Pioneer Stories - Captain James G. Willie

Born in England in 1814, James G. Willie was well educated in an English boarding school and then learned the mercantile business. When he was 21, he went to America to seek his fortune, settling in New York. Six years later, in 1842, he obtained a different kind of wealth when he joined the Church. The next year he served a mission in the East.

In 1846, James Willie and his fiancée, Elizabeth Pettit, left New York and traveled to Nauvoo. They hoped to receive their temple endowment and be sealed, but Nauvoo was nearly deserted when they arrived because the Saints had been forced to leave earlier than expected. James and Elizabeth were married civilly and traveled across Iowa to Winter Quarters, where they spent the winter of 1846–47. In the summer of 1847 they left for the Salt Lake Valley, arriving just three months after the first pioneer company.

During the next five years in Salt Lake City, James and Elizabeth built a one-room log home and had three children. Then in August 1852, when their youngest child was only three months old, James heard his name announced from the pulpit, calling him to return to England as a missionary. He did what he could to make provision for his family, then departed about three weeks after receiving the call.

James arrived in England in January 1853 and was appointed to preside over the Southampton and Dorsetshire Conferences, an area that included the place of his birth. His diaries show him traveling extensively to strengthen the Saints and teach the gospel. They also show him seeking the blessings of God on his service and his family.

During his mission, James visited several times with his sisters, whom he had not seen since leaving England 17 years earlier. They received him kindly but showed little interest in his message. He eventually concluded that “their only thought is how to live in this world, and let the next take care of itself.”

After two years in England, James was asked to serve another year, a request he willingly accepted. In his diary that day, he wrote: “This morning I received a letter from Elder [Daniel] Spencer. ... He informs me that he is to stay another year, also that I am to do the same. Well, I feel to say ‘the Lord’s will be done.’”

James was released from his mission early in 1856. Like many missionaries who were returning home, he was asked to assist the converts who were emigrating from Europe so they could gather to Zion. His first assignment came from his mission president, Franklin D. Richards, who appointed him to preside over the 764 Saints who were sailing to America on the Thornton. By the time the ship departed from Liverpool on May 4, 1856, James Willie had been away from his wife and three young children for nearly four years.

James Willie received his second major responsibility for the emigrating Saints on July 12, when Daniel Spencer appointed him to be captain of the fourth handcart company. Most of the 500 people in this company had been under James’s leadership since leaving Liverpool. Millen Atwood, Levi Savage, William Woodward, John Chislett, and Johan Ahmanson were appointed to be subcaptains, each to oversee 100 people.

The Willie handcart company left Iowa City on July 16. As he had done on the ship, James led with firm expectations for order and good conduct. He also continued to care for the sick. Nearly a week into the trek across Iowa, the people “were beat out” by a 14-mile day that required climbing hill after hill in broiling heat. They stopped at 2:00 to make camp, after which James “was busy attending upon the sick the remaining part of the day.” The oppressive heat continued the next day, causing “a great many [to be] sick and tired out” after traveling 13 miles. Once again, after they made camp, James was “engaged till quite dark administering to the sick.”

On September 30 the Willie company reached Fort Laramie, the halfway point between Florence and Salt Lake City. They had traveled the 522 miles from Florence in 45 days, averaging almost 12 miles a day despite the loss of their oxen—and sometimes traveling 20 miles a day. If they could sustain their normal pace, they would need another 44 days to travel the final 509 miles to Salt Lake City and would arrive in mid-November. Even if the weather stayed favorable, they faced a more critical problem: they had only a 15-day supply of food remaining.

The Willie company hoped to acquire additional food at Fort Laramie, but provisions were scarce and very expensive, and Captain Willie could obtain little more than a one-day supply of crackers. Near the fort he also received some troubling news about the other source of resupply he was counting on: wagons from Salt Lake City. He was informed that the soonest the company could expect to meet these wagons was at South Pass or Pacific Springs, about 280 miles away. Reaching either place would take 24 days—8 or 9 days beyond the remaining food supply.

Rations were reduced, and finally the last ration of flour was issued four days later, on October 19. The people began the day some 60 miles from their hoped-for place of resupply near South Pass. Later that morning they “encountered a very severely cold and blustering snowstorm”—the first of many such storms. They stopped to wait out the worst of it, then started again, trudging through the snow, with hopes fading. Just as they were facing their darkest hour to that point, four men rode up from the west. “Such a shout as was raised in camp I never before heard,” Joseph Elder said. These men were express riders who had been sent ahead from the rescue team five days earlier. Joseph Elder called them “saviors coming to [our] relief.” They reported that wagons loaded with flour and clothing were only a day or two away.

The express riders were not carrying enough provisions to feed the people, but William Woodward said the news that wagons were nearby “inspired our company with fresh spirits.” After staying briefly and giving encouragement, these men hurried east to search for the Martin company, which was stranded 100 miles farther back on the trail.

The Willie Saints continued to the sixth crossing of the Sweetwater, arriving at dusk after a 16-mile day. Four people died along the way, and many others fell back and had to be carried in the wagons, which were overflowing. Traveling in the dark, the wagon teams took a wrong turn and didn’t get to camp until sometime between 10:00 and 11:00 p.m.

Snow continued to fall through the night. As morning dawned, the Saints were in a precarious condition, suffering from the hunger of short rations, the toil of the previous day’s travel, and the cold of their first night in the snow. The last of their rations—the crackers that James Willie had acquired at Fort Laramie—were issued that morning.

In this desperate circumstance, James Willie decided that rather than wait for the rescuers, he would go find them and urge them to hurry forward. He asked Joseph Elder to accompany him. Jens Nielson recalled: “The captain told us there was not a pound of flour in camp. He said he would saddle his mule and ride night and day till he found a team with flour.” Susannah Stone said, “Our Captain ... told us that when he saw us again, it would be with good news.”

James Willie and Joseph Elder rode to the base of Rocky Ridge, where they expected to find the rescuers, but they were not there. James knew what this meant: he and Joseph would have to climb Rocky Ridge and perhaps travel all day to find them—a risky venture in a blizzard. James also knew what this meant for the people in camp: they would not get help for at least another day.

With each mile James traveled, questions weighed more heavily on his mind. Would they be able to find the rescuers? Had they somehow missed them? Were the rescuers even farther behind? If so, how far could he and Joseph Elder go and still survive?

As evening descended, they reached a creek and saw a signboard that pointed to the rescuers’ camp, which was off the trail. Rescuer Harvey Cluff had placed the sign just a short time earlier, making a heroic effort that was providential in its timing. “The signboard had done the work of salvation,” he later wrote. “Had Captain Willie and his fellow traveler ... continued on the road, they certainly would have perished.”

