• I l I L E P ;.. G E PJONEER NAME .t\l "Et.IA !/ICEY Sr /ID:£ BIRTH DATE AND PLACE DEATH DATE AND PLACE 5 Or.t l~'tt? , Creμ'<erne , Somersetshire , "Snrland 12 Jan . 1')2J , Salt Lake City , Salt folce , Utah FATHER MOTHER ::lernard T;ice~r Pr i.sc i l la r')rr:-.; WHO MARRIED AND DATE 1,1 i.l l i.a'l! $lade , 28 June 1 q52 YEAR ARRIVED IN UTAH NAME OF COMPANY ' 1arren Snou Compa n,y WHO WROTE HI STORY AND DATE Amelia Eli?,R. S·-1=D~;_..d::e:;. ...:D;..;e_;n=.n;::.i=.o..:n..:. _ __________ WHO SUBMITTED HISTORY AND DATE Jolene Rich Frice , Januar:"f 1')')1 ADDRESS 71.1, s . 200 E • ?· 0 l'!:!;A.11 , Utah Pho 50 ___ _______________ TELEPHONE NO. nrn - 8.~0- Jl!A?i CAMP NAME South :iorr;an Camp COUNTY NAME -t·;-or'g-an- ----------------------------=-- CAMP HISTORIAN Luc i llc 1.-.I il 1 i.(.l.ms ADDRESS ______ 'n t:. WO W. Lor ga.n, Utah 84-0.50 __: _ _:.__;. ___ COUNTY HISTORIAN ADDRESS rle rh.:.i.rn C. Porter 2955 S . Huy i;r., Porterville , f!orFYan, Uteh fl.1.1,050 SOURCE OF INFORMAT~ON AND PAGE NUMBERS: I h e reby give this history to the Nat i onal Society Daughters of Utah Pionee r s with the understa nding that: 1 . The Daughters of Utah Pioneers has the right to edit and publish i t. 2. If pub l ication is not indicated , it shall become a par t of the archives to perfect the record of the Utah pioneers. 3 . The Daughters of Utah Pionee r s has the right to reproduce this history fo r the benefit of its members , and descendants of t he pio nee r . e of author or owner of this history Re v ised 198 6 JPEG-Bk13 • • History of Amelia Lacey Slade Dean A Pioneer Mother by Amelia Eliza Slade Bennion My mother, Amelia slade, and my father, William slade, lived in the little factory town of Crewkerne, in Sommersetshire, England . they were very poor, because they were weavers, and in those days weavers received a very small wage, fifteen shillings a week at most. So with rent to pay, food and clothing to provide, each member of the family who was old enough was obliged to obtain work in the factories and mills to help provide just the bare necessities of life. There was nothing left over for books , or to pay for schooling, and there were no free schools in England at that time Into this household I came on the 10th day of October, 1854, during the reign of Queen Victoria, and named Amelia Eliza. I remember the stone floors and the open fireplace where mother did all her cooking and the hob where the kettles were placed. There were no stoves and we had no ovens, so all our bread and meats were baked at the public bakery. As soon as I was old enough I was sent to a children 1s school, for which mother paid a penny each week. This school was similar to the kindergarten, but its main purpose was to care for the little ones so that the mothers and older ones in the fmaily would be free to find work. I remember that we were taught to knit and to sew .. Father and mother were both members of the Mormon Church at the time of their marriage, and at this time he had become president of the branch . From the first they planned on emigrating to Utah, but as the children came and expenses grew, they found it impossible to save even the small amount for their passage money. There was only one course open for us ever to realize our dreams. Father borrowed enough money to take him alone to America. he went as far west as Philadephia where he found work onthe fine estate of an old Quaker gentleman, Mr. William Sellers. It took him over three long years to pay off his debt and to save enough money to pay the passage of his loved ones. Meanwhile, in England , Mother worked and hoped, and prayed , saving what she could of her small earnings. Then, one wonderful day, the postman came with a letter containing money which was to take us to Father in America. How impatient I was to go. So much to be done; so many little things for older heads to worry about, that it seemed to my childish mind that we never, never would begin our journey. But finally one day we found ourselves, bag and baggage on the docks and ready to embark. Even then there was a last errand that Mother had to run, and thinking that she would be back in a few moments, she left us huddled among the trunks and bundles. The minutes lengthened into an anxious hour and then in spite of tears and protests we were budnled into a small boat and carried to the big ship, William Tapscott, which JPEG-Bk13 I 2./ • • • rode at anchor in the bay, ready to set sail for America . Sailing time and not mother! As the shadows lengthened, our fears and anxiety increased. Then just a few minutes before the anchor was raised, a