Transcript

When I was four years of age, my father's family joined the church of the Latter-Day-Saints. We lived three miles from where the meetings were held, and young as I was I walked most of the distance every Sunday, with the rest to meeting. When I was eight years old I was baptized. In February, 1856, my father died. A short time before his death, not feeling very well, he went and laid down just before we were ready to start for meeting. He called my brother James to him and told him he was not able to walk to meeting. They told him someone would stay with him, but he would not hear of it. He said he would be alright and urged them to go, and to always be faithful in the performance of their duties in the church. He said he had received a revelation that he could see his own failings and knew that the Gospel was true, and would tell then all about it when he felt better; but this he never did, for when we returned from meeting he was much worse and could talk but very little. He grew steadily worse and in February 1.856, he died. Two months afterwards my two brothers, James and Collin left England and came to New York state, leaving belling [behind] my mother [Mary Fry Potterill], my sister [Louisa] and myself. Two years later, in the Spring of 1858, they sent the money to bring us to them, and we left England and started on our Journey across the sea. We were on the water five weeks and three days, and had a pleasant voyage. On May 24 we landed in New York and on that same day we again met my two brothers, from whom we had been separated for two years. They were living at a village called Piermont, 25 miles from New York City, and just 3 miles from the place where Major Andrew of the Revolutionary War was executed. It was on what was called the North River, but it is the same that farther up is called the Hudson. Here we remained one year and in the Spring of 1859, my brother, James, my mother, my sister and myself, leaving Collin behind, again started on our journey towards the west. We reached Florence, Nebraska, the old Winter Quarters of the pioneers, tired out with our journey, and with little to live on. We stayed there until the latter part of the Summer, then started across the planes, in the train of Captain [Ebenezer Russell] Young. I am unable to remember his given name, with ox teams. Captain Young rode in a buggy drawn by a span of mules. The rest of the train was all drawn by oxen. When we had been on the road about a month, one night one of the teamsters (a non-Mormon) stole Captain Young's span of mules, loaded them with provisions and we never saw him again and the Captain was under the necessity of choosing a small pair of oxen and riding behind them the rest of the journey. All the next day Captain Young watched for Indians, saying if he could see some we would hire them to recover his mules for he knew he could depend on them doing it, but as we saw no Indians that day nor for several days afterwards, the thief made good his escape to parts unknown. About this time my brother James and myself took sick with fever and ague. We both grew rapidly worse and my mother and sister were obliged to drive team in my brother's place. We both became so ill that there was none of the company that thought we would ever reach the valley alive, but God seemed to have ordained it, otherwise. I came near losing my eye sight, but for some purpose my life was spared. Thirteen miles this side of Fort Bridger two Mormon men overtook us. They had been to the Fort with freight for the soldiers. Learning of the condition of our family, and their wagon being empty, except for their beds and some provisions, they offered to take us into Ogden City. My mother was only too glad to accept, and the Captain was glad to be rid of us. Vie [We] reached Ogden safely, in the month of November, where we were kindly cared for by the people there. Four days after our arrival, my brother James died. I commenced to get better and continued to do so until I regained my health.