Not knowing how utterly destitute the Willie company was—and that they were just a day’s journey away—the rescuers had stopped at this camp the previous day to seek protection from the storm. Early the next morning they hitched up their wagons, and James Willie and Joseph Elder led them to the Willie camp, retracing the same grueling miles over Rocky Ridge that they had traveled the previous day. 

In camp, eyes were continually looking to the west, hoping to see help coming. Susannah Stone recalled that later that day, “we saw [our] good old Captain coming over the brow of the hill waving his hat.” Behind Captain Willie were the long-awaited rescuers. When they reached camp, the people greeted them with shouts and cheers. Women embraced and kissed them, and even the men wept. “Like a thunderbolt out of the clear sky, God answered our prayers,” John Oborn said.

The rescuers distributed lifesaving food, clothing, and bedding that the Saints in Salt Lake City had donated. Harvey Cluff felt that “this was certainly the most timely arrival of a relief party recorded in history for the salvation of a people.” James Willie later wrote, “We all felt rejoiced at our timely deliverance, and attributed it entirely to the hand of God, which had been over us during the whole of our journey.”

This “timely deliverance” can also be attributed to James Willie’s decision and determination to go to find the rescuers. If Captain Willie hadn’t found them and informed them of the crisis, they might have remained in camp another day or two while waiting for the weather to improve. Had they done so, their arrival might have been too late for most of the Willie company. Mary Hurren said, “If help had not come when it did, there would have been no one left to tell the tale. ... They came just in time to save our lives.”

The next day, October 22, the rescuers divided. Several men and six wagons stayed with the Willie company, with William Kimball taking charge. Assisted by these rescuers, the Willie Saints labored onward about 10 miles and camped near the base of Rocky Ridge. George Grant and his other men continued east to find the Martin company.

When members of the Willie company arose on October 23, the hardest day of the journey loomed before them. They had to climb Rocky Ridge and travel about 16 miles to reach the next camp. They had to make that climb in another snowstorm with freezing wind. James Willie had to do it for the third time in four days. He later wrote:

In crossing the Rocky Ridge, we had to encounter a heavy snowstorm, accompanied by a strong north wind. It was the most disastrous day on the whole trip, 15 dying from fatigue and exposure to the cold.

The Willie company resumed travel the next day, their situation critical. Two more people died that morning, and many others were near death. They were 250 miles from Salt Lake City, and no additional rescuers would reach them for a week. Most of these Saints would have to continue pulling their handcarts another nine days, grinding out 135 miles to Fort Bridger.

At Fort Bridger there were enough rescue wagons that everyone could ride the final 113 miles to the Salt Lake Valley. A week later, on November 9, the Willie company reached their journey’s end.

James Willie's oldest son, eight-year-old William, had not seen his father for four years. When he learned that his father was about to arrive home, he was so excited that he walked to the mouth of Emigration Canyon to meet him. It was an emotional meeting for both father and son. James lifted William into the wagon, and they rode into town together.

Young William may have been troubled to see his father's condition. James Willie's feet and legs were badly frozen and wrapped in burlap sacks. For a time it looked as though his feet would have to be amputated, but both were saved. His wife, Elizabeth, believed that "there was nothing but his faith and the power of the priesthood and administration that saved his legs."

What kind of leader was James Willie on the handcart trek? His service is best summed up by George Cunningham: "Our captain . . . did his duty. He was badly frozen and came very close to dying. . . . [He] showed us all a noble example. He was furnished a mule to ride on our start from Iowa City, but he said, 'I will never get on its back. I shall show the example; you follow it.' He did so, and the captains of hundreds followed him. They would crowd on ahead to be the first into the streams to help the women and children across. . . . They waded every stream, I might say, a dozen times between Iowa City and Green River, with the exception of the Missouri River. [Toward the end] they were completely exhausted and had to be hauled the balance of the way, some of them not being able to stand on their feet."

Mary Hurren also paid tribute to James Willie: "We all loved Captain Willie. He was kind and considerate and did all that he could for the comfort of those in his company. Many times he has laid his hands upon my head and administered to me."

James Willie must have felt worn out after four years of missionary service and the four-month handcart ordeal, but he had little opportunity to rest. Six weeks after returning home, he was called to be bishop of the Salt Lake 7th Ward. He served in this position until the spring of 1859, when Brigham Young called him to help settle Cache Valley. He moved his family and made his home in Mendon, where he lived the last 36 years of his life. Using the training he had received as a young man, James Willie became superintendent and clerk of the local cooperative store. He also served in many civic positions, including mayor, water master, and postmaster.

James and Elizabeth Willie had two more children after James returned from his mission, for a total of five. James also had a daughter by a plural wife.

James Willie's Church service in Mendon was extensive and is well documented. He served in a bishopric and as a patriarch, among other callings. For many years, records from the Mendon Ward show him speaking in church nearly every month. He was considered an inspirational speaker whose life matched his words from the pulpit. 

James Willie died in 1895, nearly 40 years after the handcart trek, at the age of 80. Showing the high esteem in which he was held, the people in Mendon closed their stores and came in from their fields for his funeral, with nearly everyone in town attending. James was buried in Mendon. 

His great-great grandson,Paul Willie, had this to say about him, "While restoring the 1865 rock home of my great-great grandfather, James G. Willie, I spent many hours removing coats of paint and shoring up the stones and timbers that were carefully fit together in his sturdy pioneer home. As I peeled back the layers of history of this home, I often marveled at its construction and craftsmanship. As I worked alone late at night and into the wee hours of the morning, I would find myself reflecting on James G. Willie, whose life was as remarkable as the house he had lived in. I wondered what it might have been like to walk in his shoes as he migrated from England, to New York, to Nauvoo, to Mendon, Utah. How could he possibly leave a wife and young family in the Salt Lake Valley to return to England and eventually lead a group of nearly 400 people back to Utah, traveling a good part of the way pulling handcarts?

On another occasion, I climbed to the top of Machu Picchu and marveled at the precisely fit stone ruins of that ancient civilization. Again and again, as I looked at those incredible stone buildings, I asked myself, How did they do this? And then, perhaps more importantly, Why did they do this? These are fitting questions to contemplate when remembering the handcart pioneers. How did they do it? Why did they do it?

The answers to these questions seem to have been the cornerstones of James G. Willie’s life. He was a man of deep faith and absolute commitment. The legacy of the handcart saga is more than a story of hardship and survival. Almost everyone encounters a variety of challenges in this life—difficult situations, seemingly insurmountable odds, and daunting tasks. I only have to remember James G. Willie to remind myself that our heritage teaches us that we can do hard things when motivated by the truths of the gospel. And if we are motivated by correct principles, we can not only endure life’s challenges but even thrive and grow from them. That is the valuable lesson our family has been blessed with from the legacy of our grandfather, James G. Willie.

