Transcript for Erastus S. Carpenter life sketch, undated
SKETCH OF THE LIFE OF ERASTUS SNOW CARPENTER Thatcher, Arizona, May 4, 1909 UTAH PIONEER -1857 (Older Brother of James Delaplane CARPENTER)
Thinking a life sketch might be interesting in later years to my posterity, I will here pen from memory what I can.
I, Erastus Snow Carpenter was born March 31, 1845 in Centerville, Newcastle County, Delaware, U.S.A. My father, John Steel Carpenter was born August 6, 1822, in Pennsylvania, died September 30, 1852, but little more than thirty years of age, leaving my mother with but little means, as he bad been sick for some time before his death.
Mother's name was Margarett McCullough. After father's death she went with her small family of four to live with her parents. My father and mother belonging to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, mother had a desire to gather to Utah, then the gathering place of the Saints. Through the kindness of an Uncle Joseph Crossgrove, husband of father's sister, Rachel, she was permitted to gratify her wish.
Nothing particular or out of common transpired up to the time we prepared to go to Utah. In the spring, I think it was in April, 1857, we took steamer at Wilmington, Delaware for Philadelphia. From there we took the train to Iowa City. Near there our outfit was gotten together to cross the great plains, some 1300 miles to Utah. Uncle Joseph had three wagons, with two yoke of oxen to each. One of them was for the accommodation of mother and her family. Ours was an independent train, that is, the individuals composing it owned their own wagons and teams. A returning missionary, Jacob Huffines, was selected as our Captain, as he bad been over the route and knew more about the country than any of our company did. At the same time, there were two or three handcart companies being got up at the same place. We traveled together for some time, one ahead and then the other. Everything went fairly well until we got pretty well up onto the Platte River. We had lost an ox now and then, but nothing serious. After we got some distance up the Platte, our oxen became uneasy and would stampede frequently. Thinking to make them more secure, the wagons were made into a corral, as was the custom of all trains, crossing the plains. The cattle were then driven inside. During the night they made a rush to get away and tipped over one wagon, hurting one or two persons who were sleeping under the wagon. Shortly after this, we had another stampede, when some 70 of the oxen got away. Some of the men followed them for three or four days, but couldn't overtake them. They found three head on the trail , but they were so nearly given out, that they didn't amount to much. This was a great loss to the company, and although their loads were somewhat lighter than when they started, they had to hitch up every thing they had in the company. There were several cows that were put into the yoke and made to do service. One young man in the company had a white cow in his team, who used to say the cow was the best ox he had. Soon after this, the teams stampeded toward the river, which was half or three-quarters of a mile away. Before reaching there they all stopped suddenly of their own accord, and stood perfectly quiet. There were three or four of the wagons jammed in side by side so close that they couldnt pull them apart with the teams. Men had to lift them apart in order to move them. Not a thing was broken. During the stampede there were some who jumped from the wagons. Mother [Margaret Carpenter] was one of those who jumped out, spraining her ankle very baldly, not being able to walk the rest of the trip. There were also two young women by then name of Mousley hurt in the stampede. One was hurt in the back [Ann Amanda Mousley], the other, an ox stepped in her eye [Wilhemina Logan Mousley], disfiguring her for life. This was the year that Johnsom Army was on the way to Utah to chastise the Mormons. Their freight trains and our train sometime camped close together. Before we reached the valley, we met some of the Mormon boys coming out to meet Colonel Johnson and his army.
Traveling down through Echo Canyon, over the Big Mountain as it was called, then over the Little Mountain and down Emigration Canyon to Salt Lake, over practically the same route as the Pioneers came In 1847, we arrived in Salt lake City. If I remember right, in the fore part of September (1857). My uncle, not finding everything to his liking In Salt Lake Valley, moved on to California the following spring. Soon after arriving in the Valley, Mother, myself and sister Lizzie [Elizabeth Carpenter] were re-baptized by Brother Samuel Bringhurst that being the custom at that time, to baptize all new arrivals. In the spring of 1858, the great move to the south took place. All living in Salt Lake, and north of there, moved south in a body. It was the intention of President Brigham Young to leave the country as desolate as he had found it ten years before, providing the Army should undertake to take possession of the property that had been abandoned.
