I was looking forward to the winter of 1855-56 with the greatest of hopes, for it was to be my first and only chance I had to attend school since I had attended in the City of Nauvoo when I was six years old. My teacher's name was David Osborn. I found there had been but one change in textbooks and that was the addition of the old "Blue Back Speller" by Webster.

After the harvest of 1855 was completed it was discovered that some localities had a surplus of wheat while others were in need. The situation was canvassed by the Church, and those with plenty were to anticipate their wants for the winter and for seed the next year, and then pass the surplus on to those less fortunate. After Father had made this calculation he had about two hundred bushels left. He was asked by the Authorities if he would be willingly to give this wheat outright for those in need, and he said he would, which he did and I know my self that he never received a penny for that grain. It demonstrates the feeling of good will, and unselfishness that was part of the Mormon pioneers. The wheat we kept for our use was all we had any legitimate use for, a tribute to father’s judgment. Before winter we moved our grain to the gristmill at the south of Ogden Canyon, owned by Loran Farr.

In drawing the flour from the mill, it seemed to Mother that it was going to run us short and she became more careful. It was not what we used ourselves entirely, but some of our neighbors were without and constantly asked for just one more mixing. Mother thought we should refuse, but Father thought it was a duty to share as long as he had it. It was often a subject for discussion, but when the summer was past, and the harvest ended, we had never scraped the bottom of the flour box.

After school was dismissed in the spring of 1856 I helped put the crops in. We planted about ten acres more of wheat, about 35 acres in all. I also spent a day now and then on the road through Weber Canyon. There was an abundance of water for the crops, and we raised the best harvest we had up to this time. The “hoppers” were not so bad and we had made another ditch on the north side of the river, so while no particular improvements were made in harvesting machinery, we kept the things we had gained, and completed a very pleasant and profitable year. I planned to go to school again, but was disappointed, but I will say, not discouraged.

At this time a firm named Gilbert & Garrish, leading in the mercantile business in Salt Lake City had contracted with certain parties to freight some of their goods from the Missouri River near where Omaha now stands, to Salt Lake City. The men were late starting west with their freight, and were caught in the snow east of Salt Lake City, on Bear River, a short distance west of old Fort Bridger. They did not seem to have the courage to carry on under such difficulties. They had deserted everything but their cattle, and came on to Salt Lake City. They left no one to guard the goods, and did nothing to protect them from the weather. The yokes of the cattle were thrown in the most convenient places, and the snow was about seven inches deep when the rescue party reached the wagons.

There was a prominent at this time, in connection with conditions of this nature, in Salt Lake City, named Judson L. Stoddard. Mr. Stoddard was a cattleman and was acquainted with the country east of Salt Lake City. Arrangements were made with him by the merchants to salvage their goods, and Mr. Stoddard asked for seventy oxen and eight drivers with wagons and boxes. I was recommended to him as a “bull-whacker” and he offered me a chance to go with him, which I accepted, and we left Salt Lake City Dec. 1st, 1856. We were about four days in reaching the wagons, camped by them for the night and commenced the return journey next day. We had some difficulty with some of the cattle in getting started but we reached the upper crossing of the Sweetwater at the foot of Big Mountain without any inconvenience. But here our difficulties began, the snow over the mountain was deeper and road conditions bad, so we were obliged to place eight yoke of oxen on each wagon to make any headway. Poor road construction up East Canyon Creek made our work dangerous. At one place the road was around a high point of rocks just over the creek. The road was filled with snow and ice and sloped to the outside. The first wagon up was driven by Larry Robinson, and as we looked the situation over we made sure we were in for trouble. I suggested that we cut a trench, or trail in the snow and ice on the upper side of the road, but the man in charge said to drive on, after some words with the boss. Larry drove on, he was just starting nicely around the point when the wagon slid completely off the road and turned upside down in the creek, which was frozen over. I was next in line, and told to drive carefully, but just as Larry did I refused to do this, and the boss threatened to report me to Mr. Stoddard. After all, we dug the trench, as another precaution, we tied a long rope to the rear of each wagon and the boys pulled to the upper side to keep the wagon in the trench and by this method all of the wagons reached the summit in “apple pie” order. This process was repeated without incident. When we had all four wagons over the point, we salvaged the goods from Robinson’s wagon and found room for them in the remaining wagons, and we then made the trip to Salt Lake City without delay. We delivered the first wagons to Gilbert and Garrish and after a night’s rest at the home of Father Chase, the father-in-law of Mr. Stoddard, we returned immediately for the other wagons. We had no difficulty in bringing the other wagons over the slopes of Big Mountain, and into the City.