Pioneer Stories - James & Mary Ann Mellor

James and Mary Ann Mellor were faithful, long-time members of the Church who had been too poor to emigrate until assistance was provided through the Perpetual Emigration Fund. They were the parents of nine children, seven still living, ages 2 to 16. Mary Ann was about seven months pregnant when they arrived in Liverpool to begin their journey.
   
James Mellor had grown up in a very poor family with a father who was nearly deaf and a mother who was nearly blind. Of necessity, he began working as a yarn winder to help support the family when he was only six years old. He continued working various jobs in the fabric industry for most of his life in England.
   
During his early life, James had many narrow escapes with death. Once he was run over by a mail coach. Another time he was nearly burned to death. Yet another time he fell headfirst into a cistern. Soon after he was married, he had a serious factory accident. "The machine that I was working at . . . flew all to pieces," he wrote, "and the spikes caught me in many parts of my body. . . . I was lying all covered with blood as though torn all to pieces. . . . They took me off to the infirmary or hospital. . . . Their patients and all that saw me said, 'That poor fellow will not trouble [us] long.' For three days and nights I lay and heard the clock strike its rounds and tell the hour, for I could not close my eyes to sleep for pain."
   
Concerning these brushes with death, James later wrote, "[It] seems as though . . . the Devil was trying to destroy me, but that God in His mercy was determined to save me for some other purpose." That purpose began to make itself clear in 1844, when James was 25 years old. He had moved from Leicester to Yorkshire the previous year to work at wool combing, and there he first heard the elders preach the gospel. He investigated earnestly: "I read the Bible through from Genesis to Revelations, and the more I read the more I was convinced of the truth of the things they preached. . . . I went regular on Sunday to hear the Elders and came home and told my wife the things they preached. [I] read to her out of the New Testament . . . to show her it was the same as was preached by the Apostles of Jesus Christ."

Both James and Mary Ann Mellor were baptized in April 1844. They soon moved back home to Leicester, where James thought his friends would eagerly receive the gospel because, in his words, "it [was] so plain and scriptural." To his great surprise, most of them disapproved. "Many of my friends began to oppose me and looked shy at me as if I were something to be shunned," he recalled.
   
For a few years the Mellors went back and forth between Yorkshire and Leicester as James searched for employment. While in Yorkshire, he was appointed to watch over the Saints in the Bradford area. After returning to Leicester in 1850, he was ordained an elder and set apart to preside over the nearby Blaby Branch. Two years later he was released and appointed president of the Leicester Branch, a position he held until he emigrated. While serving in these callings, he said, "I preached in and around all the villages," walking many miles each Sunday to do so. Some he baptized, and many more, in his words, he "reclaimed."
   
When the family was finally preparing to emigrate in 1856, Mary Ann grieved because of concern for her widowed father. Her oldest daughter, 16-year-old Louisa, recalled: "The hardest [part] was to leave my poor grandfather. . . . He was a good man. He wept and offered money to his daughter, my dear mother, but relief was offered too late, for the gospel was more than anything else."

Mary Ann became ill after arriving in Liverpool and gave premature birth to conjoined twin daughters. They lived only seven hours, and Mary Ann was so near  death herself that she could not board the ship. She told her husband to leave her and take the children to America, saying she would go later.

The Mellor family faced an agonizing dilemma. Their ship, the Horizon, would be carrying the last large company of Latter-day Saint emigrants to leave England that season. Unless the Mellors got on board, they would have to wait until another year to emigrate. But waiting would create other predicaments. The family had already given up their home and employment in Leicester and had sold most of their possessions. Having lived in poverty all their lives, they did not have the resources to wait out another year.

Another problem with waiting was the uncertainty of future emigration opportunities. Despite being industrious, the Mellors had not been able to save enough money to pay for the passage of their nine family members to America. Only by receiving a loan from the Perpetual Emigration Fund were they able to emigrate in 1856. There was no guarantee that such assistance would be available the next year. In 1856 the fund had been in debt—and its availability in doubt—until Brigham Young sold some of his own property to help replenish it.

Even in her weakened physical condition, Mary Ann Mellor was so committed to Zion that she saw only one way to resolve this dilemma. Although she could hardly bear to have her family leave, particularly in her time of need, she urged her husband to keep their places on the ship. Their passage had been arranged; their possessions were packed and ready for loading; she would go to America, somehow, when she recovered.

James Mellor reluctantly complied with his wife's request and took five of his children to the docks in Liverpool, where they boarded the ship. Two of the children stayed behind—16-year-old Louisa, who would look after her mother, and one of Louisa's 2-year-old twin sisters. Describing that 16th birthday on May 23, 1856, Louisa wrote, "A sad one it was for me, as I was left with a sick mother and a little sister 2 1⁄2 years old, as my father had to take the rest of the family and go aboard."

Louisa did not know when she would see her father again. She likely thought it would be at least a year—and maybe never. She likely worried that her mother might die, leaving her and her little sister on their own. But then to her great surprise, two days later her father returned to the hospital and said the ship's departure had been delayed. The ship had left the dock and was anchored in the River Mersey, but it would not be tugged out to sea until later that day. Although Mary Ann was still seriously ill, she decided she did not want her family to leave without her after all. Over the doctor's protests, James took her from the hospital on a stretcher and carried her onto the ship. The doctor predicted that sharks would follow the ship until she died. Seeing her condition, the captain predicted she would soon be food for the sharks. Because Mary Ann was in such precarious health, some of the mission leaders who came aboard to bid the Saints farewell administered to her. In the blessing, Elder Cyrus Wheelock told Mary Ann that her mission on earth was not completed and that she would "see her seed in Zion."  The family sailed to Zion together after all.

Mary Ann regained some of her strength, but during the handcart journey she often felt like quitting. Her 16-year-old daughter Louisa recalled the following experience that gave her mother both the physical and spiritual strength to continue another day:

"My mother, still being weak, finally gave up and said she could go no further. The company could not wait for her, so she bade my father goodbye and kissed each one of the children Godspeed. Then my mother sat down on a boulder and wept. I told my [14-year-old] sister Elizabeth to take good care of the twins and the rest of the family, and that I would stay with mother. I went a few yards away and prayed with faith that God would help us, that He would protect us from devouring wolves, and asked that He would let us reach camp. As I was going back to where Mother was sitting, I found a pie in the road. I picked it up and gave it to mother to eat. After resting awhile we
 started on our journey, thanking God for the blessings. A few miles before we reached camp, we met my father coming out to meet us. We arrived in camp at 10:00 P.M. Many times after that, Mother felt like giving up and quitting, but then she would remember how wonderful the Lord had been to spare her so many times, and offered a prayer of gratitude instead."