Through the kindness of some friends, mother was enabled to move to Lehi, some thirty miles south from the city. Everything in the food and clothing line was very high priced, flour being $6.00 per hundred pounds and other things In proportion. I have seen a man lay a silver dollar on a small plug of tobacco and cut just the width of the dollar from the end. The man that owned the tobacco took the dollar, and the other man the little piece of tobacco and went his way. Carrot preserves were a luxury made with beet molasses those days. We stayed In Lehi until peace was established sometime in the summer.
About this time I went to work for George W. Mousley, for my room, board and clothes. I stayed there until the spring of 1859, when I went to work for Moses Thurston and his father-in-law, Lyman Leonard. They all lived in one house and had no small children and I had to work pretty hard, but I had a good home there, so I stayed two years.
Becoming restless and not having any money of my own to handle, as I was working for my board and clothes, and three months schooling In the winters, and thinking I could do better somewhere else and the old people I thought were unreasonable in the amount of work they wanted me to do, we had some words, and I left. When Mr. Thurston came home, he wanted me to return and I told him I would If I could be under his controls, but I would not go back and be subject to Mr. Leonard. He couldn't do that, as they were all living under the same roof, so I didn’t go back. They wouldn't let me have any of my clothes except some old everyday ones. This was the spring of 1861. In the late summer of this year, I worked for George Nebeker, and stayed with him about a year. While there, I did work on the large Tabernacle in Salt Lake City, also worked on the first theatre building in that city. The theatre was dedicated on the 6th of March 1862 and on the 8th of the same month the first play was put on, entitled "The Pride of the Market" and "State Secrets." Brother Nebeker received a complimentary ticket and I was allowed to go with his family, thus getting to see the first play in the new house. I remember seeing the expedition under Col. Burton as they went and returned with Joseph Morris and his followers from Weber River. He was a religious fanatic, making great claims as a prophet and soon had several appropriations of property that did not belong to them. For this and other reasons, they were brought to Salt Lake City, Morris himself having been killed In the battle following the order to surrender. That was in June 1862.
During the years between 1862-68, 1 worked at different occupations, such as freighting, farming and herding cattle. During this time I made two trips into Nevada, including two into Montana, with ox-teams, farmed one summer at old Camp Floyd, in Cedar Valley. In the winter of 1867-68, I received my endowments and was ordained an Elder as there were no temples at that time. Before that time I had done considerable work on the Salt Lake Temple as teamster for the ward in which I lived. In the spring of 1868 my Bishop called upon me to go as teamster to Laramie River to fetch in the Saints, or a portion of them who were emigrating to Utah. If I remember right we started sometime in May, in Joseph S. Rollin’s company of about fifty wagons, with four mules or horses on each wagon. I drove going down and night horded coming back. We had a good time going down and while waiting for the emigrants. Coming back all went well until we came to Whiskey Gap, about ten miles from Devil's Gate on the Sweetwater Creek. The night before we came through the Gap, Reuben Miller and myself were on herd duty, when I heard someone riding along the side-hill above us. Looking about, I saw a man on the hill and I called out to Miller, that there was someone above us. I got an my horse and rode up the hills, but the horse and rider, whoever it was, had gotten into a ravine and were out of sight.
The next day at, noon Chester Loveland's train camped for noon where we had camped the night before. During their noon hour two Indians rode into their herd of cattle and stampeded a number of them, running them through the gap where some of our herders had been sleeping only a short time before. However, the boys of the Loveland's party succeeded in getting their animals back and the ponies of the Indians, the boys having killed them. They sent runners ahead to our camp asking that we wait until they came up with us, that we might travel together, and thus be more safe. We were then camped on Sandy Creeks, above the Devil's Gate. We had nothing of importance occur until we crossed the Green River. A young man [James Powell] was drowned in the crossing and his body was not recovered. We arrived in Salt Lake City about the middle of August.