boat drew up alongside and a number of people were hurried aboard. There was Mother, her dear face white with worry and anxiety. Soon we were safe in each other's arms, too happy for anything but tears . There were not beds enough to go around , so I was assigned to sleep with a fat woman. I undressed and climbed into the berth . There was not any too much room for me, and when Mrs. Avoirdupois decided to come to bed she stuck a hard roll of her belongings under my head, squeezed me tight against the wall and was soon sleeping. she woke up long enough to say, "Can't ye shut up? I want me sleep. " To this day I hate to sleep next to the wall. The roll of the ship, the strange squeaks and gratings and other noises and the smothered feeling and the discomfort of the hard roll I was obliged to use for a pillow, made too deep an impression to be easily overcome. My recollection of the boat consists of long passageways, row upon row of berths, and a railing where I could stand and w atch those on the decks below us. One day I saw them eating pancakes and after the ship's hard biscuits, which we ate in lieu of bread, how good they looked. Mother prepared all our meals but I missed the bread. After w atching the feast on the lower deck the ship-biscuits seemed harder and drier than ever. One day in mid-ocean the ship sprang a leak. The anchor was low ered while the pumps were set to work. Happy childhood! Little sensed I of the real danger that threatened us. It was barely noon. I went by myself, knelt down with full childish faith and prayed: "Our Father in Heaven, please don't let my new dress get wet. " And I finished up with "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep; if I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take . Amen " I think the listening Angels must have smiled at that prayer; but in spite of the fact that my dress was in the very bottom of the trunk it was no damaged in the least. We found so many interesting things to do that tthe voyage of six weeks did not seem nearly so irksome to us as it did to some of the older ones; but when someone shouted . "Land, I see land! " I believe Columbus himself could not have been much happier than we were. Many were crying, though, of course, I couldn 't then understand why. What a bustle, packing up our things we had used on the voyage , running errands and watching the sailers at work . We were landed at a place called Castel Gardens. I remember we stayed there overnight. Father came here to meet us. For three years I had dreamed of seeing him again; but now I could not see what there was to cry about. When we got off the train at Philadelphia , I saw for the first time street cars drawn by horses. As Mr. Sellar's estate was some miles from the city, we boarded one of those funny-looking little cars and away we went. For the first time I saw green fields and rolling meadows were a rolling carpet of green and gold. It semed as though all the kinds of birds in the world were singing a welcome to us. Gone were the grimy factory days. Now Mother could stay at home, and we had Father with us once more. How we reveled inthe beauties of the country; the birds, the flowers and the blackberry hedges. I heard the frogs singing in the swamps, and owls and whippoorwills . My bedroom window overlooked the woods, and on a still JPEG-Bk13 12:z- • • • I moonlit night I could hear the water in the mill race, singing over the stones . We children joined a Sunday School class, and were allowed to take home books from the library. I remember one of these especially, "Little Jane." Little Jane was a very, very good little girl, who lived with a very, very sinful family. Besidaes being imposed upon in fifty different ways, she was never allowed to go to church. All day Sunday she baked and brewed and stewed enough food to last that family the rest of the week. I felt sorry for her. "I' II not do that when I have a home." I promised myself. "I won 't do any cooking on sunday." It is a rule that I have since folowed, though it had its source in the impossible "Little Jane. " One of the most beautiful memories that I have is of the Sabbath peace that blessed our dear home. Our family group would gather around the grate fire and listen to the wonderful stories that Mother would tell us. The songs we sang: Old English ballads, "Lord Bateman " and "The Mistletoe Bough" , "I Think When I Read That Sweet Story of Old" , "Happy Day", and other good old hymns. The stories of Jesus as Mother told them, made us feel that God was a loving Father who loved little children more than anyone else. The preachers of those