to it, got safely to the fort, where I fastened the other end. I entered the room, drew the woman from the bed on to my back, placed her arms over my shoulders and crossed them in front. I told her when I got to the running water that she must hold herself on my back, for I would be obliged to lay hold of the rope with both hands to get through the water.
When we arrived at the point of danger, her arms pressed so heavily on my throat that I was nearly strangled. It was a critical moment, for if I let go the rope we were sure to be lost, as the water was surging against me. I made the best possible use of time and strength, and reached the shore safely with my burden, to the great joy of the husband and children.
The flood swept away my grist mill and other improvements to the value of several thousand dollars. Most of the houses and the cultivated land of the settlement also disappeared.
In the autumn of 1862, it was thought best to again visit the Moqui villages. President Young recommended that we cross the Colorado River south of St. George, and explore the country in that direction, with the view of finding a more feasible route than the one we had before traveled.
A company of twenty men were set apart for this purpose, by Apostles Orson Pratt and Erastus Snow.
A team accompanied us to the river with a small boat, in which we conveyed our luggage across. Our animals swam the river.
Expecting to return the same way, after crossing the river we cached our boat and some of our supplies.
The first day we traveled south, up a "wash," for about thirty miles. We then traveled three days through a rough, bushy country, with some scrub cedar and pine timber. The fourth night from the river we camped at a small "seep" spring. The San Francisco Mountain lay a little to the southeast of us, and in sight.
In the morning our Indian guide refused to go farther with us, his reason being that we were going into a country destitute of water. We counseled together, and decided that we could reach the foothills of the San Francisco Mountain without perishing.
The first night from the "seep" spring, a light fall of snow came on. It melted and ran into the hollows of the rocks, and furnished an abundant supply of water. This seemed like a special providence in our favor.
The second night we made a dry camp. The third night we arrived at the foot of the San Francisco Mountain, where we again found snow.
The second day after leaving this mountain we reached the Little Colorado River, and then traveled a little northeast to the Moqui towns.
We spent two days in visiting among them. We left Brothers Jehiel McConnell, Thales Haskell and Ira Hatch to labor among them for a season.
The Moquis had been going through some religious ceremonies to induce the Great Spirit to send storms to wet their country, that they might raise an abundance of food the coming season. They assured us that their offerings and prayers were heard, for the storm would soon come, and advised us to delay starting for home until it should be over.
We had been talking with them about sending some of their chief men with us, to see our people and have a talk with our leaders. They objected on account of a tradition forbidding them to cross the great river, which has been referred to before.
We then started for home. The storm came the first night out and wet the country finely. We found shelter under a rock.
While there, three Moqui men came to us. They informed us that, after further consultation, their chief men had concluded to send them with us.
This storm, apparently in answer to the prayers of this simple people, and similar circumstances that have come under my observation among the Indians, have given me an assurance that the Lord is mindful of the wants of those barbarians, and that He answers their prayers with the blessings they need.
The snow fell sufficiently deep to cover up the grass, and our animals had to subsist principally on browse. The traveling was laborious, and when we arrived at the river by our old route, we had eight animals less than we left home with. This loss, and the poor condition of those that remained made traveling slow and tedious.
On arriving at the Ute crossing of the Colorado, we found the water deep and ice running. Fording was difficult and dangerous.
This, coupled with the traditions of the Moquis against crossing this river, visibly affected our Moqui friends. Anticipating that they might be entirely discouraged and not proceed farther, I forwarded their blankets and provisions by the first ones that crossed over.
When we desired them to cross, they expressed a wish to return home, but when I informed them that their things had been taken over, they concluded to follow. When the crossing was successfully accomplished, they returned thanks to the Father of all for their preservation.
On the north side, it occupied a day to bridge a muddy inlet and get on to the bench above. The crossing was accomplished the first day of the year 1863.
Brothers L. M. Fuller and James Andrus, whose animals were still in fair condition, were advised to push on as fast as practicable, and send us back some supplies, as we were very short of food.
The rest of the company traveled slowly to save the weak animals.
We lay by one day on the Pahreah, and killed and cooked crows to help out our rations.
Six days from the river we camped on Kanab Creek. That evening, Brother Lucius M. Fuller came into camp with a fat sheep, dressed, and some bread and flour, which were furnished by Brother Wm. B. Maxwell, from his ranch on Short Creek, forty miles beyond our camp.
When the Moquis saw this food they thanked the Great Father that He had pitied us and sent us food. Prayer and thanksgiving was the daily custom in our company—but to see these Indians, who are looked upon as barbarians, so humble and childlike in their reverence to the Great Father, seems worthy of special notice.
A man who came with Brother Fuller told me, after supper, that he had heard that one of my sons had been killed at Santa Clara, by the caving in of a bank of earth, and he thought it was Lyman. That night I had a dream or vision, in which I learned that it was Duane instead of Lyman, and I told the brethren so in the morning.
Three days afterwards we arrived at the settlements on the Rio Virgin. The brethren in these settlement furnished us with fresh animals and an abundant supply of food. We found a wide difference between feasting and fasting.
Soon after arriving home, Brother Wm. B. Maxwell and I took our three Moqui friends to Salt Lake City. The people on the way were very kind and hospitable. Arriving there, all possible pains were taken to instruct these men concerning our people, and to show them that which would gratify their curiosity, and increase their knowledge. They said they had been told that their forefathers had the arts of reading, writing, making books, etc.
We took them to a Welshman who understood the ancient Welsh language. He said he could not detect anything in their language that would warrant a belief that they were of Welsh descent.
As Lehi had promised his son Joseph that all his seed should not be destroyed, it was the mind of the brethren who reflected upon this subject, that in the Moqui people this promise was fulfilled.
CHAPTER XIII
We left St. George to take the Moqui visitors home on the 18th of March, 1863. The party consisted of six white men and our Moqui friends. As I was leaving home, my Indian boy, Albert, met me, and I remarked to him that the peach trees had begun to bloom, and it would be warmer than it had been.
He replied, "Yes, and I shall bloom in another place before you get back. I shall be on my mission!" (He doubtless referred by this to a vision which he had of preaching to a multitude of his people.)
Said I, "What do you mean by that?"
He replied, "That I shall be dead and buried when you get back."
We again took the route leading south from St. George. When we went out on this route the fall previous, we had expected to return the same way, and had cached our boat and some supplies on the south side of the river.
On arriving at the river we constructed a raft of dry timber, on which two men crossed over to obtain the boat. It was in good condition, but our supplies were ruined.
On the south side we looked around for a better crossing, as we had been requested to do, and found one five miles higher up the river, and also a good way of getting to and from the river. This is now called Pierce's Ferry.
We were here overtaken by Mr. Lewis Greeley, a nephew of Horace Greeley, of the New York Tribune. As he wished to accompany us, Brother Snow sent a man with him to the river.
We took our former trail as far as Seep Springs, the last water before crossing the three days' desert. The second and third days we found two camps, which, judging from the remains of camp kettles, pack saddles, etc., had doubtless been suddenly broken up, probably by the Apaches. We thought they were the camps of miners.
At the last camp there were five animals with Spanish brands. The Moquis desired to take them along, and, after some consultation, we consented for them to do so.
At Seep Springs we found a small band of Piutes, who had run off a party of Cohoneenes.
As we had intended to explore as much as practicable, after consulting with these Piutes and our Moqui friends, we concluded to take a trail to the left of our former route. This would take us down into Cataract Canyon, which heads near the foot of the San Francisco Peaks.
We followed down a side canyon all day, leading our animals most of the time, on account of the narrow and precipitous character of the trail. At night we camped without water.
About 10 o'clock the next day we came in sight of the Main, or Cataract Canyon. This was still far down in the earth below, and the stream running along its bottom appeared like a bright silver thread glittering in the sun.