After returning home, I went back east as far as Bridger, and worked on the Union Pacific Railroad (then building westward) for about a month. During this time my step-father had received a call to fill a mission to the Muddy Creek in the southern part of Nevada. He wrote and asked me if I would like to accompany him, if I felt so disposed. It made but little difference where I went as I had no family to look after, so I went home and prepared for the trip south. Amongst us (my step-father, his brother, and myself) we fitted up three wagons, six mules, one horse, two yokes of oxen and one cow. We landed on the Muddy Creek on Christmas day 1868 at what is known as the old California crossing, near where the railroad crosses now. Next morning Brother Joseph C. Young (then president of the mission) came out to our camp and told us we had better go down the creek about seven miles to the town of St. Joseph. Accordingly we drove there and pitched camp and went to work, as if we meant to stay there. The land on the creek bottom was very fertile and produced almost anything and everything that would grow in the warm, or I might say, a hot climate, for it was much hotter than here in the Gila Valley. The land was very hard to break up, taking from six to twelve horses or mules to turn it over. It was wire-grass sod and red willows. For a sample of how the land would yield, I will state that we broke up one acre of this tough sod and sowed it to barley. We harvested from it 44 bushels of grain. That was in the last of May or the first of June. We then plowed it up and planted one half of It to sugar cane and the other half to corn. In the fall, after paying for making the molasses from this cane, we had 194 gallons of good molasses left, The corn was not so good - just as the ears were setting on, a big wind storm came up and broke nearly every stock off that would have had corn on. We got several loads of fodder from the suckers, that came up after the corn was blown down. It was a hard place to live in at the time, very hard to got into or out of, surrounded by steep sand hills and so far from other settlements. I don't recollect the distance between the Muddy and St. George, but it was near 100 miles and very bad roads all of the way.
I will tell of an incident that happened between the settlers and the Indians about a year after we went there. The creek is very narrow on top and wider at the bottom, the banks extending out like a shelf on both sides, and the water running nearly to the top of the banks, making it almost impossible for an animal to get out of the creek if they once got in. This was the case more particularly in the upper valley at the place called lost Point. The Indians used to come and tell that a cow was in the creek. The people would of course, go to get their cow out of the creeks, but would almost Invariably find that the cow was dead. The Indians would then ask for the carcass and would then have a great feast. They suspicioned the Indians of running their cattle into the creeks thereby getting a good beefsteak, so they set a spy to watch and caught them in the act. They concluded to learn them a lesson, so they sent for the interpreter Brother Andrew S. Gibbons. On the way up the Valley, we gathered about 25 or 30 young men, myself among them, to go see what could be done. We arrived there in the night. Early next morning the Indians saw there was something up, and came around rather shy. Gibbon sent a runner to the warrior camps and by ten o'clock had about 150 of them around us, armed with everything they could gets: guns, pistols, bows and arrows, clubs, knives and anything they thought would hurt. We were all well armed with the latest improved guns and one or two good pistols each. With the settlers and us boys there were about 40 of us, mostly quite young. Gibbons told them we had come to get pay for the cow they had killed and were going to have it. Which didn’t scare them very much. The chief, Thomas by name, said we were (Imite), meaning we were afraid to fight, being too young. He had two of his boys brought up by a big burley follow and said they would whip any two of our boys any way they wanted to fight. Young William Gibbon, then a mere boy, now living in St. Johns, Apache County, Arizona, stepped up to the three fellows, but instead of taking hold of one of the boys, he grabbed the big follow by the top of the head and yanked him around for awhile, not very gently either. By the way, this was the man who had done the mischief of killing the cow. They wanted his rifle for pay, which he didn’t feel inclined to give up. One of our party stepped out to take the gun, when the whole band of Indians drew their guns down on, us and we each drew a bead on an Indian. Gibbon talked hard to keep from having any blood shed, and we stood that way for several seconds. It seemed a long time to me. The farthest ones away were not more than 100 yards, surrounding us In a half circle. If there had been one gun go off by accident, there would have been a hundred more go off the next second, and many killed and wounded. Gibbon got then quieted and the gun was taken. We then went home; Indians disbursed immediately. This was In the fall 1870. The following spring the Muddy Mission was broken up. President Brigham Young having been there during the winter, and was not very favorably impressed with the country. That with other circumstances, caused the President to abandon the place. He gave the people the privilege of going back to their homes in the North if they wanted to, those who hadn’t sold out all they had. At the same time if there were any who wanted to stay, they had the privilege. Nearly all the people left. I think there was one man by the name of Banella who stayed there. The place is now settled and they have some fine farms there. Some six or seven years before this, the people were driven out of a little valley called Berryville or Barry-Valley, afterwards long Valley. It is in the eastern part of Kane