days were of the fire and brimstone order, and I used to sit in church with every hair standing on end from sheer terror of the awful pictures they drew of hell and judgment day. Soon after listening to one such terrorizer, a violent storm broke over the country. As one peal of thunder topping another boomed across the heavens, I fled to my room and prayed wildly, "Oh Lord, if it 's the end of the world, please don 't burn me up in everlasting hell fire. I won 't grumble when I have to do the dishes any more, and I won't ask for two pieces of cake. I know I' m awful wicked but I' ll try so hard to be good. " I' m glad for the sake of little children that Christian views have changed, and that this type of sermon isn 't heard nowdays. In the fall my sisters and I were sent to school. Quite a different school from the school which the children attend now. Our teacher was very tall, very severe looking, and very conscientious. She neither spared the rod nor spoiled the child. Small chance there was of shirking under her eagle eye, and though we were whipped for many things one would not dream of whipping a child for today, we learned a wholesome lesson while in her charge. There being no school on Saturdays, we spent many wonderful, golden days out in the woods gathering hickory nuts, walnuts and chestnuts, to store for the winter fireside. One Saturday while one one of these expeditions we wandered out of the woods into a place known as the Meadows. But how unfamiliar was the scene which met our childish eyes. Instead of the carpet of green we had been wont to see, was an army of white tents and in an open space, companies of soldiers all in blue unitforms were marching and countermarching and being drilled in all the maneuvers of war. We watched with fascinated eyes, until a bugle call and lowering of the Stars and Stripes finished the drill for the day. When we told Mother about it she said there was a war between the North and the South and that these were President Lincoln 's soldiers preparing to go out and fight for the union. Mother glanced at Father's picture and looked anxious and worried. Mother spent much of her time these days sewing, making dainty little white garments, lace trimmed and tucked, and as often as she sewed, she would tell us wonderful stories . these days her smile was very tender and sweet, but I often JPEG-Bk13 • • • J saw a look of pain flit across her face as she looked towards the meadows w here the men other mothers had borne, were marching away in the glory of their young manhood, many of them to die for their country. Oh, it is hard for mothers to feel the thrill, or to appreciate the glory of war! Too well they know the bitter sacrifices . Spring came and with it came the last day of school. What excitement there was. This was the day on which we were to put on a show before our familiy and friends . We were put through our paces by the school committee. Awards of merit and prizes were given to lucky ones . I was to "speak of piece, 11 so I must look extra nice for the occasion . these were the days of the pinafores and pantalets and for this event my pinafore was new. My pantalets, as an added touch, had some lace, intended for quite another purpose, basted to the bottoms for trimming . Away I went, proud as a peacock, and took my place among the other childlren who sat like litle ramrods of propriety, hands neatly folded , faces to the front, wearing for this day alone, expressions that would have graced the faces of an angel choir. When my name was called I arose, gave a satisified glance at my new dress and the lace that ruffled so daintily on the pantalets beneath it; walked primly to the front, made my best bow, then began: "England 's son .. .. 11 I had not gone very far when something slipped around my ankle. A stolen glance showed a dangling end of lace. then I saw Tom Shore grin. UP went my head. Not for worlds would I quit! So I finished my lines in a round of hearty applause, though the lace slipped farther and farther. "That was fine. 11 someone whispered . then Tom Shore, with a voice that sounded like gleeful satisfaction made me feel like fighting by saying, "Ya, but you nearly lost yer pants. 