On our way up East Canyon Creek we were preceded by some of the last hand-carters, and were followed by others. They had no handcarts at this time, they had been abandoned when the relief reached them, that they had been sent from Salt Lake City. We were preparing for the descent into the valley below when the last of these people reached the summit of Big Mountain. In all my boyhood days, and perhaps not since, have I beheld a sadder and more forlorn spectacle. It did not need a second look to see the mark of suffering on their faces. Their features were drawn and plainly showed the effects of their hunger. Their bodies were poorly clad and were barely clothed sufficiently to cover their nakedness, not to mention any warmth.

When we delivered our second set of wagons to the firm we received our money and started for our homes. I walked from Salt Lake City to Mr. Stoddard's home in Centerville, about 12 miles and stayed with them that night, the next day I walked 18 miles to East Weber and home.

At home we were obliged to practice the strictest economy. Up until now and for several years to come, Mother and my sisters had made all the clothing I had every worn, except under garments, the material for those was bought for the purpose of the store. We had a few sheep of our own and we always cared for the wool, washing, carding, and spinning it our selves. Mother and the girls making the clothes for each of us. If we wanted any color, other than the natural color of the wool, we had to buy dye, with the single exception of a brown color we obtained from the bark of a tree called Tag-Alder. If a family happened to have black sheep in his flock, it was possible to spin a grayish yarn. We were repeatedly warned by Mother, that if we wanted clothing we must do our part toward the purchase.

In our travels from place to place I had made an effort to learn all I could about the violin. I have mentioned that Daniel Smith was with us in Nauvoo, and that he played the violin very well. He married my sister Elizabeth and was a great friend and financial help to the family, and was with us all through the preparations and travels west and was still with us. During all this time he was helping me to an understanding of the violin. He played for parties on the way west, and after we reached there he was a real social help in the line. I had now reached a point where I could play for a party. After my return from the expedition with Mr. Stoddard in December, I entered school, that is after Christmas, and along with my school work I played for the community parties. I did not seem interested in the social part of it all, but I was interested in picking up some change. I recall one time I was asked to play for a wedding dance of one of the prominent girls of our community, and I felt quite honored. I had to walk five miles so by the time I reached there the ceremony was over and so was the supper. They insisted that I eat, however, and I did and then went directly to the dance hall and everything went according to plan and they enjoyed the evening. When I presented my bill as the close of the do, I asked for $l.50. The man who paid me said this was not enough, so he paid me $3.00 and was I pleased when I started for home five miles away. And I was surely proud when I handed the money to my Mother. It was the custom of the family to place all our earnings with mother. I had already giver her the money from the Judson Stoddard trip. I was still in school and Mr. Osborn was my teacher. There was not much change in our home life, in this instance, until the month of March, 1857. The school year was over and I was helping David clear a piece of land Father had given him. One evening when I returned home from work I found the family in a most curious frame of mind, and I was soon that way too, when mother handed me a letter from President Young. I opened it at once and was certainly surprised and thrilled. I then handed it to the family and let them read it. It was a notification that I had been selected by Judson L. Stoddard as a member of a party to go East with the mail. Some two or three years previous to this President Brigham Young had secured a contract from the United States Government to carry the mail from Salt Lake City to Independence, Missouri and return. President Young had selected Mr. Stoddard to take charge of the party, and Mr. Stoddard had selected eleven others to assist him. Among them I was chosen. I have been brave enough to think that my previous services for Mr. Stoddard were satisfactory, and that was a factor in this selection.

The contract provided that the mail would leave either end of the route the first of every month. The party I was with was to leave Salt Lake City April 1, 1857. I was also advised that I was to come to Salt Lake City and receive my endowments before I could go east. Some eight months previous to this time I had met and learned to care for a young lady named Jane Miller. In fact as we did come and go we had considered marriage. The events of the last few days and the possibilities connected with them, in doing and not doing, presented quite a serious situation to me. I had quite a time reaching the final decision. I wanted to make the trip, and in a way I considered my duty to do so, and I disliked very much the idea of leaving Jane behind. At this time I was also puzzled to know what to do about my endowments. I was not sure that I wanted them at all for there seemed a possibility that maybe I was not just fit for such a sacred ordinance, and I thought there might be some covenants to enter into that I would not care to enter. I consulted Father, and after due consideration and a night's rest, I decided to receive them. Now that was settled, I had to decide what to do with my fiancée! Father solved the problem for me when he suggested I marry her and leave her with them in East Weber while I was gone. With these arrangements in mind we made the trip to Salt Lake City, were married, and received our endowments. Levi Hammon made the trip with us, and drove Father's team and wagon. We left East Weber March 17, 1857. We went as far as Centerville the first day and spent the night with an old friend named Goldsbrough. We reached Salt Lake City the 18th of March just before noon and went to the home of Alexander Watson, who had married one of Jane's sisters, named Maggie. We stayed here until 19th. By this time I had made arrangements with Heber C. Kimball to perform the ceremony, at Father’s request, and he consented.