County on the head waters of the Red Virgin River. We were counseled to move into this valley if we could make settlement or satisfactory arrangements with the former settlers, which, after a time was done. Some of the former settlers moved back when we went, the most prominent of which were Brothers John and Silas Harris and families, who moved back to Glendale. At Mt. Carmel, lower down the valley, there were two or three of the Jolleys and their families and some others. As soon as we could get ourselves located in the old houses that the former settlers had left, we turned our attention to farming, putting in the crops, making ditches, etc. Our first crops were mostly eaten up by grasshoppers. Thinking there wouldn't be enough for winter substance, I took my team and started north to earn bread for the family. I had worked until late in the season, and had started home with flour, bacon and other provisions. This was the year 1871. While on my way home, I met my brother John at Beaver. He said the family were not in need of more supplies and that I could work awhile longer, so I stored my load in Beaver and started for the north again. There was a young man with us by the name of Charles Brown. We got as far as Kanosh on Corn Creek, where we camped for a day or two with some friends. While there our animals were stolen, but one belonging to Brown was left. We hunted about four weeks for them, then offered a reward for the return of the horses. Two young follows said they would get them. In the meantime those boys had been talking to some of their friends, and it got out that they knew something about the horses. We paid them $5.00 to start out with. When they came back they wanted the rest of their money. We told them to wait awhile to see if there wouldn't be something coming to us. They were very noisy for some time and threatened to have us arrested if we didn't dig up the money pretty lively. That is just what we wanted. We didnt have enough proof to have them arrested, but if they had started It, we would have done what we could for them. We waited about a half day for them to serve their warrants. They didn’t come and we pulled out, but kept a good lockout for awhile, for a night or two, with a loaded shotgun close at hand.
We went back to Salt Lake City and got a job hauling ore from little Cottonwood Canyon, where we worked for sometime. I started home quite late in the season. While traveling back and forth, I made acquaintance of a young lady by the name of Emma Millard, at Nephi, Juab County. On my way home, I of course stopped in to see her. While making this visit we agreed to get married, so we returned to Salt lake City and were married in the old Endowment House, November 6, 1871, President Daniel H. Wells officiating. We arrived home sometime in the fore part of December, having to go by way of Toquerville, Short Creek, and Pipe Springs to get to Long Valley, on account of so much snow in the mountains.
Nothing of interest happened for sometime, other than every day labor, farming, stock raising, building, etc. In 1876 with many others assisted In the ******** of the St. George Temple by hauling supplies and provisions, lumber and other materials to St. George.
In 1877 the Temple site at Manti, Sanpete County, Utah, was dedicated. During that fall, I labored there for sometime on the foundation grounds. On April 6, 1876, a number of missionaries were called to settle on the Little Colorado River. While crossing the divide between Panguitch and Orderville they were caught in a severe snow storm. A young man from Orderville, my brother John and myself, camped on the divide with teams and helped them over and started them down on the south side. The snow on the ridge was between three and four feet deep. There were several without anything to eat for six or seven days except a little grain. The people emptied their shuck and straw beds to keep their horses alive. In March, I with my brother and half brother, Boyd Stewart, did what work we could at the time for our dead relatives in the St. George Temple. While there at that time, I married Miss Julia Ann Van Orden, April 16, 1877, a young lady for whom I had a great affection for ever since the time I first met her on the Muddy Mission. Apostle Erastus Snow performed the ceremony. Her parents lived in Washington, Washington County, Utah. While living in Glendale I held the offices of Sunday School Superintendent, Ward Teacher, School Trustee, one of the committee of the Central Board Electors, and 2nd Vice President to James Leithead, President of the United Order, when It was started in Glendale. It only lasted one summer then each went to farming our little patch of ground as before. So we worked along having our ups and downs. Sometime smooth and sometime rough, neither gaining or losing much temporally. I believe we as a people did gain a little spiritually, so as time went on my family grew. Thinking to better my condition financially, I with Brother Samuel Claridge and Hyrum Brinkerhoff concluded to try the sunny South, so we moved to the Gila Valley, then almost a wilderness. I sold my interest in our farm (my brother's and mine) and with the means I received, I fitted up two pretty good teams and wagons, with a supply of provisions. We had three good milk cows, and a little money. On Oct. 17, 1883 we said goodbye to relatives and friends and started. After a fairly good trip across the country, we landed in Pima, a newly made Mormon settlement, on November 29th of the same year. We camped by the side of my brother James' (James Delaplane CARPENTER) house, he having come to the valley a year or two previous to this time. After looking around the valley for a few days we bought and located in Thatcher, paying $1,350.00 for our farm. We, Brothers Claridge, Brinkerhoff and myself landed on our new purchases one day before Christmas, 1883. On our farm was considerable grain, several stands of bees and a number of hogs, besides some old nearly worn out farm tools.
We proceeded to make ourselves comfortable with our wagons and tents and a small log cabin that was on the place. We killed a hog that evening and had a genuine Christmas dinner next day. Then came the labor of putting in the crops. There were four families in Thatcher, we making seven. Now, twenty-six years after, there are in Thatcher one hundred and fifteen families besides five good sized mercantile establishments, one millinery shop, one barber shop, two confectionaries, a bank in the course of construction, two blacksmith shops and a good sized hotel. Besides these there is a $26,000 church built in 1902-4 and we also have an up to date Academy costing $40,000 and some very nice dwelling houses. The first year of our labors we were blessed with prosperity, but the next year was not so pleasant, on account of the persecution of the saints by anti- polygamists. I was advised to go into Mexico and keep away from the officers for awhile. In the fore part of February I started, leaving my family, farm and all to the care of the Lord and brother James. We landed in Corolites, rented some lands as some of the brethren had done before we (Brinkerhoff and I) had got there. Suffice it to say we raised a very good crop of wheat. While- harvesting it in June, I was taken III and laid there for about three weeks before I was able to move. There was an old gentleman by the name of Peterson, who lived on Salt River, who was going home, he said if I could ride he would come by my home and take me there. So I left my team and wagon and all I had, and told him I would try the ride. It was a hard ride, although he had a good team and a light buggy. We arrived at Thatcher about July 20th. He stayed with us about three days and then he started for his home in Maricopa.
Previous to this time, I had been ordained a High Priest, Nov. 4th, 1884, by Joseph H. Martineau, and set apart as first counselor to Bishop Samuel Claridge; which place I occupied until the spring of 1891. Nothing out of common transpired other than regular routine of providing for the wants of life for my family, as best I could, also attending to my church duties. In the spring of 1891, when the U.S. officers got busy again, I once more headed for old Mexico. I went as far as Deming, New Mexico where I got a job with a surveying party at $2.50 per day and board. I did not take any team with me at this time. After working for some time, until the surveying was finished, I then went into Old Mexico to work on the railroad, that was being constructed under the supervision of John W. Young. I had worked there but a short time when I received a letter saying the my wife Julia was on her way to join we and wished me to meet her. I secured a horse from one of the brethren and started. I met them a few miles the other side of Deming and of all the sorry - looking outfits, theirs was the worst I had yet seen. I was afraid to have them start the team for fear the tire would drop off. To make it still worse, she had a sick mare that they were leading behind the wagons and were driving a pony someone had loaned her to help her along. I cannot describe my feelings that morning to think that anyone would allow her to start on such a long journey without an outfit. But we started out by walking along with a rock In both hands (to pound the tire back on with) we got the old rattletrap into town (Deming). The next three or four days were spent in getting material and tools and fixing up the old wagon. While the team rested up we got our Custom House papers and started for the railroad again, feeling safer to ride in the wagon than before we arrived In Deming. Deming was the American Custom House in Mexico. Then I had to go to the Asencion Custom House in Mexico. They treated me pretty fair until it came to the subject where I should locate. I had got a statement from Tenney and Farnsworth, that I wanted to work on their railroad contract for them, but when I came to look for it, it was gone. The old Chief wouldn't be satisfied until I went back and got a written statement from Tenney, the head construction boss, written in Spanish. This caused another trip of a hundred miles or more, before I could get settled down to work. I worked there until the last of October, barely making enough to live on and feed the team. We started for home and arrived there the evening of November 12th. Before daylight a little baby girt came to visit us. We called her Emma and kept her. That fall and winter I worked for J. G. Allred in his sawmill hauling lumber and getting down logs. The first of the next April 1892, we (my wife, Emma, George and Pass and myself) started for Utah. We had a hard trip, cold and stormy especially the first part of the trip. We were thirteen days getting to Camp Aoache: when we got to the Black River. it was so high we couldn’t ford it, and the boat was gone. There was in the company Joseph D. Smith and family with two wagons, John Wasden with one wagon and my wagon. There was about twelve horses. We camped there three days waiting for the river to go down, and were about to give it up and start back to the Gila Valley, when a Mr. Johnson, a freighter from Camp Apache, who happened to be on this side, came into camp. He said be knew where the boat was and where the ropes were and that he would help us get them and put the boat into the river. But the cable was gone - broken loose from this side and had floated around to the opposite share - so what could we do? Johnson said he could fix that - he would get It. So we took six of our best animals and went down the river about a half or three-quarters of a mile and found the boat tied to a tree. The front end on the bank and the other end in the river and about two thirds under water. It looked rather dubious, but we went to work and cut two good sized poles or house logs, worked them down in the mud and sand under the boat and fastened them secure and hitched our team on. By prying , we got the boat loose, but the bottom was rotted out. We took the top beds off of our wagons and some of the end gates and patched it up, and we were ready for business, except the cable.
Next morning, Mr. Johnson prepared for the fight. You must know it was no easy matter. The water was right from the snow, almost like ice itself, and running like a torrent. Joseph D. Smith had a coil of small rope about like a clothesline, which he had bought before he left home. Mr. Johnson stripped to his undershirt and drawers, took the end of the rope in his mouth and from the bument of the old bridge that had washed out, plunged into that whirling seething stream. Then came the battle. I stood on the butment and ran out over two hundred yards of rope, before he struck the opposite shore, where he could get hold of the bushes to help himself out. It looked like he couldn’t make it, but be did. He said that he was about to let go of the rope and get out the best he could if he had to stay in much longer. There isn’t one man in a hundred that would do what Mr. Johnson did for us, and him a stranger too. I have never heard of him since that trip.
He found the cable all right and tied the small rope to it, and we pulled It across until we could, by wading, get the end and tie a stronger rope to it, which we ran through a pulley and hitched a team to it and drew the cable out of the water. After we got it fastened secure, Mr. Johnson came across the rope, hanging by one leg and by his hands, and pulling himself along by his hands. That night we had our outfit on the opposite shore of the river. We had to swim our horses across by tying ropes to their halters and pulling them in order to keep then up far enough to make the landing on the other side. One of Smith's horses was drowned in crossing. He would not try to swim at all, so we had to drag him across by main force. When we got him to shore, he was so weak he couldn't get out, and he died right in the water.
When we got to Camp Apache we were about out of provisions. We had laid in enough to last us to Holbrook, so we thought, but we ran out. The quarter-master at the post would not let us have anything to help us along. Again our good friend Mr. Johnson came to our assistance. He said "Come with me, I will see that you get what you want." He went into the store and spoke to the clerk, who than handed us out all we wanted of anything. I offered him money, but he said he didn't want any pay for what he had done. I told him he had already done more than we could ever hope to pay for and insisted that he should take the money, which he at last did. I thanked him, shook hands with him and we parted. I would like to see him and thank him again. I hope the Lord will reward him if I never have the opportunity to do so.
We continued on our journey and got along very well except that our animals suffered considerably on account of there being no grass for them to eat along the way. We encountered some quicksand on our journey in crossing the Little Colorado River, but got across pretty well. Brother Smith broke the tongue of his light wagon. We arrived at Lee's Ferry April 27th, the river being too high to cross at the lower ferry, we had to go over what is called the Hog's Back, to get to the upper crossing, a very rough and dangerous road. By the blessing of the Lord, we arrived safe at the river.
