Pioneer Stories - Elizabeth Jackson

Elizabeth Jackson was the oldest of 11 children. Her family joined the Church in 1841, when she was 15. In 1848 she married Aaron Jackson, and eight years later she and Aaron were finally emigrating with their three children, ages 2, 4, and 7. One of Elizabeth's brothers had emigrated earlier, and one of her sisters traveled with her. Elizabeth's mother had died a few months earlier, but her father would emigrate the next year with other family members.

Aaron became seriously ill during the trek, and the last crossing of the Platte brought on tragedy for this young family. Elizabeth recalled:  "My husband attempted to ford the stream. He had only gone a short distance when he reached a sand bar in the river, on which he sank down through weakness and exhaustion. My sister, Mary Horrocks Leavitt, waded through the water to his assistance. She raised him up to his feet. Shortly afterward, a man came along on horseback and conveyed him to the other side of the river, placed him on the bank, and left him there. My sister then helped me to pull my cart with my three children and other matters on it. We had scarcely crossed the river when we were visited with a tremendous storm of snow, hail, sand, and fierce winds."

    

After the crossing, Aaron Jackson was carried to camp because he was unable to walk. Soon afterward he was "still sinking." His wife continues:  "His condition now became more serious. . . . I prepared a little of such scant articles of food as we then had. He tried to eat but failed. He had not the strength to swallow. I put him to bed as quickly as I could. He seemed to rest easy and fell asleep. About nine o'clock I retired. Bedding had become very scarce, so I did not disrobe. I slept until, as it appeared to me, about midnight. I was extremely cold. The weather was bitter. I listened to hear if my husband breathed—he lay so still. I could not hear him. I became alarmed. I put my hand on his body, when to my horror I discovered that my worst fears were confirmed. My husband was dead. He was cold and stiff—rigid in the arms of death. It was a bitter freezing night, and the elements had sealed up his mortal frame. I called for help to the other inmates of the tent. They could render me no aid; and there was no alternative but to remain alone by the side of the corpse till morning. . . . Of course I could not sleep. I could only watch, wait, and pray for dawn. But oh, how the dreary hours drew their tedious length along. When daylight came, some of the male part of the company prepared the body for burial. And oh, such a burial and funeral service. They did not remove his clothing—he had but little. They wrapped him in a blanket and placed him in a pile with thirteen others who had died, and then covered him up in the snow. The ground was frozen so hard that they could not dig a grave. He was left there to sleep in peace until the trump of God shall sound, and the dead in Christ shall awake and come forth in the morning of the first resurrection. We shall then again unite our hearts and lives, and eternity will furnish us with life forever more."

Josiah Rogerson, who as a 15-year-old was assigned guard duty on that bitter night, described the painful events that attended the Jackson family at the last crossing and the night afterward:  "Aaron Jackson . . . was found so weak and exhausted when he came to the crossing of the North Platte, October 19, that he could not make it, and after he was carried across the ford in a wagon [I] was again detailed to wheel the dying Aaron on an empty cart, with his feet dangling over the end bar, to camp. After putting up his tent, I assisted his wife in laying him in his blankets.  It was one of the bitter cold, blackfrost nights, . . . and notwithstanding the hard journey the day before, I was awakened at midnight to go on guard again till 6 or 7 in the morning.  Putting jacket or coat on...and passing out through the middle of the tent, my feet struck those of poor Aaron. They were stiff and rebounded at my accidental stumbling. Reaching my hand to his face, I found that he was dead, with his exhausted wife and little ones by his side, all sound asleep. The faithful and good man Aaron had pulled his last cart. . . .  Returning to my tent from the night's guarding, I found there one of the most touching pictures of grief and bereavement in the annals of our journey. Mrs. Jackson, apparently just awakened from her slumber, was sitting by the side of her dead husband. Her face was suffused in tears, and between her bursts of grief and wails of sorrow, she would wring her hands and tear her hair. Her children blended their cries of 'Father' with that of the mother. This was love; this was affection—grief of the heart and bereavement of the soul—the like of which I have never seen since."

The following recollection from Elizabeth was written about the time between the death of her husband and the arrival of the express members of the rescue team, which was when the Martin company was camped at Red Buttes:  "A few days after the death of my husband, the male members of the company had become reduced in number by death; and those who remained were so weak and emaciated by sickness that on reaching the camping place at night, there were not sufficient men with strength enough to raise the poles and pitch the tents. The result was that we camped out with nothing but the vault of Heaven for a roof and the stars for companions. The snow lay several inches deep upon the ground. The night was bitterly cold. I sat down on a rock with one child in my lap and one on each side of me. In that condition I remained until morning."  Widowed, camped in miserable conditions, and unable to protect or provide for her three young children, Elizabeth was at the point of despair. Then at her time of greatest need, she received divine help. She wrote:  "It will be readily perceived that under such adverse circumstances I had become despondent. I was six or seven thousand miles from my native land, in a wild, rocky, mountain country , in a destitute condition, the ground covered with snow, the waters covered with ice, and I with three fatherless children with scarcely nothing to protect them from the merciless storms. When I retired to bed that night, being the 27th of October, I had a stunning revelation. In my dream, my husband stood by me and said—'Cheer up, Elizabeth, deliverance is at hand.'"

As the handcart company camped in Martin's Cove, Elizabeth worked to protect her three small children from the elements as the storm raged and temperatures dropped.  Although God did not use his power to turn away the storm, Elizabeth felt his power in helping them survive: "We camped for several days in a deep gulch called 'Martin's Ravine.' It was a fearful time and place. It was so cold that some of the company came near freezing to death. The sufferings of the people were fearful, and nothing but the power of a merciful God kept them from perishing. The storms continued unabated for some days. . . . When the snow at length ceased falling, it lay thick on the ground, and so deep that for many days it was impossible to move the wagons through. I and my children with hundreds of others were locked up in those fearful weather-bound mountains".

In the memoirs that Elizabeth later wrote of the handcart journey, she would write: "I will not attempt to describe my feelings at finding myself thus left a widow with three children, under such excruciating circumstances. I cannot do it. But I believe the Recording Angel has inscribed in the archives above, and that my sufferings for the Gospel's sake will be sanctified unto me for my good. . . .I [appealed] to the Lord, . . . He who had promised to be a husband to the widow, and a father to the fatherless. I appealed to him and he came to my aid." Like many others, Elizabeth Jackson testified to her posterity that her sufferings and sacrifices in the handcart trek strengthened her faith rather than weakened it. She also hoped this example would strengthen her posterity:  "I have a desire to leave a record of those scenes and events, through which I have passed, that my children, down to my latest posterity may read what their ancestors were willing to suffer, and did suffer, patiently for the Gospel's sake. And I wish them to understand, too, that what I now word is the history of hundreds of others, both men, women, and children, who have passed through many like scenes for a similar cause, at the same time we did. I also desire them to know that it was in obedience to the commandments of the true and living God, and with the assurance of an eternal reward—an exaltation to eternal life in His kingdom—that we suffered these things. I hope, too, that it will inspire my posterity with fortitude to stand firm and faithful to the truth, and be willing to suffer, and sacrifice all things they may be required to pass through for the Kingdom of God's sake."

    

As I read Elizabeth's story this weekend, I was struck with her faith. I love that instead of complaining about her circumstances, she sees the lessons learned and the hand of God in her life. I would imagine that she couldn't have ALWAYS been super happy about her circumstances, but she was able to look at the good in them.

It reminded me of this quote that I read from LDS Author Dean Hughes.  He said, “It occurred to me long ago that maybe, as the pioneer children walked and walked and walked and walked — and walked, they didn't really always sing and sing and sing and sing — and sing. Sometimes, maybe, they complained a little or even said, "Are we there yet?" 

I have a feeling that people were people in the 19th century, and not very different from us. And yet, we know what they had to suffer. 

We've developed a stereotype for those hearty Mormon pioneers. We speak of them almost as though they were superhuman. We say, "I just couldn't survive all the things they went through." But let me ask, is that the right lesson for us to learn?

Why speak of our noble forebears if we're only going to use them to convince ourselves that we aren't up to much by comparison? I think the right conclusion is that pioneers were regular people who did what they were called upon to do and we honor those who triumphed. But the point is, they did what they did, still possessing all the human weaknesses we deal with. Many of them rose to the occasion and did the hard things. That ought to be a lesson to us: We can do the same. We, too, can do hard things.”

I love this lesson....it is so true!  In the end, average people can do amazing things - they arrive at their destination with faith in every footstep, and we can, too!  The lesson to be learned is to look for God's help along the way, and remain true to what we know as we work our way through our trials having faith that we will make it through and we CAN do hard things.

Have a great week!

Sister McHood

Bodil (from "Remember the Journey")

Pioneer Stories - The Gadd Family

“We traveled 14 miles this day.”

“Went 20 miles to Fort Des Moines and camped.”

“Went 13 miles.”

“Traveled 15 miles.”

These are typical daily entries—in their entirety—from 19-year-old Alfred Gadd’s diary during the Willie handcart company’s journey across Iowa. Alfred never mentions the sweltering heat and humidity, the hunger and exhaustion. He never complains or celebrates. He simply records the miles traveled toward Zion.

Alfred’s father, Samuel, had joined the Church in 1841, when Alfred was four. Samuel served as a presiding elder in the Cambridge area for many years. By the time the family left England in 1856, there were eight children, including twins who were less than two years old. Samuel’s wife, Eliza, had not joined the Church when the family emigrated. Nevertheless, she agreed to emigrate so the family could stay together.

Alfred Gadd recorded more details about the journey across Nebraska Territory, usually about experiences that would have been new to an Englishman. As Iowa’s wooded hills gave way to Nebraska’s wide-open expanses and drier climate, Alfred wrote several times about the lack of water and wood. 

The next month brought multiple tragedies for the Gadd family. On October 4, when the Willie company was in the eastern part of modern-day Wyoming, two-year-old Daniel Gadd died. Alfred dutifully recorded the day’s mileage and then told of his brother’s passing in his usual documentary tone: “We went three miles and camped. My brother Daniel (aged 2) died this afternoon.”

Five days later, Alfred’s father died, leaving Alfred with a heavy responsibility for the family. “We went eighteen miles,” he began. “My father was dying before we left this morning, but they put him in a wagon and when we saw him at noon, he was dead.” The next day Alfred omitted the mileage and simply recorded, “We buried Father this morning.” It would not be the family’s last burial in Wyoming.

Nine days later, on October 19, the Willie company faced the first winter storm. Despite the storm, they had to travel a long distance that day to reach the sixth crossing of the Sweetwater, their next source of water and wood. “We traveled sixteen and one-half miles. ... It snowed all day, night and day,” Alfred wrote. Five people died that day, and many others were barely clinging to life—weak, cold, and hungry.

The last scanty ration of food was issued the next morning. Desperate for help, Captain James Willie and Joseph Elder left to search for the rescuers, whom they had been told were coming. They found the rescuers after a heroic, all-day journey over Rocky Ridge.

The following day, October 21, hope finally arrived when Captain Willie returned with the rescuers. “Today our brethren came in their teams loaded with flour and other things for us,” Alfred wrote. “Our provisions were all gone one day before they came in with the flour.” 

Several rescuers and six of their wagons stayed to help the Willie company, while the rest of the men continued east the next day, urgently searching for the Martin company, which was stranded 100 miles farther back on the trail.

On October 23 the Willie company faced their most daunting day—pulling handcarts over Rocky Ridge in arctic conditions. The entry in Alfred’s diary belies the difficulty: “We went sixteen miles and camped late at night. It was very cold.” Alfred recorded the mileage as usual, but he did not mention that his 10-year-old brother, Samuel, died along the way. It was the family’s third death in less than three weeks. Samuel was buried at Rock Creek in a large grave with 12 others. Eliza Gadd later said that of all her children, Samuel “was the most anxious to reach Zion, but it was not to be.”

After climbing Rocky Ridge, the Willie company trudged 135 miles in nine days to reach Fort Bridger, Wyoming. Eliza was snowblind for three of those days but continued to pull the cart, guided by her eight-year-old daughter, Mary Ann. At Fort Bridger there were finally enough rescue wagons that everyone could ride the last 113 miles to the Salt Lake Valley. A sense of relief is discernible in Alfred’s words that day: “We tied our handcarts behind our wagons and drew them no more.”

Alfred Gadd’s diary ends as simply as it began: “We arrived on the ninth of November in Salt Lake City.” Thus concluded a tragic chapter in the history of the Gadd family. But that bitter cold November also brought a new beginning that has warmed into a lasting influence for good. Eliza Gadd was baptized a member of the Church the week after she arrived in Utah. She and her six surviving children settled in Nephi, where she raised them in the gospel. Two of her sons later served missions to England.

Given the heavy losses the Gadd family suffered on the journey, did they feel that coming to Zion was worth it? Several of Eliza Chapman Gadd's grandchildren have written brief biographies of her, and none of them mentions any regret on her part for the price her family paid to come to Zion. Taking the long view, the sacrifices this family made to emigrate have blessed thousands. One family member who wrote in 1940 said that the known posterity of Samuel and Eliza Chapman Gadd at that time numbered 616. It is likely that most of those people—and thousands more who have been added to their posterity since that time—have been blessed by the decision to come to Zion. One descendant expressed such feelings as follows:

"Even though Samuel's dream and desires to be in Utah never came to be, we are ever grateful to him for embracing the gospel of Jesus Christ. . . . He is loved and respected by those of us who never got to know him in this life and are thankful to him for his dedication and firm conviction of the truth of Mormonism and a strong hope of a glorious resurrection, and we shall hope to meet him then. We are ever grateful to him for bringing his family to America."

I loved this families amazing story of sacrifice. As I thought about the huge price they paid I am reminded of our responsibility to these pioneers...to honor their sacrifices by putting the lessons they taught us into practice in our lives. 

Elder Oaks said, "The foremost quality of our pioneers was faith. With faith in God, they did what every pioneer does--they stepped forward into the unknown: a new religion, a new land, a new way of doing things. With faith in their leaders and in one another, they stood fast against formidable opposition. When their leader said, “This is the right place,” they trusted, and they stayed. When other leaders said, “Do it this way,” they followed in faith....To honor those pioneers, we must honor and act upon the eternal principles that guided their actions. As President Hinckley reminded us..., “We honor best those who have gone before when we serve well in the cause of truth.” That cause of truth is the cause of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, whose servants they were, and whose servants we should strive to be. I testify of this and pray that we, too, may be “true to the faith that our parents have cherished."

Have a great week!

Sister McHood

Pioneer Stories - The William and Alice Walsh Family

William and Alice Walsh left England with three small children ages 6 months to 5 years. Living near Preston, Alice had joined the Church in 1845, when she was 16. She married William Walsh sometime between 1847 and 1850. Alice was the only member of her parents' family to join the Church. Telling of her conversion and emigration—and the associated sacrifices—she wrote:  "We find in the New Testament that Jesus said [that] unless we forsake fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, houses and lands, for His and the Gospel's sake, we cannot be worthy of Him or to enter into the Kingdom of Heaven. This I have done for Him, because I am the only one of my Father's or Mother's family that ever have joined the Church, and I in doing so left my houses and lands in England."

    

For the Walsh family, the handcart trek would require even greater sacrifices than leaving loved ones, houses, and lands. Their losses would be so terrible that after the trek, Alice's mother would offer her daughter money if she would return home.

The first great sorrow of the family was the death of Robert, the oldest son. He had not been well at all after they started across the plains. When he became so ill that he could not eat the food provided, his father took one of their blankets and went a long distance to a settlement and sold the blanket to buy something that the boy could eat. The child did not get well and somewhere between Winter Quarters and Devil’s Gate was laid away.

As the journey went on, the number of widows in the camp was growing each day. Alice Walsh had already lost her oldest child, 5-year-old Robert, in September. Now her husband was failing. She recalled the arrival, and personal tragedy, at Devil's Gate: "On account of the nightly fatalities of the male members of our company for two or three weeks previously, there were many widows in our company, and the women had to pitch and put up the tents, shoveling the snow away with tin plates, etc. . . . One night I dropped to the ground in a dead faint with my baby in my arms. I had some pepper pods with me, and recovering from my stupor I took some of them . . . to recover my strength. During these times we had only a little thin flour gruel two or three times a day, and this was meager nourishment for a mother with a nursing baby.  My husband died and was buried at or near Devil's Gate, and the ground was frozen so hard that the men had a difficult task in digging the grave deep enough in which to inter him and nine others that morning, and it is more than probable that several were only covered with snow. Here I was left a widow with two young children."

Once the rescuers arrived, Alice Walsh faced uncertainty about whether she would ride or walk until almost every wagon was gone. Most of the wagons were full—and no one seemed to be taking notice of her. The first part of her recollection paints a picture of quiet desperation: "When the relief help reached us and nearly all of us had been assigned to some wagon, I was sitting in the snow with my children on my lap, and it seemed that there was no chance for me to ride, but before the last teams had left the camp I was assigned to ride in the commissary wagon, and did so until our arrival in Salt Lake City."

William and Alice Walsh left England with three young children. Only Alice and her two youngest children survived. Alice's account of the journey's end aches with loneliness: "Arriving in Salt Lake Nov. 30th 1856, with two children and the clothes I stood up in, were all of my earthly possessions in a strange land, without kin or relatives."

The people in Salt Lake City took in many of those who did not have relatives or friends to stay with. Alice and her children were sent to the 10th Ward, where the bishop placed them in the home of Jacob Strong. Soon afterward, Alice and Jacob were married, and eventually they had three children. 

When Alice's mother in England learned what Alice had suffered, she offered to send money for Alice to return home—if she would renounce her beliefs. This offer was made with the mistaken belief that the handcart ordeal had weakened Alice's faith. Alice declined the offer, saying she had joined the Church and had gone through all the adversity of emigrating because she knew it was true.  Fifty-five years after the handcart trek, this testimony burned even more brightly. Alice wrote:  "I have always been proud to know that I had the individual courage to accept and embrace the faith and join the Church, to which I have ever been steadfast from that day to this. Though the sufferings were terrible I passed [through] in the handcart journey across the plains, [I] am still thankful that the Lord preserved my life and made it possible for me to reach Zion, in the Valley of the West. . . .After all that I have endured and passed through for over 55 years, my testimony is that the Gospel of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints is true."

Alice Walsh Strong was 83 years old when she wrote this testimony. She lived to be 95, dying in 1924. At the time of her death, 14 of her children and grandchildren had served missions, further sowing the seeds of their mother's faith. Her son John, who was four years old during the handcart journey, later served two missions, one of them to Great Britain when he was 70 years old. He also served as a patriarch and was one of the first mayors of Farmington. When he died in 1927 at age  75, he was in Mesa, Arizona, having been sent there by the Church to work in the new temple.

My favorite thing about Alice's story is that she explained, in her own words WHY she was willing to give up so much for the gospel. She endured unimaginable suffering (as did all these pioneers) but, as she explained, she endured because of her testimony of Jesus Christ. I think it is important to not only appreciate the sorrows and sufferings these faithful saints endured, but to learn and appreciate why they were willing to give so much.  We can take their example and apply it in our own lives and when hard times come (which they will...) we can take heart in knowing that He has promised "I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, . . . and mine angels [shall be] round about you, to bear you up. [D&C 84:88]

And yes, “We’ll find the place which God for us prepared.” And on the way “We’ll make the air with music ring, Shout praises to our God and King; Above the rest these words we’ll tell—All is well! All is well!” 

Have a great week!

Sister McHood

"Holding On"

If you were at the fireside last night,

then you heard our beautiful Trek song,

that Sister Barbara Doyle wrote for us.

It is about James & Joseph Kirkwood.

If you want to hear it again,

it is available on her website here.

(The song is called, "Holding On")

and if you want to refresh your memory of the Kirkwood's story,

you can read it here.

Here are the lyrics:

Holding On

Father, itʼs me again

Forgive me as I stop to take another rest

The snow is deep

And itʼs awful steep

With every step itʼs harder, Lord, to move my feet

And Josephʼs little legs are much too weak

His tired arms are reaching out to me

 Lord, bless these weary feet

To reach the fireʼs light

And Lord, bless these trembling hands

To hold my brother tight

And while my brotherʼs holing on to me

Iʼll be holding on to Thee

Father, itʼs hard to speak

Iʼm pushing on even though the flesh is weak

The way is slow

And itʼs awful cold

But I can hear Papaʼs voice, “Donʼt let go.”

And Josephʼs crying out for motherʼs side

Father, will you get us there tonight

Lord, bless these weary feet

To reach the fireʼs light

And Lord, bless these trembling hands

To hold my brother tight

And while my brotherʼs holing on to me

Iʼll be holding on to Thee

Another step, another breath

I feel Thee close

And I can hold, your helping hand

I wonʼt let go

Lord, bless these weary feet

To reach the fireʼs light

And Lord, bless these trembling hands

To hold my brother tight

And while my brotherʼs holing on to me

Iʼll be holding on to Thee

Pioneer Stories - Jane James

William James was a farm laborer in England who suffered from poor health for most of his life. Jane Haynes was a woman of strong constitution and spirit who was raised by a grandmother because her mother had passed away while Jane was an infant. As soon as Jane was old enough, she had to make her own living.

William and Jane married in 1835, and during the next 20 years they had eight children. William struggled to provide for the family because of his health, so Jane and their older children worked to earn additional income. Jane was an expert glove maker, and each week she walked six miles to the market to sell the gloves she had made.

The James family joined the Church in 1854. William and Jane’s third daughter, Mary Ann, explained her mother’s process of conversion and what it meant for the family’s future:

Mother was a devout Christian, being a member of the Church of England during her early life. She was a great believer in prayer, and like the Prophet Joseph Smith, when in doubt, sought her Maker for wisdom. When the principles of the gospel ... were taught in our village, she was greatly impressed with its truths. The apostasy and restoration, unthought of before, appealed to [Mother], and she was led to prayer. The answer came, and she was ready to leave all we had, and with an almost invalid husband and eight children, brave the journey to an unknown land.

William James also wanted to gather to Utah, but he thought it might be better to wait until his health improved. Jane felt more urgency. The children were getting older—Sarah was almost 19—and Jane wanted to emigrate before they began leaving home. Additionally, the introduction of the handcart plan in 1856 made it economically possible to emigrate. The family went to Liverpool, and in early May they boarded the Thornton and set sail for America.

 The three oldest daughters of William and Jane—Sarah, Emma, and Mary Ann—later wrote accounts of their journey. A common theme in each account is the strength of their mother. Jane’s strength was needed early. The family’s youngest child, an infant named Jane, died just four days before the ship before reached New York. Mary Ann recalled:

My parents were called upon to part with their baby, ... and we were obliged to place the precious bundle in a watery grave. Mother’s heart strings were torn, but the brave little mother that she was felt not to murmur against the will of Him who gave.

Of the three sisters, Emma provides the only account of the meeting in Florence, Nebraska Territory, when company leaders spoke about whether they should continue the journey that year or wait until the following spring. Emma’s recollection unfolds the dilemma and again emphasizes the strength of her mother:

The thing which I will remember for the rest of my life and wish that we had heeded was said by a Brother Savage. With tears streaming down his cheeks, he pleaded with the people, “Brothers and sisters, wait until spring to make this journey. Some of the strong may get through in case of bad weather, but the bones of the weak and old will strew the way.”

I can remember that when he finished, there was a long time of silence. I was frightened. Father looked pale and sick. I turned to mother to see what she was thinking, and all I saw was her old determined look. She was ready to go on tomorrow. There were many others like her. We really didn’t have much choice. There was no work here for us to keep ourselves through the winter, and our family had to live. “We must put our trust in the Lord as we have always done,” said mother, and that was that.

The miles were especially hard on William James. Nineteen-year-old Sarah described her father’s condition—and once again her mother’s strength—on the night William told his family that the company’s flour was gone:

Father was white and drawn. I knew that Mother was worried about him, for he was getting weaker all the time and seemed to feel that there was no use in all the struggle. Mother had taken as much of the load off his shoulders as she could in pulling ethe cart. We girls and [14-year-old] Reuben did most of the work so that Father could rest a lot. Mother didn’t have much to say, and I wondered if she remembered that council meeting in [Florence] and wished that we had taken the advice of the more experienced people. I am sure that many of us had those thoughts.

The rescue company from Salt Lake City finally reached the Willie company on October 21, two days after the handcart Saints had run out of flour and the storms had begun. Sarah recalled the arrival and service of the rescuers with joy and gratitude:

On October 23 the Willie company faced the most daunting day of their journey. “I will never forget [that day] as long as I live,” Sarah said. From their camp near the base of Rocky Ridge, they had to travel about 16 miles through the snow to reach the next good camping place. Three of those miles were mostly uphill, ascending Rocky Ridge to one of the highest points on the trail. In some places the snow was knee-deep.

Most of the company got an early start that morning. The James family stayed behind while William and Reuben helped with a burial. After a brief service, Sarah led five younger siblings ahead with the family’s lighter handcart. William, Jane, and Reuben soon followed with the heavier of their two handcarts. Sarah described her father’s struggles, as related by her mother:

Father collapsed and fell in the snow. He tried two or three times to get up with mother’s help, then finally he asked her to go on and [said that] when he felt rested, he would come on. Mother knew in her heart that he had given out, but perhaps, she said, in a few minutes with some rest he could come on.

Mary Ann explained the predicament her mother faced: “Mother was placed in an awful position, her husband unable to go farther, and her little children far ahead hungry and freezing; what can she do? Father said, ‘Go to the children; we will get in if we can.’ ”

Jane left Reuben with his father and hurried ahead to catch up to her other children. The family became scattered over many miles, with Sarah and the younger children in front, Jane somewhere in the middle, and William and Reuben in back. Jane eventually found her children huddled on a river bank, afraid to cross. With her help, they waded through. “The water was icy, and soon our clothing was frozen to our bodies,” Sarah said. “Our feet were frozen numb. Cold and miserable, we reached the other bank, put on dry clothing, and joined the rest of the company.” Meanwhile, William was able to resume walking but could go only short distances before stopping to rest. He and Reuben fell far behind, and each rest carried the risk of their freezing to death.

When Jane and her children reached camp that night, they asked if anyone had seen William and Reuben, but no one had. Mary Ann recalled, “We watched and listened for their coming, hoping and praying for the best.” Some of the men left camp at about midnight to help those who were still on the trail, giving hope that William and Reuben would be among this later group. “All night we waited for word,” Sarah said. Finally, at about 5:00 a.m., when the last wagons arrived in camp, the family learned that their hope for a good outcome was not to be. Sarah explained:

Toward morning some of the captains who had gone out to gather up the stragglers came into camp bearing the dead body of my father and the badly frozen body of my brother Reuben. His injuries were so bad that he would suffer from them for the rest of his life.

When morning came, father’s body, along with others who had died during the night, were buried. ... Brush was thrown in and then dirt. A fire was built over the grave to kill the scent to keep the wolves from digging up the remains.

Along with the enduring image of their father dead and their brother frozen, the James sisters saw another unforgettable image that morning: their mother’s expression. “I can see my mother’s face as she sat looking at the partly conscious Reuben,” Sarah said. “Her eyes looked so dead that I was afraid.” Jane was having to recalibrate what her family’s life would be like without William and perhaps without Reuben. With another 250 wintry miles still to go, would any of them make it? If it could be done, