John Jolley, Jr. (1825 - 1913) Profile

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John Jolley, Jr.

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DUP Pioneer History Collection

Isabelle Price Kunkel letter Nellie May, 6 February 1922

"Isabelle Price Kunkel letter Nellie May, 6 February 1922", DUP Pioneer History Collection, February 6, 1922, Page 8-13.

We were camped at old winter quarters for four weeks waiting for teams to arrive from Salt Lake to take us on the rest of our journey, but I think the rest we had at camp helped to give us strength for the remainder of our long tramp. About the first of August we started on our long journey across the plains. Our company consisted of fifty-two wagons and about sixty tents. I forget the exact number of people, but there were not so many wagons as was expected, so we were rather too crowded for comfort. There were fifteen people to each wagon and twelve to each tent, and by the time our trunks, bedding, and provisions were packed, there was no room for any one to ride, except the small children, of course—they had to ride.


Mother [Matilda] felt pretty bad at having to take strangers in with us, but there was a widow with three children, two little boys and a baby girl. Her husband died about a month before we left home. She had a brother in Utah and he had sent for her, so the Captain asked father [Edward] if he would take her in our wagon and we did so. She always slept in the wagon and our family in the tent, but o my! she would not walk a step, she just sat and brooded and fretted from morning 'till night until she lost all ambition for anything. She got so she had no strength or energy to take care of her children. If we had not cooked her meals and fed her babies, I fear they would have gone hungry. Once in a great while she made an effort to cook them a meal, but it seemed like she was glued to the wagon. I don't believe she would ever have attempted to crawl out, but I guess the poor soul was fretting for her husband most of the time. Her poor little baby died just for the want of a little care and exercise. It went when we were about half way here.


Our company was in charge of Horton Haight. He was a fine Captain, had been over the plains a number of times, so knew every mile of the way. He and two or three of his aides had horses. They would start out about half an hour before the wagon train, sometimes an hour before, and all those who could walk, men, women and children, would start at the same time. They did that so that they would be out of the dust of the train and could sit down and rest once in a while. There were not very many men walking ahead, for most of the men were driving the oxen; of course, there were some, but mostly elderly men and boys. In the first part of our journey I walked over two hundred miles, then my feet and limbs began to swell again so I had to ride and take care of baby Eli, but I always cooked our lunch so that mother could rest and be ready for a long afternoon walk. In all she walked over eight hundred miles.


We used to travel about fourteen or fifteen miles a day. It all depended on the best places to camp, where we could get water and feed for the cattle. We sometimes had to go as far as eighteen or nineteen miles before there was a good feeding place with lots of water; when we did it was ten or eleven o'clock at night before we made camp, almost too tired and weary to make down our beds, to say nothing about supper. But that did not happen very often—only five or six times in all the way. We often had very pleasant evenings. As a rule it was cool, and we did our cooking for the next day, and when not busy we had some singing and dancing.


George Careless, the professor, had come with the teams from Salt Lake to meet his mother, who was in our company; he brought his violin with him and did lots to break the monotony. He was always willing to play for those who want to dance. Then sometimes we would have to do a little washing of an evening, bathing, etc.


About once in ten days we used to camp for half a day, that was usually when we came to a river, or where there was plenty of water. We stopped in order to have a general wash and baking day. It was a big fine holiday for the men and boys, in fact for all the youngsters.


Once a group of us girls and boys took a walk to see what we could find. In the distance we saw a small clump of trees and they were something that we had not seen for some time, for we had only feasted our eyes on sage brush, sunflowers and dust. So of course we had to go out and look. Soon we saw something red in one of the trees. On looking to see what it was, we discovered that it was a dead Indian. He was wrapped very roughly in his blanket and tied securely to the branches of the tree. Beside him were his bow and arrows, and a tomahawk and some corn in a bag. Some of the children were scared and ran back, but the older ones investigated. We found a deserted log cabin, probably the home of the dead Indian.


Twice we saw a large herd of buffalo, not very far away either, and three or four times we camped near where there had been an Indian massacre, I suppose of some small company of people. There were stacks of ashes and pieces of wagons, spokes of wheels lying among half-burned and blackened cooking utensils.


The Captain said that the reason the Indians never attacked the Mormons was because we always traveled in large numbers.


The saddest thing that happened on our trip was the death of Sister John Holly. [Jolley] She and her husband and ten children left Scotland and took passage on the William Tapscot and were in our company across the plains. One day when we stopped for lunch she was taken very sick. She perhaps had been bad all day. She had a baby born and her life was the price. It happened to be one of the days when we had to make so many extra miles.


I will never forget those poor children when told that their mother was dead. I don't think the oldest one was more than sixteen years.


The Captain said that he would hold the train for one hour while they buried her. So she was laid away before she was cold. No coffin or box, just rolled in sheets. In less than one hour after giving birth to her babe, she was in the grave. All the camp was sad. I believe the babe died a week or so later. We reached Fort Laramie a few days after. We stayed over one day in order to replenish our stock of provisions, then we commenced our journey through the Rocky Mountains.