Next morning we were ferried across by Brother David Brinkerhoff. We stopped and rested awhile with Brother Warren Johnson's family who lived there and looked after the ferry. By this time our provisions were getting low again so we got some meat, and dried fruit and other such eatables as they could spare us. We could get no grain, which our team were very much in need of. Going on we met Bro. Johnson (who had been to the settlements) on the Buckskin Mountains. He let us have all the grain he could spare - about thirty pounds - for which I paid in cash. It had stormed hard the night we got off the mountain. From there we had considerable mud. We were within about four miles of Long Valley and my team was so tired and given out, that I left the family and wagon and took the team into Glendale, where they could get something to eat. The next day my brother John came out with a fresh team and brought the family and wagon in. This was May 5 or 6th, 1892. I got work there and visited with relatives. I went to Salt Creek or Nephi and spent some time with Father and Mother Millard. Mother Millard, a short time before this had a paralytic stroke, depriving her of the power of speech and otherwise disabling her. After staying there a month or more, I took the old people to Granger and left them with their daughter, Carry Ruston, and Husband Edward. It was arranged for the old folks to stay there.
After visiting a short time I returned to Long Valley, where we spent the winter and the next summer until October, when in company with Bro. James Hendricks and William Asey, and their families, we started for the Gila country again. We made very good time, arriving about one year and seven months from the when we started. On arriving home, I found that there had been a change made in the Bishopric, I having been away from home so much that Bro. Hans N. Charlson was sustained in my place as councilor to Bishop Claridge. I then acted as ward clerk for several years - until the reorganization of the St. Joseph Stake, at a special Priesthood meeting, the conference held In Thateher, Jan. 29th and 30th 1898. Pres. Christopher Layton was released from the Presidency of the stake and Bro. Andrew Kimball sustained as President. At this time I was set apart, to act as High Councilor and have continued to act up to this time, (1910) to the best of my ability. I notice that there Is one incident that I have failed to note, the death or my wife Emma, which occurred Sept. 9th 1896. She was little more than 45 years of age at the time of her death. There were a few lines composed at the time of her death that I would like to enter here:
"A precious one from us has gone,
A voice we loved is still.
A place is vacant in our home,
which never can be filled.
God in His wisdom has recalled
the boon His love had given,
and though the body moulders here,
the soul is safe in Heaven."
There have been many changes of scenes since my life began. Some seemed hard, at the time of passing, but as I look back over the past, I cannot but say that God is good. I have tried to live, so that my life would be worth imitating, at least in part. Wherein, my children, I have failed I hope you may profit by my failure; I have not been a financier whereby I have made money to lay away. It has taken it all to keep us living, and to do our duty to our Father in Heaven, and our Country. I consider it a duty for every man to help build up the country and town in which he lives with the means the Lord has blessed him with, be it much or little. I would now say to my children: live the lives of Latter-day Saints, pay your tithes and offerings, one tenth of all the Lord gives unto you.
There is a promise attached to that principle which is worth living for. Keep the Word of Wisdom and receive the benefit from that also. If there is anything that comes up in the church that you do not understand, do no condemn it until you get a proper understanding of the subject. Do not speak against the Authorities of the Church. If there are any who are not in the line of their duty, the Lord will remove them in His own due time. He will not permit any man, or set of men to lead the Church astray. If you are at a loss to know which way to go, look to the leaders of the Church and follow the majority and you will never go far wrong. I ask the Lord in humility to give you wisdom, knowledge and understanding of His ways, that you may be guided into all truth.
Another change has come into my life. At a conference of this date, I was released from the High Council, after laboring in that body for sixteen years, enjoying my labors most of the time, as we labored in unison. Since my release, I have been laboring as teacher in the Thatcher Ward up to the present - Sept. 7, 1914. He died Jan. 16, 1918, and was buried in the Thatcher Cemetery, where his body awaits the time when the immortal soul shall call it forth again, on the Resurrection Morn.