In coming to this point we, at one time, traveled about three miles continuously on a trail made with considerable labor in the side of shale rock. I do not remember of a place in this distance where we could have turned our animals around to return, had we wished to do so. We afterwards learned that this part of the trail was considered by the people who lived in the canyon, as their strongest point of defense in that direction.
We traveled a very circuitous and still difficult trail, until four o'clock in the afternoon, before we arrived at the water we had seen six hours before. We found the stream to be about fifteen yards in width, with an average depth of over a foot.
It was rapid and clear, and skirted with cottonwood timber, growing on rich bottom land.
The bottom of Cataract Canyon, Lieut. Ives informs us, in his "Explorations of the Colorado," is 2,775 feet below the general level of the plateau above. We judged the sides of the canyon where we were, to be one-half of this distance in perpendicular height.
The first people that we met had been informed of our approach by one of our Moqui companions, whom we had sent ahead of us. While we were talking with them, others arrived from lower down the stream, who inquired rather sharply why we were there. They were soon satisfied with out explanations.
We were soon engaged in interesting conversation. They had heard of me and my travels, and appeared pleased to see me. They desired that I would not lead anyone into their hiding place, and particularly a stranger, without their consent.
They told us that the horses we had picked up belonged to the Walapies, and if we would leave them they would return them to the owners before we came back. We remained with this people one day. In going out we traveled up the main canyon.
Not long previously these people had been attacked in their stronghold by a band of Indians from the southeast. They showed us a narrow pass where they had met them, and killed seven of their number.
About three miles above where we first struck the stream, it boils from the bottom of the canyon in a large, beautiful spring. We found no water above this. About nine miles up the canyon above the water, we turned into a left-hand side canyon, through which it was about two miles to the country above.
The trail up this canyon was very steep and difficult. The trail we came in on, and this one, are said to be the only means of getting in and out of the Cataract Canyon. From what we could learn from the Indians, we supposed the distance from the spring to where the creek empties into the Colorado to be about eighteen miles.
Through some misunderstanding, two of our Moqui friends had continued up the main canyon. We made a dry camp that night. The Moqui man who remained with us was a religious leader among his people. He became very anxious about his companions, for he said they would find no water. He went through some religious ceremonies for their safe return.
In the night they arrived in camp. They had discovered their mistake, and returned until they found our trail. We had a little water left to relieve their thirst.
I should have before stated that these Moquis never send out any of their people in the public interest, without sending one of their religious teachers with them. The position of these religious men is probably a traditionary remnant of the pure priesthood held by their fathers.
This man who was with us carried a small sack, in which were some consecrated meal, wool, cotton and eagle's feathers. To this sack was attached a stick, which he took out each morning, and, after looking at the sun, made a mark upon, thus keeping a memorandum of the number of days we had spent on the journey.
Our route was considerably to the north of the one we had traveled when on our former trip. The day after leaving Cataract Canyon, about 4 o'clock in the afternoon, we came to a cross trail made by wild animals. Following it a few hundred yards into the head of a canyon, we found a pool of good water.
This was the 7th of April. We traveled two days without water for our animals, and camped where we could see the water of the Little Colorado, but it was in a deep gulch, out of our reach. The next day we traveled thirteen miles up the river bank, and camped by the water.
The night of the 11th we were about twelve miles from a Moqui town. Our Moqui companions wished to go home; and did so, while we camped until morning.
They informed the three brethren who had remained in the Moqui towns during the winter, of our approach, and the following morning these brethren met us about two miles out. They rejoiced much in seeing us, and hearing from their families and friends at home. We remained two days with our Moqui friends.
Taking Brothers Haskell, Hatch and McConnell with us, on Tuesday, the 15th of April, we started for the San Francisco Mountain, which was about ninety miles to the southwest. We aimed to strike the Beal road, which runs on the south side of the mountain.
On the 20th of April we got into the foothills on the north side of the mountain, where we found plenty of timber, grass, and snow for water. Game was abundant, and we had no trouble to kill what we needed. The same day Mr. Greeley discovered a pond of clear, cold water, several acres in extent, in the crater of a volcanic peak.
Monday, the 21st of April, we spent in exploring in different directions. We discovered a wagon road, which proved to be the one laid out by Captain Beal. We had traveled around on the north side of the mountain, and struck this road six miles west of Lareox Spring.
On the 22nd we killed two antelopes, and dried the meat, preparatory for starting home.
On the 24th we started for home. We traveled west on the Beal road until the 28th, when we left it and traveled across the desert where Lieut. Ives and party suffered from thirst.
We directed our course for Seep Springs, spoken of in the account of our outward trip, as our last camp before going into Cataract Canyon.
I was fifty-six hours without any water. Brother Jehiel McConnell was so far gone that he could only whisper. Both men and animals suffered severely. From Seep Springs we directed our course for the crossing of the Colorado, south of St. George.
The third day from Seep Springs we traveled into the night, and got off our trail. We tied up some of our animals and hobbled others, to wait for daylight.
During the night, what we at first supposed to be the hooting of an owl, attracted our attention. After listening a little while we concluded that the hooting was counterfeit; that Indians were around us and we had better look after our animals.
I followed a trail a few hundred yards by moonlight, and discovered the tracks of two Indians. Suffice it to say, we lost ten animals out of eighteen.
Assisted by some Piutes, we made an effort the next day to recover them, but failing, on the 6th of May we continued our journey. Five of our animals we packed, which left but three to ride. As there were ten men in the company, we traveled mostly on foot.
We afterwards learned that the Cataract Canyon Indians had not returned the Walapies' horses as they had agreed to, and the Walapies made that an excuse for stealing ours.
When we arrived at the river our feet were badly blistered. We had learned to appreciate the value of the animals we had lost.
Between the ferry and St. George, one day, in the Grand Wash, our animals becoming dry, a mule smelt of the ground and pawed. We concluded that it smelt water under the ground. We dug down about three feet, and found plenty. There has been water there ever since, and it is called White Spring.
We arrived in St. George on the 13th of May, 1863. We had been absent fifty-six days. We had explored a practicable, though difficult route, for a wagon from St. George to the Little Colorado, had visited the Moqui towns, and explored some of the country around the San Francisco Mountain.
I found on my return home that my Indian boy, Albert, was dead and buried, as he had predicted he would be when I left home.
I supposed his age to be about ten years when he came to live with me; he had been with me twelve years, making him twenty-two years old when he died. For a number of years he had charge of my sheep, horses and cattle, and they had increased and prospered in his hands.
Some time before his death he had a vision, in which he saw himself preaching the gospel to a multitude of his people. He believed that this vision would be realized in the world of spirits. He referred to this when he said that he should die before my return home, and be on his mission.
He was a faithful Latter-day Saint; believed he had a great work to do among his people; had many dreams and visions, and had received his blessings in the house of the Lord.
CHAPTER XIV
At this time a considerable change had taken place in the spirit and feelings of the Indians of Southern Utah, since the settlement of the country in 1861-62. Up to that time, our visits among them and our long talks around their camp fires, had kept up a friendly feeling in their hearts.
After the settlement of St. George, the labors of the Indian missionaries, from force of circumstances, became more extended and varied, and the feelings of the Indians towards the Saints became more indifferent, and their propensity to raid and steal returned.
The great numbers of animals brought into the country by the settlers, soon devoured most of the vegetation that had produced nutritious seeds, on which the Indians had been accustomed to subsist. When, at the proper season of the year, the natives resorted to these places to gather seeds, they found they had been destroyed by cattle. With, perhaps, their children crying for food, only the poor consolation was left them of gathering around their camp fires and talking over their grievances.
Those who have caused these troubles have not realized the situation. I have many times been sorely grieved to see the Indians with their little ones, glaring upon a table spread with food, and trying to get our people to understand their circumstances, without being able to do so. Lank hunger and other influences have caused them to commit many depredations.
When our people have retaliated, the unoffending have almost invariably been the ones to suffer. Generally those that have done the stealing have been on the alert, and have got out of the way, while those who have desired to be friends, from the want of understanding on the part of our people, have been the sufferers. This has driven those who were well disposed, to desperation.
The Navajos and other Indians east of the Colorado River have taken advantage of these circumstances to raid upon the settlements, and drive off many hundreds of cattle and valuable horses and mules.
In 1864 I visited the Indians east of St. George, accompanied by Brother George Adair. They had gathered between St. George and Harrisburg, for the purpose of carrying out their threat to destroy some of the settlements the first favorable opportunity.
I was asked how many men I wanted to go with me on my contemplated visit. I replied only one, and that I did not want any arms, not even a knife, in sight.
When we arrived in their camp I asked them to come together, and bring their women and children, and all hear what we had to say. They had prepared for hostilities by secreting their women and children, as is their custom.
By talking with them, a better influence came over them, and the spirit of peace triumphed over irritation and a sense of wrong.
About seventy-five miles west of St. George, a band of Piutes had confederated with a band of Indians that had been driven out of California, and they threatened the settlements of Meadow Creek, Clover Valley and Shoal Creek. Brother Andrew Gibbons accompanied me on a visit to these Indians. It was summer, and they had left their corn fields to dry up, and gone to the mountains. Our people had manifested as much hostility as the Indians, having killed two of their number.
We sent out word for all to come in and see us. We made a feast by killing an ox, and, in a general talk, they told over their grievances. They said that they felt justified in what they had done, and also in what they intended to do.
I could not blame them, viewing matters from their standpoint. In the talk I rather justified them in what they expected to do, but told them that in the end it would be worse for them to carry out their plans than to drop them, and smoke the pipe of peace. That the grass upon which the seeds had grown which served them for food was all eaten up, and from that time would be; but if they would be friendly, they could get more food by gleaning our fields than they had before we came into their country.
The talk lasted for hours. The difficulty was settled and we returned home.
Early in 1865, the Navajos stole a few horses from Kanab. I was requested to go over the Colorado, and, if practicable, have a talk with them, and recover the stolen horses. I was also to have a talk with the Moquis, and invite them to move over into our country.
We did not succeed in recovering the stolen horses. We were informed by the Moquis that the old Navajo chief, the friendly Spaneshanks, had been discarded by his band, that his son had succeeded him as chief, and that he was disposed to raid at any favorable opportunity.
For these reasons we thought it would be useless and perhaps dangerous to go into their country. We had a meeting in the Oriba village, with the principal men of that place and one of the largest of the Moqui towns. It was an interesting interview.
We told them we did not expect to visit them much more where they were, and we wished them to move over the river into our country, live with us, and build cities and villages the same as other people.
They again told us that they could not leave their present locations until the three prophets who had led them into their country should appear among them again, and tell them what to do. They predicted that our people would yet move into the country south of them, and would travel with wagons up the Little Colorado.
Aside from their traditions against moving across the great river, they could not see the utility of going over to live with us when we would yet move into their country. They were quite anxious that we should not be angry with them, as they desired that we should be friends, and thought that we might sometimes visit them.
On our return home we were disappointed in not finding water in two places where we had always found a supply on former trips. At the second place we camped for the night. On account of thirst our animals were very uneasy, and we tied them up and guarded them until morning.
The nearest water to us was ten miles distant, over a sandy desert, and directly out of our way; that is, we would have to travel twenty miles to get water, and again reach our trail for home. It was nearly two days' travel on our way home to water, and both men and animals were already greatly distressed.
I ascended a hill near the camp, and earnestly asked the Lord in my heart what I should do under our difficult circumstances. While thus engaged I looked towards the Colorado, which was about forty miles distant, and saw a small cloud, apparently about the size of a man's hat. It rapidly increased, and it did not appear to me more than half an hour before we were enveloped in a heavy snow storm. The snow melted and ran into the cavities of the rocks, until there was an abundance of water.
When we started on our journey we found the ground dry in less than a mile and a half from our camp.
I thanked the Lord that He had sent us relief in our great need, but there were those in the company who did not appear to see the hand of the Lord in it.
In the autumn of 1865 Dr. Whitmore and I made a trip to Las Vegas Springs and the Colorado River. We visited the Cottonwood Island Indians and the Mohaves.
In the winter after our return, Dr. Whitmore and his herder, young McIntyre, were killed near Pipe Springs, about fifty-five miles east of St. George, by the Navajos, who also drove off their sheep and some cattle.
I started out after them with a company, was taken sick, and turned back to go home.
I stopped over night on the road in a deserted house, without food, bedding or fire. Having an opportunity, I sent word to my family about my condition. I got into the town of Washington, twelve miles east of Santa Clara, and could go no farther.
In a day or two my wife, Louise, arrived with a team and took me home. My health was very poor for about a year. At one time my friends thought that I was dying. At first I told them that I was willing that it should be so, for I had only been in their way for nearly a year; but my little children were crying around me, and the question came into my mind: What will they do if I am taken away? I could not bear the thought of leaving my family in so helpless a condition.
I then asked God, the Eternal Father, in the name of His Son, Jesus Christ, to spare my life long on the earth, and I would labor for the building up of His kingdom.
I afterwards felt a desire for food, and asked for something to eat. I was told that I had eaten nothing for two days. Some boiled beef and tea were brought me; I thought that I had never before eaten anything that tasted so good. From that time I slowly recovered.
CHAPTER XV
In the spring and summer of 1867 I was called upon to visit the bands of Indians to the east of the settlements on the Rio Virgen, and farther north. A number of settlements had been deserted on the Sevier River, and it was desirable that the temper of the Indians should be so modified that they could be re-established.
I went east seventy-five miles, to the present location of Kanab. After gathering around me some of the Indians, and planting some corn and vegetables, I crossed over the rim of the basin, north, and traveled down the valley of the Sevier.
I sought out places where the Indians were gathered in the largest numbers. I had many long talks with them, which seemed to have a good effect. Although some of the bands were considered quite hostile and dangerous to visit, I felt that I was laboring for good, and had nothing to fear.
In the fall of 1867, as soon as the water in the Colorado was low enough for the Navajos to ford it, I kept close watch of the eastern frontiers of Southern Utah. I met with quite a number of young Piutes when I first went into the country. They said they had dreamed that I was coming out into their country, and they proposed to assist me in watching the frontiers. They proved to be quite useful in watching the passes, and waylaid and shot several raiders.
The season of 1868 was spent in a similar manner to that of 1867, in visiting the Indians in southeastern Utah, and cultivating peace among them.
In October, 1869, I was requested to make another trip to the Moqui towns, to talk with the people, and learn, if possible, whether there were other Indians besides the Navajos raiding on our borders.
I started with a company of forty men, twenty of the brethren and twenty Piutes. We crossed the Colorado where Lee's Ferry now is. Our luggage went over on rafts made of floatwood, fastened together by withes.
On arriving at the Moqui towns, I thought some of the people received us rather coldly. My old acquaintances told me that the Navajos intended to make another raid on our people in a short time. I felt like returning to our settlements immediately.
When we left the towns, I felt much impressed to take the old Ute trail, and cross the river thirty miles above where we crossed going out. Some of the company objected to this and made much of the difficulties of the crossing.
When we came to where a trail led to each of the crossings, I told the company that I did not know why, but I was satisfied that it was our duty to go home by the old Ute trail. I was much surprised to find that more than half of the brethren had made up their minds not to go that way. I told them if I knew anything about the mind and will of the Lord, it was for us to go that way.
The Piutes, to a man, were willing to go the way I desired. The brethren took the lower trail, and on we went. I remarked to them that our trip to the Moquis was a failure. When we arrived home, we learned that the Navajos had been into the settlements north of where our people had guarded, and driven off twelve or fifteen hundred head of animals, among them many valuable horses and mules.