It was not near so hot but much more dangerous traveling. Sometimes mountains were so high on one side of the road that we could scarcely see the top and on the other side[.] it was fifty or a hundred feet deep into beautiful canyons. Usually a pure stream of water was running along the bottom to tantalize our parched throats. I used to often wonder how my father could find room to walk beside his oxen to drive them.


One night when we had to travel very late, one of the wagons slipped too near the lower side and went sliding down the precipice almost to the bottom of the mountains. There was a little girl in the wagon at the time named Ruth Jones. She was about fifteen; her leg was broken in two places. The oxen were not killed; the wagon was battered but was fixed up.


We crossed the Platte River five times, sometimes in the wagon but mostly on horseback. Those men who had horses to ride used to take the women and children over one or two at a time and go back and forth until all were over. I remember once or twice the water was so deep that the horses had to swim. And through all this my blessed little mother walked day after day in the hot sun and dusty roads with never a murmur of complaint. She was always at the camping place when the train of wagons arrived. If Lorenzo was with her, he would have wood gathered ready to make a fire for our supper, but one dark night we reached our camping place about ten o'clock and our mother was not there. No one seemed to know what had become of her. We inquired from one end of the camp to the other, finally we found someone who had been walking with her and she said that Mother had become so exhausted that she had sat down on the roadside to rest and wait for our wagons so that she could ride into camp. Those who had horses, together with Captain Haight, rode back to find her. She was almost dead when they brought her back to us. He[r] tongue was so swollen that it would not go into her mouth, she was so thirsty. She never heard the train pass; so I suppose that she had fainted, but she was all right in a few days again. Father would not let her walk so much after that and the swelling had nearly gone from my legs, so we used to take turns in walking.


The next water to cross was Sweetwater River, which was quite deep; we crossed at two different places.


We had met quite a number of Indians since entering the mountains. Whenever we camped for a half day a half dozen or less would come to beg or trade beads or something. After a while we came to Fort Bridger. We camped there a day and had our first meal of vegetables since leaving home, and my, our dinner did taste good!


During the day old Jim Bridger visited our camp. A fine old man he was, too.


Soon we came to Green River, which was our last river to cross.


A few days afterward we neared the end of our long journey. On Sunday morning we entered Emigration Canyon. We were met nine miles up the canyon by my sister Matilda and Brother George Bourne. Matilda was stopping at his house, and he brought her to the head of Emigration in a buggy. They just stayed with us long enough to greet us all. They picked up my mother and took her ahead of us to the city.


It was Sunday, the 19th of October, when we arrived in Salt Lake City, just five months and five days from the day we left home.

Transcript for "Isabelle Price Kunkel letter Nellie May, 6 February 1922," 8-13.

Daughters of Utah Pioneers. DUP Pioneer History Collection.

Joseph Yates autobiographical sketch and genealogy, 1911, 12-14

Joseph Yates autobiographical sketch and genealogy, 1911, 12-14.

on the 14th day of May 1862, I was called together with many others b[y] President BrighamYoung to act as teamster and take a trip back to Florence, Nebraska, to help the poor Saints there across the Plains to the Salt Lake Valley. This was a mission for me and a very necessary mission in those days, and previous to departing for this labor I was rebaptized, as was customary in those days, and although very young received my full endowments in the old Endowment house at Salt Lake City.



At that time, the Indian tribes upon the Sweetwater had been very troublesome, and were out on the war path. They had destroyed the Stage coach stations in many places, and run off and stolen the horses, and given the Stage Line Companies a great deal of trouble.



President Young was doing all he could to protect the stage lines, and had commanded Lot Smith with his Company to guard the Stage from the attacks of Indians, and at that time Captain Lot Smith in obedience to that command had his camp and headquarters at the South Pass.



In going East then to gather out the Saints, we took out supplies to the different Stage Stations, as well as fresh supplies of horses to replace those stolen or run off by the Indians, thus we distributed supplies and horses at Hams Fork Green River and South Pass and other Stage Stations.



Our company which was recruited from Box Elder, Davis and Salt Lake Counties consisted of forty five wagons under the command of Captain Horton D. Haight,



I was quite a young fellow to be a teamster, only a boy of 17 years, but my early struggles had taught me to be self reliant and had equipped me for just such a mission as this. . . .



At length after a long journey, filled however with interest and adventure we reached our destination and arrived at Florence, Nebraska.



Here we found a large number of the poor Saints about 600 of them anxiously awaiting our coming. Our wagon train was the last of the season. Three other trains had preceeded us, so we had to carry all the Saints here assembled and their baggage and belongings in our train. We commenced to load up, and we surely carried big loads.



On an acerage [average] each wagon carried the entire baggage, goods and chattels of eighteen emigrants. Their tents which were usually about 8 by 10 or 12 feet in size were distributed in the ratio of 3 tents to every two wagons. But when it came to my load, I was required to take the baggage of twenty passengers as well as one tent. The goods and chattels of the emigrants were piled up as high as the bows, and the tin ware and miscellaneous articles of the Saints were strung up in every conceivable corner. I have in my time hauled many a wagon load of goods, but never in my experience did I carry such a crowded load.