We were married in the old Endowment House March 20, 1857, by Heber C. Kimball, after which we started for home at once. On the way we stayed at Centerville with Mr. Goldsbrough the night of the 20th and reached home the 21st about noon.

While I was at Salt Lake City I visited Judson L. Stoddard and with the other arrangements we made, he was to call for me at East Weber on his way East about April 1st. It was almost impossible to pass over Big Mountain so early in the season on account of snow. The road was now was completed up through Weber Canyon and we were to go out that way. I was busy all the while helping Father and David on their places. I cannot describe my feelings as the day approached to leave. All my life up to this time, had been spent at home, always with my people. I had always been, so to speak, within seeing distance of the smoke from my home fires, and the prospects of leaving a home I had always loved, didn't brighten the future any. Not many ever lived who had a better mother than I did. I wasn't what she wished for many times, I’m sure.

I loved my father too; we never had any misunderstandings or disagreements. I hold his memory in sincere reverence. He was always honest and upright in his dealings and a gentleman always, with the strongest of home ties. As for mother, she was always interested in any thing that would be of a benefit to her family. She always did the right thing at the right time. I know I will always insist that I had as good a set of parents as ever lived. Everything considered, I was not too anxious for the first of April to come.

The party arrived on the Weber River in time to establish camp for the night. April 1, 1857. Mr. Stoddard came over to the house and invited me to join them next morning ready to leave for the east. Next morning when the time came to say goodbye, I made pretty good headway, even with my mother and my young wife, but when it came father, I simply broke down and had a good cry. When it was over, I mounted the mule I had been given to ride and joined the party. We had about sixty-five mules and horses; they were to be used as pack animals, in carrying the mail. There were more than we needed really, but we intended to establish several mail stations in localities best suited to our purpose.

Camp the first night was made at the lower end of the Upper Weber Canyon. In crossing the mountain between upper Weber Valley and Upper Weber Canyon we met with our first accident. We had with us, four young men from Salt Lake City to help us with the mail, and four passengers without responsibility of course. Two of the helpers were sons of President Young, and four of the mules and one of the wagons belonged to him. At first he refused to allow the mules to go with us, but consented and cautioned the boys as to their use. As we were passing over the mountain separating the upper valley and the canyon, without warning the wagon slid off the sloping dugway and turned completely over. In the fall the wagon tongue split, and the sharp end that remained in the hounds of the wagon struck one of the mules back of the front legs and passed out through the brisket to the front. We had quite a time to get the mule off from the splinter, but he was finally brought to camp. As a kind of protection a small piece of tobacco was placed in the wound. I never saw the mule again, and we left camp next morning without the wagon or mules. And the four helpers from the City all returned there too. The four passengers were now riding horses, which they rode to Fort Bridger.

At our camp at Fort Bridger I was introduced to the work of guard duty. It was the program to have two guards with the stock, and one at the camp. I was assigned to the horses, and George Grant, a lad about my age was to stand it with me. This was the beginning of a friendship that was very dear to me. We were much alike in our likes and dislikes, and also in reaction to our experiences.

The duty of the camp guard was of course, to watch the camp and protect it from marauders, to make the camp at night, and break camp in the morning and have all things ready for the road, which was to be between daylight and sunup. The stock guard was to keep the horses from wandering too far from camp, and have them in easy reach when wanted.

Our progress was slow. We encountered a great deal of snow and at this time of the year, the feed was poor. We were on the road about a week before we reached Fort Bridger. When we went East with Mr. Stoddard for the merchandise wagons, I recall we were four days getting to Fort Bridger with wagons and cattle, so we were really slow this time, with only horses and one wagon.

I was destined to learn a lot on this trip, and here at Fort Bridger I was taught how to pack and unpack a pack mule, and how to fasten the pack on properly with a rope, using the famous Diamond Hitch. Mr. Judson L. Stoddard and Mr. George Dalton assumed the responsibility of instructing us. They were also assisted by a Mexican, who was our camp cook. We spent three days at Fort Bridger, arranging things and purchasing equipment. Among other things we bought some harnesses for four mules and a three-inch Schuttler Wagon. The mail was placed in the wagon and seats arranged for our passengers also.

I do not remember the date we left the Fort, but we traveled slowly, eating three meals a day, such as they were, sometimes quite slim. Wild game was scarce along the trail but we were not suffering.