I afterwards learned from the Piutes, that if the company had taken the Ute trail, we would have met the raiders with all these valuable animals on the open plains, after they had crossed the river. I felt vexed that I did not take the Piutes with me and save this valuable lot of stock for our people.
I slept out many cold nights in the winter of 1869-70, watching and guarding with the Piutes. One Navajo was shot when two or three hundred yards ahead of his company, which was driving out a small band of horses. The raiders were much frightened, threw down their luggage and wanted the Piutes to let them go home. The Piutes consented to let the Navajos go if they would leave what they had. They gladly accepted the terms. This took place in the Pahreah Pass, about twenty miles east of Kanab.
The Navajo that was shot was only wounded. I followed his trail the next day, to see what had become of him. I found where he had been picked up by his friends and carried two or three miles. Near him was another camp of raiders, resting.
One of the Piutes who was with me at the time, and had been told in a dream to go with me, shot two of this company, scalped one of them, and said that the other had sandy hair, and he dare not scalp him, for he seemed too much like a white man.
At another time, when Captain James Andrus, with a company of men from St. George, was with us, a few animals passed us in the night. We supposed there were three Navajos with them.
We followed them one day. By taking a circuitous route we came within range of them unobserved. Some of the company fired before the others were ready. Two of the raiders fell; the others, quick as thought, drove the horses upon a sharp point of rocks, where they took shelter in such a way that they could guard their horses without exposing themselves.
We endeavored to approach them to advantage, but without success. I was fired at several times, as also were several of the other brethren. Once, as I was secreted behind a cedar tree, a Navajo crawled up behind a sand rift, fired at me, and the bullet just missed my head.
Finding that the Indians had the advantage of us, we left them, only getting one of the horses. The Navajos secured ten horses and lost three of their men.
Captain Andrus and company returned to St. George, and left Brothers John Mangum, Hyrum Judd, Jehiel McConnell, my son Lyman, myself and the Piutes to watch the frontiers, as we had done through the winter.
The winter of 1869-70 was one of great hardship for the few brethren who, with the Piutes, watched the frontier. They suffered with the cold, and passed many sleepless nights. We crossed the Buckskin, or Kibab Mountain several times, with the snow in some places waist deep.
This Navajo war caused me many serious reflections. I felt that there was a better way to settle matters, and I made up my mind to go and see the Navajos, and have a talk with them as soon as circumstances would permit.
In the spring of 1870, President Brigham Young, his counselor, George A. Smith, Apostle Erastus Snow and other leading men of the Church, came to Kanab, accompanied by twenty men as a guard.
As we had been notified of this visit, we had things in as good order as possible. The Piutes, seventy in number, washed off the dirt and paint which usually besmeared their persons, and put on a fair appearance for Indians.
President Young at first objected to sending out the animals of the company to feed under an Indian guard, but afterwards consented to do so. He expressed himself well satisfied with my labors and policy on the frontiers.
I told him that I desired to visit the Navajos, and have a talk with them; that there had been a number of raiders killed, and I never saw a Navajo's bones on the ground, the flesh having been eaten off by wolves and vultures, but what I felt sorrow for the necessity of such things; that I always abhorred the shedding of blood, and desired to obtain peace in some better way.
When President Young arrived at Toquerville, on his return journey, he sent me a letter of instructions, directing me to do all I could to prevent the shedding of blood; not to let the Indians have any firearms or ammunition if I thought they would use them for killing miners or other travelers; and, if it were possible, he wished the people to get along without the killing of any more Navajos.
CHAPTER XVI
I determined to do all I could in the summer of 1870 to establish good feelings among the Indians in the neighborhood of our people, on the west side of the Colorado, that they might be disposed to favor us instead of our enemies. I determined to neglect no opportunity of visiting the Navajos, and endeavoring to get a good understanding with them.
I visited the Red Lake Utes, spent some time at Fish Lake, east of Parowan, and visited the Indians along the Sevier. I had many long talks with them, and believe I accomplished much good, in inspiring them with the spirit of peace.
I met Professor J. W. Powell, who stated that he had descended the Colorado River the previous year, and that the Indians in the neighborhood of Mount Trumbull, southwest of Kanab, had killed three of his men. He wished to visit them, and prevent the repetition of a similar calamity the next season; for he desired to descend the river with a company to explore the Grand Canyon.
He wished to employ someone who understood Indian character, and spoke their dialect, to go with him, and President Young had recommended me as a suitable person. He offered me liberal terms, and, as I was desirous of seeing the same Indians myself, a satisfactory arrangement was soon made.
We left Kanab for Mount Trumbull in September, 1870, and took two Kanab Indians with us. We arrived at our destination the third day, and selected a good camp ground by a spring of water.
We found some natives gathering cactus fruit, which grew there in great abundance. I requested them to bring in some of the party who took a part in the killing of Mr. Powell's men the previous year.
Some twelve or fifteen Indians got together the following day, and we called a council to have a good peace talk.
I commenced by explaining to the Indians Professor Powell's business. I endeavored to get them to understand that he did not visit their country for any purpose that would work any evil to them; that he was not hunting gold, silver or other metals; that he would be along the river next season with a party of men, and if they found any of them away from the river in the hills, they must be their friends, and show them places where there was water, if necessary.
They answered that some of their friends from the other side of the river crossed on a raft and told them that Powell's men were miners, and that miners on their side of the river abused their women.
They advised them to kill the three white men who had gone back from the river, for if they found any mines in their country, it would bring great evil among them. The three men were then followed, and killed when asleep.
The Indians further stated that they believed what I told them, and, had they been correctly informed about the men, they would not have killed them.
They said Ka-pu-rats could travel and sleep in their country unmolested, and they would show him and his men the watering places.
Ka-pu-rats, in the Piute language, means one arm cut off. Major Powell had lost an arm in the late war between the Northern and Southern States.
I think that a part of Major Powell's description of this affair in his "Explorations of the Colorado River," would not be out of place here:
"This evening, the Shi-vwits, for whom we have sent, came in, and, after supper, we hold a long council. A blazing fire is built, and around this we sit—the Indians living here, the Shi-vwits, Jacob Hamblin and myself. This man, Hamblin, speaks their language well, and has a great influence over all the Indians in the region round about. He is a silent, reserved man, and when he speaks, it is in a slow, quiet way, that inspires great awe. His talk is so low that they must listen attentively to hear, and they sit around him in death-like silence. When he finishes a measured sentence, the chief repeats it, and they all give a solemn grunt. * * * *
"Mr. Hamblin fell into conversation with one of the men, and held him until the others had left, and then learned more of the particulars of the death of the three men. They came upon the Indian village almost starved, and exhausted with fatigue. They were supplied with food, and put on their way to the settlements. Shortly after they had left, an Indian from the east side of the Colorado arrived at their village, and told them about a number of miners having killed a squaw in a drunken brawl, and no doubt these were the men. No person had ever come down the canyon; that was impossible; they were trying to hide their guilt. In this way he worked them into a great rage. They followed, surrounded the men in ambush, and filled them full of arrows.
"That night I slept in peace, although these murderers of my men, and their friends, the U-in-ka-rets, were sleeping not five hundred yards away. While we were gone to the canyon, the pack-train and supplies, enough to make an Indian rich beyond his wildest dreams, were all left in their charge, and were safe; not even a lump of sugar was pilfered by the children."
After this council with the Indians, Major Powell gave me charge of the commissary stores and pack train, and directed me to explore the country east, north and south. This afforded me an excellent opportunity to carry out my mission to the Lamanites.
I had many interesting talks with them. I labored to have them understand that there was an overruling Providence that had much to do with the affairs of men; that God was not pleased with the shedding of blood, and they must stop killing men, women and children, and try to be at peace with all men.
These teachings did not appear to have much influence at the time, but afterwards they yielded much good fruit.