11 then came the speeches and awards . Balm to sore mortification and hurt pride, I was awarded a Bible for being the "best student in the school ". Its leaves are worn and yellow w ith age, but I still have it among my most treasured possessions. Soon after school closed my brother, Wilie, was born. My Elder sister, Rhoda, did her best to take the place of Mother in the housework, and then when Mother was strong again there was the new baby to tend , so Martha and I were left pretty much to our own devices. It was summer and haying time, and we fairly reveled in the joys of the great outdoors. I can still smell the sweet warm fragrance of the freshly cut hay, as it lay drying in the summer sunshine. How thrilled we were when we were allowed to ride stop the great wobbly loads as they were hauled to the stack yard . The hay was unloaded and pitched into great carefully rounded stacks. The temptasion to clmb a ladder against the v ery tallest stacks was not to be resisted, so up we went like Jack and the Beanstalk. Then after a few breath-taking frightened moments, we found ourselves on top of the stacks, again , like Jack, in a wonderful fairyland of forrests and castle, broad fields, and meadows stretching away as far as the delighted eye could see. We played in blissful contentment for some time, catching the different colored grasshoppers and or lying on our backs finding cloud pictures . When we were tired and wanted to get down somehow the green sloping sides of the stack looked much more inviting than did the ladder. It goes without saying that we slid down . The thrill was perfect and we carried down with us enough loose hay to make a perfect landing. Of course, every day, especially when you are little, just must come to end . Ours came in the shape of JPEG-Bk13 • • ' en entirely unsympathetic grownup in the person of Father. "Will you youngsters keep off the hay! 11 he cried, picking up the pitchfork and disappearing around the neighboring stack. Why do grownjps make it so hard for chidren anyhow. Half in rebellion, half in reluctance to abandon immediately the thing that had given us so much fun, up the ladder we climbed again and came sliding down. Somehow the zest was gone and this time the landing was anything but pleasant, nor was the spanking we promptly received. I think Father gave it to us more in sheer relief that our backs or necks weren 't broken than as a punishment for ruining the haystack. We went to bed in disgrace without our supper. It was stern justice, but we deserved it. We cried and compared our marks the sting of the wilow had left on our bodies . I had the most because I was older than Martha and was expected to set her a good example. As it grew dark, Mother brought us up some bread and milk. We ate and were comforted. Truly repentant and at peace with the whole world, we soon fell asleep. We had learned a lesson. When Father said a thing he meant it and never again did we wilfully disobey him. One day soon after this we were playing in the meadows when we saw some fishermen with rods over their shoulders on their way to the mill pond to fish; this promptly suggested a new idea. "Let 's go fishing, 11 I cried. "Let's 11 , cried martha joyously, so in just a few minutes, proudly earring a green willow pole, some string and bent pins, we were marching down to the millrace. We sat down in the middle of a narrow foot-board which spanned the race and promptly threw in our lines. We did not even get a nibble, but we were having real fun in pretending when , in some way, Martha lost her balance and fell into the water below . I tried to reach her, but failing this I ran frantically along the bank calling, "Martha, Oh Martha! 11 Sensing that I couldn 't get her, I ran screaming for Mother. She heard me and came running toward me. Into the stream she rushed, only to mire helplesslhy in the soft mud bottom. Someone pulled her back and when Martha come up to the surface of the water only to sink out of sight, she fainted . Someone had gone for Father. Meanwhile the Irish gardener, having heard the excited cries, hurried over, with the rake still in his hand. He waded in and reached with his rake until he caught Martha 's clothes. Father came just in time to take her apparently lifeless body in his arms. he carried her swiftly to the carriage house and worked frantically over her. Soon she gave a weak moan. "Where 's your Mother? " he said to me. "Dead down by the willows ", I sobbed. Father, working desperately with Martha, cried , "Run, child run and stay with her until I can come. 11 When I reached the willows Mother had regained consciousness, and I cried, "Mother, oh Mother come quick. Martha is alive " But poor Mother only shook her head and moaned. "No, she isn 't, no, she isn't--1 saw her go down and she won 't come up anymore! " Even now I can see her hanging on to the fence, too weak to stand alone, pulling herself along back to the house. It was a long time before she recovered from the shock. Sometimes at night she would steal out