Transcript

In writing a history of my mother, HANNAH HARRISON SNOW I shall start by quoting a part of a brief history she has written to her children:

 

January 18, 1906

 

My dear Children:

Believing it to be the duty of everybody to leave a record of their lives behind them, and also believing that a brief outline of my life may be of interest to you in future years, I will begin to write the same.

I, Hannah Selena Harrison Snow, was born in Alton, Illinois, March 22, 1858. My father, William Harrison, was born March 28, 1828, the son of George and Louisa Harrison Harrison. His parents were first cousins. He and his parents were all born at London, Middlesex, England. She was the daughter of Richard Adams and Elizabeth Payne Adams, all of London, Middlesex, England.

My parents immigrated to America in the year 1856 on the ship “Caravan,” landing on March 27, after a six weeks voyage. They were married on the ship March 24, three days before landing, by Elder Daniel Tyler. Elder Tyler was returning from a mission at this time, and was president of the ship’s cargo, which consisted of Latter-day Saints. My parents had received the Gospel several years before emigrating. Both parents were baptised September 28, 1851, at London, England. I am my mother’s second child and first daughter. Her first child, whose name was Joseph, died when only 20 days of age. I was born 14 months later, my father’s seventh child. He was a widower at the time my parents were married.

They settled for a time in Alton, Illinois, then went to Missouri for a few years. While there, Father became president of the St. Joseph branch of the Church.

Early in the month of June 1862, with my father’s family, consisting of parents and five children, we started across the plains, leaving from Omaha, Nebraska, with the independent ox-team company. (By this I mean that every man owned his team and outfit.) Our captain’s name was James Wareham.

One day when we had traveled a long, hot, and dusty way, and our camping ground was still a long way off, our little keg of water which we carried in our wagon was exhausted, and our baby, then less than 18 months of age, cried for water. Our captain rode up to our wagon on horseback handed his canteen of water to us children and told us all to drink. (God bless him.) We were all very hot and thirsty. As the wagon bumped along and we tried to drink, I remember the water gurgled and gurgled and ran down our chins and made us all laugh.

After 13 long weeks on the plains we reached Salt Lake City, September 30, and camped for the night on what was then known as Immigration Square. This was then the camping ground of all immigrant trains.