Of course it was impossible for the passengers to ride, it was all we could do to carry their belongings. Walking was the order of the day in those times, with the possible exception in some cases where disease and sickness rendered it impossible for them to walk.



The return journey across the plains with the Saints was hazardous, full of toil, difficulty and danger, and occasionally I witnessed scenes of suffe[r]ing and distress that would well nigh appal[l] the stoutest heart. Of course we did all we could to alleviate the sufferings of our people but still with all we could do for them they suffered greatly.



It was no uncommon thing for delicate women to give birth to children crossing the desert, and in the absence of proper medical and surgical skill and conveniences it may well be imagined how severe must have been the sufferings of some of our sisters. Dependant as they were upon the kind offices of some neighborly sister for such help a[s] could be given in the emergency. A very touching case came under my own observation as we neared a place called Chimney Rock in our Journey.



A good sister [Susannah Jolley], wife of one Brother Jolley, who now resides in Cache County, gave birth to an infant, in our journey west, she was already the mother of six or seven little ones, who with the husband were coming to Zion together. She was a fine, good looking woman, every inch an heroine, and a true latter day saint. When her infant was about ten days old feeling well and strong, and not wishing to be a burden to others, she used to get out of the wagon after breakfast, at the morning start, and walk on ahead of the train carrying her little infant in her arms, and thus she would walk every morning until about ten o'clock, when waiting for her wagon, she would get in, and lay down to rest upon a little bed there prepared for her. One morning as usual she took her accustomed walk carrying her little one in her arms, and about ten o'clock she got into the wagon and handing her infant to one of her little girls, she lay down to rest upon the bed. She lay upon the bed without movement or a sound proceeding from her, until her little girl became alarmed and called the attention of the teamster to this sister. He stopped and gave an earnest look at the still form of the woman, and to his astonishment and the deep sorrow of the husband and little family, the mothers pulse was still, the heart of the brave woman had stopped its beating and without a sigh or a moan she had taken the last sad journey to the great beyond.



It was a pitiable case, and our hearts bled for the bereaved husband father, and little ones. The dear little infant was left but it was mercifully taken, for about a week after it followed its mother to the home of peace and rest where no doubt mother and babe were again united.



At noon that same day, we dug a grave, placed in it the body of our sister, gently covered it up, and left her to sleep in peace by the wayside.



Her disconsolate husband and little children turned sadly away from the last resting place of a beloved mother, and the train of wagons proceeded on its way. We became acquainted with the hand of death, it frequently visited our camp. Too frequently we were called upon to perform the last sad office for those thus snatched away. In all we buried about fifteen Saints by the wayside trail, who died upon the journey.



In the Black Hills I remember we buried two Saints side by side, in one grave, during the noon halt. We usually dug the graves from three to four feet deep, depending of course upon the nature of the soil.



Many are the lonely graves b[y] the wayside, the march of Israels camp through the wilderness and praireie is marked by the resting places, of those who drooped upon the way, and mercifully found the rest and peace, denied them here. But we could not linger by the graves of the dead, we had to perform our duties also the the living. The business and care of the Camp occupied all our time and attention. As we journeyed along.



The roving bands of Indians, frequently crossed our trail in all their picturesque and interesting costume, together with their bands of various colored ponies, and the squaws bringing up the rear with the lodge poles, tents and camp equipage. The prairies swarmed with game, and especially buffalo, and frequently not only the Indian hunters but our own hunters would chase the buffalo, and as a result of their prowess, the camp would be enriched by buffalo meat. It was a great help then to emigrants crossing the plains, were these great herds of buffalo, they helped to replenish our scanty food supplies, and gave to us occasionally a rare taste of meat. But we journeyed on, crossing fords ferrying across the larger rivers, over hills, through mountain defiles, on, on, o'er hill and plain, in storm and shine, to our destination.



In crossing the sand hills in the Platte Valley, I witnessed much distress and suffering amongst the Saints. As I stated before, all the able bodied, me, women, and children of necessity had to walk. Walking thus many weary miles every day, without much rest, under the blazing hot sun, and through the blistering sand caused the feet of these pilgrims to chafe, and bleed and blister. To add to their suffering most of the Saints wore heavy shoes, with very s[t]out soules, filled with large hob nails. . .



In due time we reached Fort Bridger and here we found United States troops, and here also we were required to sign papers and take the oath of allegiance to the Union. For be it remembered the Civil War was now raging . . .



Passing Fort Bridger, our way lay through the mountains and the Canyon defiles echoed to the sounds of our wagon train, as we rumbled down the trail. But all things have an end at last, and on the 22nd day of October in the year 1862, our journey ended and we pulled our wagons with their loads of Saints and goods upon the public square of Salt Lake City.

John Jolley, Jr.

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