of the house and we would find her walking the banks of the stream, wringing her hands and moaning and crying for Martha. Father would lead her back to the house and put Martha in her arms. then she would be comforted. she gradually grew better. The months that followed were fairly happy, and prosperous ones and it began to look as though our dreams of gathering with the Saints in Utah might find JPEG-Bk13 125" • • • I an early fulfillment. Mother's sister had already emigrated, fataher's brother had reached America and was living in Philadelphia. then my brother Eddie was born . Welcome as his coming was, of course, it meant extra expense and a little harder struggle to put by even a small amount. Then father was kicked by a horse and his leg severly injured--an injury which was followed by an attack of rheumatism . He found it very painful and difficult to attend to even a small part of his work. One day a friend , seeing the difficulty, said, "Mr. Slade I know what will cure your rheumatism. You get hartshorn, camphor, laudanum and sweet oil and rub it on your leg and it will cure it " . I was standing by his side and he turned to me and said, "Eliza, run to the drug store and get it for me " I write this incident, trival in itself. to illustrate how vividly children receive impressions. I never forgot a single ingredient of that liniment in all these years. Mother would rub Father's limbs with the liniment and he did get well for a short time at least. But a swim in the creek at the close of a hard day's work gave him a heavy chill. In spite of all Mother acould do he grew rapidly worse. His rheumatism came back, more severe this time afflicting his heart and kidneys . Three doctors, under Mr. Sellar's instructions, held a consultation and on the morning of my ninth birthday, they took him away to the hospital in Philadelphia . Mother was nearing another confinement and under the circumstances she was denied the solace and comfort of being able to be near him. Not more than twice a week was she able to go into Philadelphia to visit him and take clean clothing. One day at the hospital Father asked for his brother. As soon as the message reached Uncle Alfred, he hurried to the hospital, only to be refused admittance as it was past visiting hours. "But he's my brother, he sent for me and needs me, " and brushing past the attendant he hurried to Father's bedside. "Wiliam, shall I send for Amelia? " he asked, "No, Alfred, I' m going, there isn 't time. " For some minutes they talked . A woman, whose duty was to administer comfort to the dying, came to his room, and true to her faith and her duty said, "My good man, I hope you will make your peace with Jesus. I hope you have not left it till this late hour. " Father smiled faintly and w hispered, "Oh, no. " When I saw Uncle Alfred coming thorugh our gate, childlike I ran to meet him. "How is Father? " I cried. "Your father is dead," was his answer. Not sensing the terrible significance of this news, I ran to Mother, and cried out in unthnking innocence, "Mother, father is dead. " then I saw her face whiten in agony as she slipped from her chair in a dead faint. People were very kind to us. We were almost entirely without means. After the funeral , Mr. Sellars held a conference with Mother and Uncle Alfred . He told her as gently as he could that another man was to take Father's place and that she would have to find quarters elsewhere; but he made arrangemnets for her to go to the hospital for her confinement . Rhoda made her home with the Sellar's family. Martha went ot some of his friends by the name of Leisering, the boys were placed in an orphan 's home and I was sent to Philadelphia to Mrs. Bancroft, a married daughter of Mr. Sellars. How well I remember that parting. Mother laying her dear hands on my head in wordless blessing--the sudden wild grief that took possession of me. "Oh, Mother! Mother! I don 't want to go," I sobbed . "I don 't care if we don 't have JPEG-Bk13 • • anything to eat but bread, I want to stay. Please, Mother let me stay with you . 11 11 My poor child, 11 she gently answered, "but I haven 1t even bread for you . 11 As we both cried, I began to sense that my grief distressed Mother, and that I must be brave and do my bit to help, so wiping my eyes and trying to smile, I went off to Philadelphia. Mrs. Bancroft lived in a beautiful home on Vine Street. She had me sleep w ith the cook, and gave me a household duty the task of helping in the kitchen. Somehow the cook resented this very much, and was anything but agreeable with me. In fact, she made my life so unpleasant that the kind Mrs. Bancroft moved me from the cook1 s room and gave me a trundle bed to sleep in and changed my work form the kitchen to the dining room and nursery. lnspite of the kindness of this splendid Quaker family, I had many bitter hours, and many nights w hen my pilow w as wet with homesick tears. I went to school part of the time, a girls 1 school, as then the girls and boys met in different buildings. I made friends with a girl w hose borther was an officer in the Union Army. She was very proud of him and we had many pleasant talks together. Then for the first time I heard the muffled drum as it beat its tattoo to the slow measured tread of the feet that carried some patriot to his last resting place . As the war went on the sound of the drums became more frequuent, and soon not a day pased that its mournful roll failed to be heard in the streets of Philadelphia. My young friend 1 s brother was among those who laid down their lives for their country. We went to see him as he lay in state in his uniform of blue, under the flag he had given his young life to defend . Living in Philidelphia, and working for her living, was an elder half-sister, Harriet, a daughter of Father 1s first wife who had died when Harriet was two. She used to come to see me. Her visits were very welcome, you may be sure. She never failed to bring an orange or a bit of candy with her, or some little gift that she knew would gladden my childish heart. Uncle Alfred lived there, and though I heard him describe his home, I had never seen it. One day I decided to go visit my Uncle 1s family, so off I set after I had prayed earnestly to be shown the way. It was a very astonished uncle and aunt that I saw as I walked up to their door, for find it I did, though other than my prayers I asked no directions. After baby Charles w as born , Mother rented a small room in Philadelphia . Then came the yearning for her children. What was she to do? Mr. Sellars offered the only solution that he saw possible . Feeling sure that Mother would see the wisdom of his decision, he had had papers made out 11 binding out " the older children of the family until they should become of age, and brought the papers to Mother to sign. Poor Mother! Mr. Sellars had been kind . She begged time to consider his offer, so he left, promising to call the next day for the signed paper. Her dreams of going to Utah seemed utterly mpossible. She sought Divine help in her great need. "The dead do come back when there is a real need for it, 11 said Mother in telling her experiences in the years that followed . 11 Three times that night your father appeared in my room and each time he said, 11 Don 1 t bind the children 11 • I was not asleep. I actuallly saw him 11 • Mr. Sellars tried to get her to change her mind, and became almost exasperated when she steadily refused. "What are you going to do? " Mother JPEG-Bk13 • • thought of Utah and all it meant to her and, raising her head with a certain conviction she answered him, "I' m going home ". He said no more. There was a branch of the Mormon Church in Philadelphia at this time, to which Father and Mother had been able to go occasionally as it had meant a long ride on the cars for them. The children, rather than receive no religious training, had atended a Presbyterian Sunday School. Mother had said with firm conviction, 'Tm going home " . But as far as human eye could see "going home " meant unsurmountable difficulties. Once more "man 's extremity proved God 's opportunity " . While Mother sat in the Sunday meeting the president of the branch arose and announced that on the following Wenesday a company of immigrants were leaving for Utah and that means had been provided for Sister Slade and her chidlren to go with them . Mother's prayer had received its answer. Orson Pratt and Hyrum Clawson were the speakers , and after the meeting was over they both came to Mother. Orson Pratt placed $2.50 in her hand saying , 'Tm on my way to England. I have enough money to get me there, and I am sure you need this worse than I do ". Brother Clawson gave her $5 .00. They shook hands with her and spoke words of encouragement and cheer. Some of the sisters, Sister Ware and Sister Fenton, especially, were wiling and anxious to help. There was much hurried preparations to be ready on time. Mrs. Bancroft cried when Mother came for me. "She is so dependable, " she told Mother, "that I can trust her implicitly in all things. " this was a splendid compliment to live up to. then I came in contact with some bitterness that existed against the church in those days. When Mr. Sellars saw our arrangements for