we hoisted it to our shoulders and headed for the new camp. One of us went ahead to tramp the trail. It took us two days to cover the three miles. We left our stove along the trail the first night and went back to our old camp to rest and eat a cold meal, then continued on the next day. The next heavy article was our grindstone, for we had to grind our axes every evening to be ready for the next day's work. Sometimes we would be up Morgan Pioneer History Binds Us Together until midnight grinding our axes by candlelight. I was twenty-three years of age at this time. (This is the end of the record written by Frederick (Fred) Wliite. It was written and given to a granddaughter, Nellie Spencer on July 1935. Within one week he had passed away.) Frederick White married Sarah Ellen Porter on July 3, 1879, in the Salt Lake Endowment House. They had nine children. ©9 A Tragic Experience in the Lives of William White and Bessie White The story I am attempting to relate is more than an incident; I would call it a tragic experience in the lives of my parents. They had immigrated to America in the early 1860's, and temporarily located in Salt Lake City. My father was an engineer in England, but when they came to Utah in its early days, he soon discovered there was very little to be done in his line of work. At the time of my story, he was operating a saw mill located far up in the mountains of Hardscrabble Canyon near the summit. My father with his family had lived there through the pleasant autumn months and through most of the deep winter. The snow was piled high in the mountains, and now it was early spring and the snow was beginning to melt. This particular warm early afternoon, my oldest brother, Fred (then about nineteen years of age) shouldered his ax and started up the canyon road. He had previously noticed, about half way up the side of the mountains between high ridges, a large dry tree. He was going to cut it down for fire wood, which was then needed. He had nearly reached the tree when he heard a terrific rumbling. A wall of heavy snow was sliding down one of the mountain ridges. He was directly in its path and could not escape. Almost immediately upon it, another slide came thundering down the opposite ridge covering him still deeper. It was almost like cement, packed so solid around him. Fortunately, one of the mil! hands was coming down the canyon road some distance above and had noticed Fred going up the mountain side and shortly after, he heard the roar of the snow slide. The man quickly turned his eyes in that direction in search of Fred, and not finding him, knew beyond a doubt the young man was under the snow. He urged his horse to full speed and soon came running toward the mill shed shouting, "Man under the snow!" My Mother heard the cry and opened her door to inquire as the man shouted, "It's Fred." There were plenty of men ready to dig but only one shovel available. Some of the men went in search of tools; they knew of a camp in another fork of the canyon some miles away, which would take time that should not be spared. They appealed to my Father to designate the place to dig, which must have been a tense moment in his life, but with little hesitation he did so, and in a few seconds he changed the place to a distance of about five feet. It seemed hours had passed when at last more shovels came. They continued to dig in that place until they struck the heel of his boot. Seized by uncontrollable emotions, my poor dear Father jumped in the hole and started to dig with his hands. Had the men continued to dig in the first place selected they would have struck his head. Fred was quickly released from his frosty prison. A weak flutter of his pulse proved that life was not extinct. He was soon placed in an improvised hammock and brought to the house. During the long period of watching and praying that my dear Mother passed through, which was two and one half hours, she was torn between reason and hope. Her two next oldest children, the boy trying to persuade her to prepare for the worst, the girl urging her to cling to her faith for Fred's life. Both of these children trying to be of help and comfort to her. On receiving word that her son was found and still alive, the tension she had been under so long was greatly relieved, but when Fred was brought into the house and was regaining consciousness, his color was so dark, his features so distorted, his incoherant mutterings so confused, and apparently in pain fighting for his breath, Mother covered her face with her trembling hands and for a moment questioned the wisdom of his rescue. Thomas Erwin, one of the older men who had been so helpful, comforted my parents by telling them he had seen similar cases before and assured them that in a short time Fred would be perfectly normal. It was true. The recovery of my brother was marvelously rapid, and he lived to the age of eighty-three years.