When we reached Green River and made the necessary adjustments to ford, the wagon with the mail and the passengers were sent in first. Every man in the company was armed as well as far as he could be, even to the passengers. One of them had an old percussion cap gun and had loaded it then placed it in the wagon at the head of the load, and put a cap on it and let the hammer rest on the cap, as the wagon went into the stream, the load shifted to one side and then replaced itself when it reached the bottom of the bank and landed on the hammer of the gun and it was discharged. I was following about three rods behind, but the angle of the gun directed the charge just over my head and I escaped injury. An investigation was made by Mr. Stoddard and measures taken to prevent a recurrence of such an incident.

Foremost among the instructions given Mr. Stoddard by President Young was that he should not fail to engage in prayer as a group, at least twice daily, and this we always did. We mad our way slowly until we reached the Big Sandy, and here I was to meet another feat for which I was not wholly prepared. Mr. Stoddard was making the practice of asking the men to lead in their turn in prayer. Some way I had not been asked, but this morning we were breaking camp on Big Sandy and he called on me. In our home we never failed to have family prayer but father had always been the spokesman and the experience had never come to me. I couldn’t refuse and I was so upset and nervous I could only speak with difficulty. Of all places, out in the wilds, before a group of men. We were kneeling in the sand, and my knees were trembling until they had about buried themselves—I wonder if the imprints are there yet. I didn’t suffer any ill effects for I ate a hearty breakfast and took care of my end of the work. In a few days we reached the South Pass, which was also the continental divide, and we were surprised that we could not see the Sweetwater River from the summit, but pressed on. When we were part way down the slope we discovered we were on a drift of snow about fifty feet deep and we made the crossing of the river before we fully realized the conditions. The snow was frozen so there was no difficulty at all. We traveled considerable distance before we saw the waters of the stream at all, and part of the time we were over the stream. We were now on the Old Immigration Trail and we were soon at the Devil’s Gate. Here we were obliged to spend a few days to give our horses a chance to recuperate, the feed had been poor for a week or more and they began to show the effects. There had been a mail station established at Devil’s Gate by the party ahead of us, and it was left in charge of a man who acted as Blacksmith, so that the rest we had our mules shod. This man put the shoes on sixteen head of mules in one day, which we thought was stepping right along. Our progress had been so slow and so much time consumed on the way, that while we were not suffering, we were feeling the need of supplies, and had to exercise the strictest economy for the next supply depot was at Fort Laramie, some five or six days travel from Devil’s Gate.

In due course we reached Fort Laramie and took on what supplies we needed to take us to Fort Kearney. From sports at Fort Laramie, we learned that the pioneers and other travelers were being harassed by the Indians along the route. Before leaving Fort Laramie, Mr. Stoddard applied for a detachment of soldiers to accompany us to Fort Kearney, and was given 16 well-equipped and well-armed soldiers with an officer to go with us. When we left Fort Laramie we were on the North side of the Platte River. We had covered about half the distance to Fort Kearney when someone of the party spied an object in the distance and it seemed to be coming toward us. There was a deep wash near and we were in there in a few minutes and ready to protect ourselves. We soon discovered that they were horsemen, and later that they were Indians, but we knew they were friendly because they had their squaws and children with them. They had been out hunting and were returning with their meat. Before they left our camp we bought some fresh buffalo meat, the first fresh meat we had since we left Salt Lake City.

After a few days travel we reached the upper end of Grand Island. We were to cross over the Platte at this place but we were too late in the day to risk a ford so we camped for the night. During the night, a very cold storm came up from the West. It was sleet and rain. With all the equipment we had, we did not have one tent. George Grant and I slept under the wagon, and water ran through our bed all night, and everyone suffered considerably. The men on night guard drove the stock near camp as the storm increased and the next morning we found six of the mules dead within a stones throw of camp. There was no wood on this side of the river so we had to get our camp ready and move to the other side before we could attempt to dry our clothing. We were crossing to the Island, first where there were plenty of wood and feed, but ill luck was with us yet. The North Platte River was known as having quicksand in its course, and for that reason was not a good risk in fording. The Mail wagon had crossed to the island alright and we were just getting started nicely where the water was about knee deep to the stock. Six of the mules were caught in the quicksand. After a struggle or two they would give up and would sink deeper without an effort, and we were in the trail the other stock traveled. In spite of all we could do, these six mules drowned in the crossing. It was so cold and stormy, and there was not much we could do, other than get what stock we had left and ourselves on some firm ground somewhere. We soon had a fire going and dried our clothing, and we remained on the island two days.

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