leaving, and came to tell Mother good-bye, he said, "Well, I'm glad you are going back to England instead of with those Mormons, had you decided to go with them, I certainly would have taken steps to have these children taken away from you." Mother did not tell him that home meant Utah. She was soon on her way to New York. We each had a bundle to look after. Mother found it quite difficult to keep track of all of us-- Rhoda, Martha, Willie, Eliza, Eddie and baby Charlie--to say nothing of the bundles. Here we took the train for the little town of Wyoming, on the banks of the muddy Missouri River, where we were to wait until a company of emigrants from England joined us before proceeding west by ox-teams. How vividly I remember the little town of Wyoming on the Missouri just one thousand miles from Utah. What a change from the green woods and meadows of Pennsylvania. So desolate and wild . The Missouri, just one big river of mud, flowing out of somewhere, sluggishly past and onto nowhere. "How ever can wash our clothing in this? 11 was my uppermost thoughts. I was greatly relieved w hen I found that all the washing was to be done at a spring pleasantly located in a group of trees near the camp. Here also, we had our first experience at sleeping in the great out-of-doors, a rather terrifying one till we got used to it. Every single night, it seemed to me, it stormed . The inky darkness would be broken by sudden, blinding flashes of lightning, and the steady howl of the storm by roars of rolling thunder. The seven of us huddled even closer together, but not even tent walls and bed clothes could shut out the blinding flashes of lightning, nor deaden, but very little, the terrific claps of thunder. Then one awful ngiht, the tent blew down, the pole falling across JPEG-Bk13 • • • t Mother 's neck in such a way that she was left utterly powerless, either to call for help or to assist herself. She must have soon died had not Rhoda , sensing her peril managed to move the heavy pole in such a way that her neck was freed . Supplies were issued from a storehouse centrally located. We did our cooking over bonfires . We lived like this about a month or six weeks; then we were joined by a company of Saints who were emigrating from England. One day the glad shout, "The ox-teams are coming! 11 "The ox-teams are coming 11 • Everybody turned out to give them welcome as they lumbered slowly into camp, a long train of covered wagons, each drawn by yokes of oxen . This was the train that was to take us to Utah, each outfit being furnished by the men who had been called on a mission by President Young to meet the emigrants and bring them to Utah. We were all anxious to get started on our way, little sensing, any of us, what a long, tedious journey it was to be, and little sensing the trials and hardships, we were to encounter, but bravely ready for whatever fate held in store for us.The train was in charge of Brother Warren Snow. Our outfit was in charge of Brother Frank Cundick. Besides our seven, there was a feeble old lady, sick and ailing, who was asigned to ride with us. Baby Charlie was assigned to Rhoda 's care, and little Eddie to mine. They were both beautiful children, rosy and healthy, giving every promise of growing to strong and sturdy manhood. After what seemed many days in August 1864, we bade Wyoming good-bye and turned our faces westward . Conditions were too crowded for us all to ride at the same time, so those who were able, took burns walking . We would fill our aprons with dry buffalo chips as we walked, or with anything that would burn and could be used to make our campfires. then, one day, Mother discovered that the bundle containing Rhoda's clothing and shoes had been left behind with other luggage belonging to the train. Poor Rhoda, her feet grew sore and blistered and cracked. One day I heard her scream, and running to her, found that she had stepped upon a prickly pear. The blood was falling in drops from her wounded foot, but she would not let me pull the thorn out . I helped her all I could and finally we hobbled into camp. Her foot was growing more painful. "That cactus must come out ", I thought, and then aloud, I cried, "Oh look, Rhoda, Indians, quick! 