Pioneeer Stories - The McPhail Family

It had been 16 years since Archibald and his first wife, Elizabeth Love, had joined the Church. Much had transpired in those years, including the birth of their three children, two of whom had died. After Elizabeth died in 1847, Archibald married her cousin, Jane McKinnon.

Jane was born in Scotland in 1820. As a young girl, she and her widowed mother worked in the “bleaching fields” near Paisley, where they turned wet cotton and linen fabrics that were being bleached by the sun. Jane had joined the Church by the time she met Archibald, and they continued making plans to emigrate. They sold most of their possessions to help pay for the family’s emigration.

One final event took place before the McPhail family left Scotland: the adoption of Jane McPhail’s three-year-old niece, Jane McDonald, at the request of her mother.

The McPhail family would sail on the ship Thornton to America. They would arrive in New York City on June 14. From New York the McPhail family traveled by rail and steamboat to Iowa City. There Archibald was assigned responsibility for a group of about 20 people in the Willie handcart company.

In mid-July the Willie company was finally ready to pull up stakes and move from the Iowa City outfitting camp. As they passed through the small towns of Iowa, the Saints could sometimes work for supplies or purchase them from local farmers. One evening Henrietta called at a nearby farmhouse to secure some milk for a sick child in the company. What happened at this farmhouse was later recorded by Henrietta’s daughter Rachel:

"There she met a wealthy lady from New York who became very much interested in her. She tried to persuade Henrietta to go back to New York with her, offering her a lovely home and everything a young girl could want. Such promises seemed like the realization of a dream, and Henrietta was all aglow with excitement when she returned to the camp.

Her father listened to her story with sympathetic understanding but impressed on her youthful mind the importance of her religion, which they had already sacrificed so much for. After some reluctance, she dismissed the thought from her mind and resumed her labors pushing and pulling the handcart."

By October, flour rations were reduced and winter storms began, making the journey extremely difficult for the Willie company. On October 23 they crossed Rocky Ridge, traveling nearly 16 miles in a blizzard, and arrived at Rock Creek Hollow late at night. They were cold, damp, and exhausted, but Archibald McPhail still had duties to perform. Besides attending to the welfare of his family, he found that one of the women in his group was missing.

 

It was a cold, lonely walk as Archibald returned to seek the lost one. He eventually found her freezing, fearful, and without hope. She had reached a creek that she was afraid to cross because the ice might break and she would fall in. She reasoned that she was dying anyway and did not want to die with wet clothing frozen to her body.

Archibald called for her to come across the ice to him, but no amount of coaxing would change her mind. He finally went to her, gathered her up, and started back across the creek. Their combined weight broke the ice. Archibald was soaked in the frigid water, but the rescued woman was safe and dry.

After trudging almost four miles through wind and cold, they stumbled into the camp, where “few tents were pitched.” Archibald was met by his loving teenage daughter, who helped him under a handcart, covered it with a half-frozen tent, and then kept a vigil by his side the rest of the night. Three times the wind blew the tent cover off the rude shelter. Three times Henrietta replaced it and brushed the snow from her father’s face.

Thirteen members of the company died from the trek over Rocky Ridge and were buried the next morning. Archibald was still clinging to life when the company left this camp on October 25.

On November 5, Archibald was being carried in a wagon while Jane walked behind, probably taking turns with Henrietta in carrying little Jane. That was a difficult day for the Willie company. They traveled 23 miles and crossed Yellow Creek, jolting Archibald at every turn.

Jane did not sleep in a tent that night but watched and waited in the wagon with Archibald, gently cradling his head in her lap. Jane knew that her husband was dying, and she could not bear the thought of him dying in the dark, so she held a small tallow candle near his head. Her desire was to look on his loving face to the last. She prayed that the flicker of the little candle would stay with them until Archibald passed away. “Her prayer was answered, for the light of the candle and the life of her husband went out at the same time.” The Willie company journal for November 6 recorded: “Archibald McPhail, from Greenock, Argyleshire, Scotland, died about 2 a.m., aged 40 years. Much snow on the ground this morning & still more falling.”

Archibald McPhail died when he was only three days from reaching his goal of Zion. To the end of the journey, he had given his all in the service of his family and others. His wife, daughter, and adopted daughter arrived safely in the Salt Lake Valley on November 9, 1856. The sacrifices made by their husband and father would continue to inspire his posterity and others for generations to come.

I really just loved this story as it is such a sweet story of devotion. Archibald truly was an amazing man who took his priesthood responsibility seriously. It is almost unimaginable that under the circumstances, weak from hunger, exhausted from a long cold day pulling his handcart over Rocky Ridge he would leave camp in search of one of the women he had responsibility over. She was not his family, just his responsibility. It is remarkable that he would sacrifice so much for her. Truly an example to us all of discipleship.

Have a great week!

Sister McHood

Pioneer Stories - The James and Elizabeth Cunningham Family

"We are now in the desert, or wilderness, a wave-like country without woods, only a few trees,” wrote Peter Madsen, a Danish member of the Willie company, on August 17, 1856. It was George Cunningham’s 16th birthday and his sister Catherine’s 18th. The Cunningham family had crossed Iowa and was beginning the 1,000-mile trek across Nebraska and Utah Territories. The Willie company journal recorded “a smart shower or two” that day, as well as some counsel from subcaptain Millen Atwood that this was the last chance for any of the handcart travelers to change their minds about continuing to Utah. The Cunningham family was resolute about going to Zion. They had dreamed of it in their native Scotland for nearly 15 years. George was only a year old at the time of his parents’ baptism and was raised “in the strictest sense of the word a Mormon.” He recorded: "The faith, religion, and piety that was then implanted on my mind in my infancy has never been eradicated and I believe never will be. I have often thought of the two thousand young men which we read of in the Book of Mormon, who had faith instilled into them by their mothers and the good effects it had on them. ... My experience was much like theirs." Indeed, the entire Cunningham family was strengthened in their journey to Zion by the unfaltering faith of the mother, Elizabeth. During their years of Church membership before emigrating, the Cunningham home was always open to the missionaries. George wrote: “I have known my mother to go time after time and borrow money to give to them to help them along, when she saw no earthly chance to pay it back. But she was so full of faith, she would always say that the Lord would open up the way for her. ... He invariably did, too.” Elizabeth not only taught trust and reliance on the Lord to her family but worked alongside them to prepare for the time they could gather with the Saints. She and her daughters worked long hours in the textile industry, spinning and weaving for wages and for their own clothing and linens. George said that his mother was “a rustler in the greatest sense of the word.” James Cunningham and his sons worked in the coal mines. A man of poor health, reportedly from black lung, James did his best to support the family. George began working in the mines at age 7, after only two years of schooling, and continued until he left Scotland at age 15. He recorded: "[I often worked] twelve or fourteen hours a day, sometimes not seeing the light of heaven for a whole week, only on Sunday. ... The air [was] so bad that a lamp would not burn. No one knows the dangers and privations experienced there, only those who have gone through the same. In the spring of 1856 the chance opened up for us to immigrate to this country, for which I was truly thankful." With the help of the Perpetual Emigrating Fund and the handcart plan, the Cunningham family left their community as pioneers—reportedly the first Latter-day Saint emigrants from the town of Dysart. They left behind their daughter Agnes (age 29) and son Robert (21), who stayed in Scotland with their spouses and children; both Agnes and Robert emigrated later. Elizabeth and James and their younger children traveled by train to Glasgow and then by steamship to Liverpool, where they boarded the sailing ship Thornton with more than 700 other Saints. Most of these passengers would eventually make up the Willie handcart company. The weeks on the Atlantic Ocean must have been refreshing compared to the bad air and long hours in the coal mines and loom shops. Although the voyage was long and often cold and foggy, George enjoyed it. “The Captain took a northerly route,” he wrote, and “we saw at different times some very large icebergs towering up in the sky like huge mountains.” Growing up with Book of Mormon stories influenced how George felt when the family arrived at Castle Garden in New York City: "I well can remember the first step that I made on American soil. " I had been taught to believe that it was a land of promise, blessed above all other lands, and although only a small boy of fifteen years of age, I felt like thanking God for the blessings I then enjoyed."  Several days later, after the Saints arrived in their Iowa City camp, George reflected on a Bible story as he described one night’s thunderstorm that caused the firmament to seem “entirely in a blaze.” The torrential rains and strong winds created hardship as there were not yet enough tents for everyone. George wrote: "Water was swimming everywhere, everyone in an uproar. Children were crying, mothers sighing. ... Of course, some growled and repined about the good homes they had left. Indeed, many felt like the ancient Israelites who looked back and moaned after the leeks and onions of Egypt." The three weeks in Iowa City went more smoothly after cloth was procured and tents were made. The Cunningham family occupied a large round tent with at least 14 other people, ranging in age from 4 months to 67 years.  There were five such tents in the group of 100 led by subcaptain William Woodward. Like the Cunningham family, many in this group were from Scotland.    While the Cunninghams and the rest of the Willie company crossed Iowa, opportunities abounded for them to give up or become discouraged. George reported: "While [we were] traveling along, people would mock, sneer, and deride us on every occasion for being such fools as they termed us, and would often throw out inducements to get us to stop. But we told them we were going to Zion, and would not stop on any account. ... People would turn out in crowds to laugh at us, crying “gee” and “haw” as if we were oxen. But this did not discourage us in the least, for we knew that we were on the right track." 

On September 3, about two weeks after leaving Florence, the Willie company made a long drive and did not reach camp until sunset. The oxen and cows had been turned out to feed with a guard watching them when a herd of buffalo stampeded near the camp. At the same time, a severe storm came up. George wrote: "Every man ran to help put up the tents, and the cattle guard ran to help save the women and children also, thinking that the storm would subside after a little and they would tend to their cattle again, but it kept up the whole night, and it soon became as dark as pitch and all hands had to hold on to the tents to keep them from going up. The prairie was flooded in a few moments. The thunder roared most deafeningly, accompanied with the most vivid flashes of lightning which seemed to electrify everything. ... Oh, for the pen of the poet. Oh, for the brush of the artist. Had they been there! But such thoughts are above the power of my pen to describe." 

The next morning, the Willie company found that about 30 of their oxen were missing, having run off during the stampede. With other boys and men, George spent two days searching for the lost animals without success. Worried about lost time and supplies that would inevitably run short, they finally hitched up their milk cows to the wagons and lightened the loads by moving provisions to the handcarts. George said they “plodded along through the mud with all the courage that we could muster.” Besides pulling handcarts and assisting with children and camp duties, the young women of the Willie company did their part in helping the young men to muster that courage. Caroline, Betsy, and Margaret Cunningham were surely among those whom George praised: “Our bright young sisters helped us by doing all they could to encourage us in every shape, and whenever an opportunity afforded, they would try to cheer us along with their beautiful strains of vocal music. They seemed to have songs very appropriate for every occasion. This was much help to us under such stiff circumstances. ... ” 

George was not so exuberant as he wrote a blunt appraisal of circumstances leading up to the third week of October: "The nights now began to be very cold and the feed [for the animals] was very poor. Our provisions were running out fast. Starvation looked us in the face. ... The captain called us together and said that all the provisions were gone, except some few crackers which he had saved for the sick and the small children. ... He said ... that he would kill every critter in the train before any of us should die of starvation. ... Our captain intended to keep his word and commenced to kill off the cattle, but they were nearly as poor as we were. We used to boil the bones and drink the soup and eat what little meat there was. We greedily devoured the hides also. I myself have [taken] a piece of hide when I could get it, scorched off the hair on the fire, roasted it a little on the coals, cut it in little pieces so that I could swallow it, and bolted it down my throat for supper and thought it was most delicious." 

On the morning of October 19, the Saints were issued their last flour rations. About midday, they also experienced their first snowstorm. In these precarious circumstances, George remembered a dream from the previous night and told some of his Willie companions about it: "I dreamed a dream that ... we had started out on the road. I thought that I saw two men coming toward us on horseback. They were riding very swiftly and soon came up to us. They said that they had volunteered to come to our rescue and that they would go on further east to meet a company which was still behind us and that on the morrow we would meet a number of wagons loaded with provisions for us. They were dressed in blue soldier overcoats and had Spanish saddles on their horses. I examined them, particularly the saddles, as they were new to me. I also could discern every expression of their countenances. They seemed to rejoice and be exceedingly glad that they had come to our relief and saved us." 

Full of faith, George’s mother bore witness to the gathered crowd that “she knew the dream would be fulfilled, for it was [George’s] promise in [his] blessing to dream dreams and see things come to pass.” George recorded: "We therefore set out and to our great pleasure, every word of my dream was fulfilled. ... I spotted the two persons that I had dreamed of the night before, riding fast towards us. I called the fact to the attention of the crowd, being quite a distance off. I roared out, “Here they come. See them coming over that hill.” They told me that I was a true dreamer, and we all felt that we should thank God."  

Elizabeth Cunningham’s strength and her faith in the promises of God were manifest again during this difficult time. The Willie company crossed Rocky Ridge in a blizzard on October 23 and into the early morning hours of October 24. Some families and tent-mates became separated in the storm. Some who were too weak to walk were carried on the backs or in the handcarts of loved ones. The already overcrowded wagons bringing up the rear could not carry all the sick and disabled. Many of those who first reached camp struggled to find shelter and start small fires before returning on the trail to bring in those left behind.  It appeared that Betsy Cunningham had died before reaching camp. She was wrapped in a blanket and left by the side of the trail. The faith and determination of Betsy’s mother and others rescued her: "[Elizabeth] had been promised in Scotland that if she was faithful that she and all her family would reach Zion in safety. She went back to the child [and] she was brought back to camp and worked over. Some hot water was spilt on her foot which caused a quiver to go through the limb. ... They kept up their efforts until they brought her back to life." 

George recorded that the rescuers treated the Saints in the Willie company well. He also praised Captain Willie: “Our captain ... did his duty. He was badly frozen and came very close to dying.” George concluded his family’s story with few details but much gratitude: "At last we arrived at Salt Lake, where we were kindly cared for and well treated. The sick were doctored and then sent to the various settlements. We were sent to American Fork, where my home has been ever since. Here we met with many old acquaintances and soon formed new ones. Many were willing to help us. After gaining our strength back, we soon found employment and ere long were moved from the very poor circumstances which we had been placed in. I soon forgot my past troubles." 

After their forebears had lived in the Dysart area of Scotland for decades, working in the coal mines and textile factories, James and Elizabeth Cunningham became relatively prosperous landowners in Utah. Their posterity numbers in the thousands today. James Cunningham had continuing poor health, which prevented him from being a complete support to his family. Utah’s dry climate seemed to agree with him, however, and he lived to be almost 77 years of age. James suffered from an unnamed illness for three years before his death in 1878. His obituary states that he “remained faithful to the end. He leaves about one hundred children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, and shortly before his death called his family around him and exhorted them to stand firm in the gospel.”

An ancestor of Elizabeth Cunningham said this: “Everyone needs heroes to emulate. My great-great-grandmother Elizabeth Nicholson Cunningham used grit and pluck to prod, push, and carry my Cunningham relatives from Scotland to Zion in the fateful year of 1856. I marvel at what she endured and overcame. She was an iron lady. I can only imagine what Elizabeth felt as her bedraggled group staggered into the Salt Lake Valley....No one remembers Elizabeth complaining about her hardships or regretting the family’s move to Utah...Her legacy is thousands of relatives of Scottish ancestry who now live in the Intermountain West.

The most important lesson that can be drawn from Elizabeth’s remarkable life is that ordinary people can overcome seemingly insurmountable obstacles. Elizabeth overcame losing her first husband and being a single mother. She overcame living in poverty and marrying a man who was only a modest provider and losing two of her children. Her brush with death in Wyoming brought out the strongest elements of her character. As the journey become more arduous, Elizabeth occasionally placed her depleted husband, James, on the handcart so they could keep up with the rest.

Elizabeth wasn’t the only humble woman who rose above herself in the handcart tragedy of 1856, but she is a sterling representative of that group. In her stressful life she achieved far more than could have been expected of her—my definition of a hero.

—Dale W Adams

Have a great week!

Sister McHood

Pioneer Story - Agnes Caldwell

Born: February 22, 1847, Glasgow, Lanark, Scotland

Parents: William and Margaret Ann McFall Caldwell
1856: James G. Willie Handcart Company
Age at time of journey: 9

The following is a transcript of an interview with Agne's daughter in her later life, about her experience on her trek to Zion:

"On the twenty-eighth day of June, 1856, under the company leader of James G. Willie, we landed in the United States of America. Then began the noted tramp across the desert waste. Mother had one boy fifteen years of age, upon whom she was depending for the greater share of the pulling; when only a day or two out he was attempting to lasso a wild cow to be milked, his foot became tangled in the rope. He was thrown on his shoulder and dragged quite a distance, sustaining a broken shoulder. This of course threw the heavy pulling upon Mother.

Although only tender years of age, I can yet close my eyes and see everything in panoramic precision before me-the ceaseless walking, walking, ever to remain in my memory. Many times I would become so tired and, childlike, would hang on the cart, only to be gently pushed away. Then I would throw myself by the side of the road and cry. Then realizing they were all passing me by, I would jump to my feet and make an extra run to catch up.

Of the long cold journey, the suffering, and hardships, enough has been told and written, of that terrible night when fifteen were frozen and buried in one grave. My sister Elizabeth Caldwell had her foot frozen. Two of her toes were amputated upon our arrival in the Salt Lake Valley.

I have often marveled of the wonderful integrity of character of my mother's planning and successfully completing such a journey where more able-bodied and stronger-yes, even men-failed miserably.

Winter came in October with eighteen inches of snow, but in spite of this we did not suffer from hunger, due to Mother's careful and frugal planning. In Iowa City Mother sold a quilt and a bedspread for the sum of twenty-four cents. With this she bought food. She had a way with Indians: she traded trinkets for dried meat, which proved to be of great help to us on the journey. Frequently it would be stormy so that a fire could not be built; then mother would allow each of us to have a piece of dried meat on a piece of bread. As food became more and more scarce and the weather colder, she would stew a little of this meat and make a delicious gravy over it. I guess the reason it tasted so good is that we were allowed only a small portion at each meal.

One very cold night, some young men were on guard. Mother prepared some meat broth, thickened with flour, and a little salt; she gave each one of the young men a half pint. They often declared it saved their lives and never before or since had anything tasted so good.

One day we came to a section inhabited by rattlesnakes. Two of us, my friend Mary Hurren  and I, would hold hands and jump. It seemed to me we were jumping for more than a mile. Due to the protecting hand of the Lord, we were not harmed. (side note: Mary Hurren is Sister Anderson's ancestor...)

The 30th of September we stopped at a station in Laramie, Wyoming. Mother, in company with her fifteen-year-old boy and a young lady, Christena McNeil, who was making the trip under Mother's care, visited one of the generals in command at the fort to obtain permission to trade some trinkets and silver spoons for flour and meat. The officer said he himself could not use any of the things but to leave the young lady in his office while mother went to another station, where he assured her she would be able to obtain the things she desired. He seemed very kind, and not wishing to arouse any feeling of ill will, she left Christena and Thomas. During her absence the officer used the time in trying to persuade Christena to stay there, proposing to her and showing her the gold he had, telling her what a fine lady he would make of her. Then he tried discouraging her, pointing out to her how the handcart company would never reach Utah, because of the severe cold, and that they would die of cold and hunger and exposure. Like all noble girls, and true to the cause for which she had left her native Scotland, her family, home, and friends just to be in Utah, she told him in plain language she would take her chances with the others even though it might mean death. She was greatly relieved to have Mother return. The officer, however, seemed to admire her very much for her loyalty to her faith and gave her a large cured ham and wished her well in her chosen adventure.

Just before we crossed the mountains, relief wagons reached us, and it certainly was a relief. The infirm and aged were allowed to ride, all able-bodied continuing to walk. When the wagons started out, a number of us children decided to see how long we could keep up with the wagons, in hopes of being asked to ride. At least that is what my great hope was. One by one they all fell out, until I was the last one remaining, so determined was I that I should get a ride. After what seemed the longest run I ever made before or since, the driver, who was Heber [William Henry] Kimball, called to me, "Say, sissy, would you like a ride?" I answered in my very best manner, "Yes sir." At this he reached over, taking my hand, clucking to his horses to make me run, with legs that seemed to me could run no farther. On we went, to what to me seemed miles. What went through my head at that time was that he was the meanest man that ever lived or that I had ever heard of, and other things that would not be a credit nor would it look well coming from one so young. Just at what seemed the breaking point, he stopped. Taking a blanket, he wrapped me up and lay me in the bottom of the wagon, warm and comfortable. Here I had time to change my mind, as I surely did, knowing full well by doing this he saved me from freezing when taken into the wagon. 

Agnes Caldwell and her family arrived safely in the Great Salt Lake Valley November 9, 1856. They settled in Brigham City, Utah, where Agnes met and married Chester Southworth. They became the parents of thirteen children. They lived in Dingle, Idaho, helped settle an LDS colony in Cardston, Alberta, Canada, and lived a short time in Gridley, California, where her husband died in 1910. Agnes moved back to Brigham City for her remaining years, where she was active in Relief Society and enjoyed sewing, quilting, and living close to some of her children. She was an excellent cook and made many Scottish recipes. She died September 11, 1924, in Brigham City at the age of seventy-seven.

Sister Elaine S. Dalton said this of Agnes Caldwell's story: 

"Had the driver of that wagon taken Agnes into the wagon without making her run, she would have surely succumbed to the bitter cold. And had Agnes chosen to give up and fall behind, her story may have ended much differently. However, for Agnes this became her defining moment, and though the decision to run did not make perfect sense at the time, she ran anyway. She ran toward Zion—heeding the voice of the Lord, who said, “Let them awake, and arise, and come forth, and not tarry, for I, the Lord, command it” (D&C 117:2).

Each of you is on a journey to Zion. You may not have to give up all of your earthly possessions, but the journey to Zion requires that you give up all of your sins so that you may come to know Him—the true and living Christ. You may even be asked to run to the point of exhaustion, but by doing so, the warmth of the Lord’s love will preserve you for the great work yet to come....

 Never before has there been a generation quite like yours. You are better prepared and better equipped. You have what it takes, and now is the time for the run of your life—your run to Zion! "

I like Agne's story (in particular about the running) because it reminds me not to question "why" when things are difficult.  I love that she openly admits that she thought the driver who made her run was "the meanest man alive".  I think I've had times in my life when I had similar thoughts.  I've thought that circumstances were "unfair", but in reality, when I look back, I see the Lord's hand in my life and I know that I am stronger for having "run" through those trials. I think there are great lessons in her story. 

Pioneer Stories - The Peder & Helena Mortensen Family

November 9 was a day that Mette Mortensen never forgot. During her long life, every year on that day she reflected on her family’s journey from Denmark to Utah. Mette was 11 years old when her family emigrated as part of the Willie handcart company. November 9, 1856, is the day the company finally arrived in the Salt Lake Valley.

The Mortensen family came from the small Danish island of Møn, a beautiful place on the Baltic Sea with lush countryside and white-sand beaches. In 1856, Mette’s parents, Peder and Helena (Lena), had eight living children, ages 28 to 6. Peder was a shoemaker and a cooper, making barrels, buckets, and tubs. The family also owned a small farm and raised animals. They were well respected and relatively prosperous.

“As soon as my father and mother heard the gospel they were not very long in accepting it,” Mette recalled. When missionaries first came to Møn in 1855, Mette’s two oldest brothers, Morten and Anders, went to hear them preach. Morten had been studying for the Lutheran ministry and intended to confound the elders. Instead, as he and Anders listened, they “received the spirit of testimony.” They returned home and related their experience to their family. Within a short time, all of them were converted, feeling that they had “found the precious gem sent from heaven.”

After joining the Church, the Mortensens were shunned and persecuted. “It began to create a feeling of hatred towards our family, and persecution began to reign to quite an extent and our lives and property were endangered,” recalled Lars, who was 12 at the time. The family decided to sell their home and farm in Denmark and gather with the Saints in Utah. On March 31, 1856, only about a year after they had first met the missionaries, they said farewell to their beloved home and sailed up the Baltic Sea to Copenhagen. As one family historian wrote, “All that meant security and home to them was gone.”

Leaving their home was the first of many sacrifices the Mortensens would make. While they were in Copenhagen for a few weeks, waiting to continue their journey, the Scandinavian mission president asked them to make another sacrifice. Lars recalled, “It was deemed that my oldest brother [Morten] should remain and preach the gospel.” Anders said that when this request was made, “[our] feelings could hardly be described. ... [We] had forsaken friends, relatives, and now were asked for the eldest son to be left and separated from [us], perhaps never again to be together in this life.”

The thought of being separated was difficult for this closely bonded family, but an even greater worry was that they would need Morten for the long journey ahead. “Our family was not in a very good condition for such a journey,” Lars wrote. Peder had been crippled by an accident in his youth and suffered from rheumatism. The oldest daughter, Kirstine (Stena), had a bad knee. The two youngest children were nine and six. Could they make such a difficult journey without Morten’s help?

The family gave the request serious thought and prayer. Seeing their concern, the mission president told them, “If you will consent to his staying and filling a mission, I promise you in the name of the Lord that you shall, every one, reach the land of Zion in safety [and] that God will protect you on land and on sea.” Anders said that when this promise was made, the family all said, “Amen.” The money that had been paid for Morten’s passage was used to pay the way for Bodil Mortensen, a young girl from another family.

With approximately 160 other Danish Saints, the Mortensens left Copenhagen on April 23, 1856. This group went by steamship to Kiel, Germany; by train to Hamburg; by steamship across the North Sea to Grimsby, England; and by train across England to Liverpool. On May 2, Mette’s 11th birthday, the Mortensens went to the docks in Liverpool and boarded the Thornton. Two days later they set sail for America.

On June 14, after a six-week voyage, the Thornton arrived in New York City. Most of the passengers then traveled to Iowa City, which was the Church’s new outfitting site for handcart and wagon companies. There the Mortensens made another sacrifice. The proceeds from the sale of their property were sufficient to buy a wagon and oxen for the journey west, and that is what Peder intended to do. As Mette recalled, however, her father was “promised by those in authority if [he] would come with the handcart company and help others to come, that not one of the family should be lost.”

 

Although it was difficult to give up a wagon, the Mortensens shared their means to help pay the way for others and joined the Willie handcart company. Anders was asked to drive one of the company’s six supply wagons, and Peder and Stena were allowed to ride in the wagon because of their difficulty in walking. That left Lena and 19-year-old Hans as the only adults in the family to pull the handcart. They were helped by 13-year-old Lars and 11-year-old Mette; 9-year-old Mary and 6-year-old Caroline walked much of the way.

In Iowa City, the Willie Saints spent three weeks preparing for their journey. During that time the Mortensens helped build handcarts, sew tents, and gather provisions. Finally, on July 16, the company was on its way. “The children were happy” during the first part of the journey, Mette recalled. “We thought only of the new home we were going to.” However, Mette was also saddened that her family had to trade and discard fine china, bedding, and other treasured items because they had to lighten their load. Nine-year-old Mary had a pair of fancy slippers that she loved. She promised her mother that she would carry them every step of the way if she could keep them. Mary soon became fatigued, however, and left the slippers on a rock beside the trail.

After nearly a month of pulling their handcarts across Iowa, the Willie company arrived in Florence, Nebraska Territory. There they rested for a few days, repaired handcarts, and obtained supplies for the last 1,000 miles of the journey.

The Willie company took 45 days to travel the 522 miles across Nebraska to Fort Laramie. Mette described the night when a terrible thunderstorm and buffalo stampede resulted in the loss of 30 head of cattle. Most of these were oxen that pulled the supply wagons, and their loss was a severe setback that slowed the company’s progress. This loss seriously affected the Mortensen family as Peder and Stena were no longer able to ride in a supply wagon and had to be carried on the handcarts.

The Willie company reached Fort Laramie on September 30. They were dangerously low on food, so they reduced their daily ration of flour. Two weeks later they had to reduce rations again, with children receiving only six ounces of flour a day. The hunger “was hard for me to understand,” Mette said, “for we always had plenty of good food at home.”

The hunger also took a toll on other family members. Mette recalled, “As we neared the mountains, suffering became intense, especially from hunger and cold.” Mette’s younger sister Mary begged her mother to give her all the food she could eat just once and said she would never cry again. In what Mette described as the family’s darkest hour, one day Hans pulled the handcart off the trail and lay down beside it, telling his mother he couldn’t go another step. “We children stood by crying, thinking of the terrors in store for us,” Mette recalled. Ever resourceful, Lena searched through the handcart and found a little brandy she had kept to use as a medicine, mixed it with water, and gave it to Hans with a crust of dry bread. “Be brave, my boy,” she said. “We must go on.” By the time they got going again, the other handcarts were far ahead. The Mortensens didn’t reach camp until after dark, but Mette was happy that this crisis had passed. “Oh! how thankful we were,” she said.

With food so scarce, Lena planned and managed wisely to keep her family going. She baked small biscuits and kept them in the pocket of her apron to give her family throughout the day. “Mother would cook and fix [the flour] in some way so that we got the most good from it instead of giving each their portion of raw flour as some did,” Mette recalled. Once when her children were starving, Lena remembered that an old pincushion she had brought from Denmark was filled with bran. “With joy, she tore it apart, mixed the bran with the dough, and baked the bread which was eaten with relish,” a family history records.

Peder was likewise resourceful in helping his family. Using his skills as a shoemaker, he oiled pieces of shingles and attached them to worn-out shoe tops so his children’s feet were somewhat protected when the soles wore out.

The Willie company faced their most trying day on October 23, when they climbed Rocky Ridge during a fierce snowstorm. Some of the people traveled all day and night, finally arriving in camp at 5:00 a.m. Thirteen people died from this ordeal and were buried in a common grave at Rock Creek. Mette recalled with admiration the service of her exhausted brothers, who “helped shovel the snow and picked the frozen ground” to dig the grave. Mette also recalled a gesture of great generosity and respect from her mother at this time. Lena helped wrap the bodies of those who died and used one of the last of her “hand woven linen sheets [to help cover the bodies] before the dirt was put in.”

Two days earlier, on October 21, a small group of rescuers had arrived to help the Willie company, and on November 2, when they reached Fort Bridger, there were finally enough rescue wagons that everyone could ride. “We were helped the last miles of the journey into Salt Lake but after what a lot of suffering,” Mette said. Despite this suffering, the entire Mortensen family survived. The promises they had received in Denmark and again in Iowa City were fulfilled. Lars wrote that the family’s faith in these promises and their determination to serve the Lord were “ever a stimulant to press on through trials and difficulties to the end of our journey”

Reflecting on her experiences in the Willie handcart company, Lena said: “We had to have stout hearts and great faith in meeting these great trials. ... We wept as we went on our journey. We went before the Lord and pleaded for him to make good the promises which were given us by his servants when we were in old Denmark. How we implored Him to raise the sick and give us strength to carry our burdens without complaints.”

More than 70 years later, when Mette was in her 80s, she wrote or dictated a recollection that was written on the back of Parowan Stake Relief Society letterhead. Even after all those years, she began with a reference to November 9—the day she arrived in the Salt Lake Valley: “As the 9th day of November arrives each year, in memory I am taken back over the trip that was made from my home in Denmark where I was born ... to Utah and the land of Zion.” Although Mette acknowledged great suffering during the journey and also during the years of pioneering that followed, in another narration she concluded with these words of affirmation: “My faith has never changed,” she said, and “I am happy my home is with the Saints.”

Kathryn Mortensen Harmer, a great grand-daughter of Lars Mortensen said this of her ancestors: “In thinking about my beloved Mortensen Willie handcart family, I think first of my great-grandfather, Lars Mortensen. He turned 14 during his journey across the American plains. Lars was reportedly the kindest man anyone knew, according to my own father, Arlington Russell Mortensen, and others. It would seem that all the normal negativity of life was removed as Lars pulled his handcart under heartrending conditions. Surely as Elder Jeffrey R. Holland said of our pioneers, “They did it because the faith of the gospel of Jesus Christ was in their soul; it was in the marrow of their bones.”