11 As she turned her head to look, I jerked the cactus out of her foot, before she had even time to say "ouch 11 • My fingers were filled with thorns, but we soon got them out, then found Mother. We cooked our meals over the campfire and went to bed. In spite of the strange night cries of prowling beasts and birds, we slept soundly through the cool, sweet night. the next morning we were up at sunrise, fresh and ready for the long day's march . Rhoda's foot was still somewhat sore. "Do you know ", said Mother, 11 1 dreamed last night that your shoes were coming and that they will be here today. I am sure they will. 11 To our great joy they did come, along with the rest of the missing luggage, save some that had been stolen. Mother's dreams often came true. Our money, fifty or sixty dollars, all we had in the world, was missing. Then one night Mother dreamed that she saw it sewed up in a feather bed. When she awoke she arose and looked for it, and found it just as her dream had told her . One day the old lady with us died, the first of our band who didn 't finish the journey through. They made her a grave at the side of the trail. Then watering JPEG-Bk13 • • ' places grew scarce and we were obliged to buy our drinking water at twenty-five cents per keg. It was not always good water at that, for dysentery broke out along us. The woman in the wagon ahead of us died. Mother was very ill and so were two of the children . Brother John Kay, a young man returning from a mission, w as stricken and died. A side was taken from a wagon to make him a coffin . For little Charlie there was not a thing that could be utilized to make him even a rude coffin. Mother tore a shawl in half, and we left him sleeping by the long trail. Later, the other half was used for little Eddie. Sick, disheartened, and weary, we had to carry on. I remember one cold wet day in particular. We kept huddled up for warmth in the wagon all day long, while the rain beat its monotonous tattoo on our canvas roof. whem we stopped for the night, fires were out of the questoin. We were hungry and went to bed crying for something to eat. Next morning Mother climbed out of the wagon. Through the drizzling rain and mist she saw a little old shack with smoke pushing its way not of the chimney. She made her way to it and as the door opened to her knock, there greeted her a rush of warm air, fragrant with the odor of frying meat. "Will you sell me some bread? 11 she asked of the woman who answered the door. 11 We haven 't any to spare, 11 replied the woman, but seeing how sick and weak Mother looked, she said, 11 We are just going to have a bite, come in and eat with us. 11 11 1 cannot eat, my children are hungry. 11 "You shall eat, 11 she insisted, 11 and you shall have bread for your little ones even if we have to go without. 11 when Mother came back, we were all out on the wagon tongue. She broke the bread in chunks and handed each of us a piece . Eddie died as we were nearing Green River. This final stroke proved too much for Mother, and she became very, very ill. One day as Rhoda and I came near the wagon , we heard voices . "Yes, Sister Slade, your chidren will be cared for. 11 The wild fears that arose in my breast seemed to smother me. Baby Charles and Eddie , and now Mother! Taking my sister by the hand we ran off some distance into the sagebrush and kneeling down we prayed in all our childish anguish , "Please, Heavenly Father,don 't let Mother die. Please make her better, in the name of Jesus, Amen 11 • We felt sure then she would get well. Next morning she was much better, and after some days she was trying again to take her share of the burdens . One day we passed large, white saleratus beds. Mother had read of saleratus biscuits, and as we were nearing our journey 's end, food supplies were running low. Mother decided we were going to have hot biscuits, so with a zeal not backed up by knowledge, she made them. We ate them, for the bitter flavor was entirely outdone by their delectable rich orange coloring . The last day of the journey our food gave out and w e became really hungry. Towards evening we entered Emigration Canyon. As we came into the valley, w e could see in the distance the glow of a big bonfire that had been lighted to w elcome us. About ten o 'clock we stopped at the square where the City and County Building now stands. Such laughing and crying , such hugs and kisses! Soon we were seated around the big fire, while willing hands, backed by warm hearts, served us with everyt hing that the little settlement could afford in the way of delicious hot food. There were mashed potatoes and gravy, chicken and JPEG-Bk13 • • ' vegetables, pie and cake . then, when we just couldn 1t cram another delicious morsel, I noticed by the light of the fire, a tempting green slope . 11 Come on , 11 I said to the girls, 11 lef s roll down here, 11 and roll we did, to our hearts content, entirely unreproved by the older folk. They were II Home II at last and too happy to notice it . JPEG-Bk13 131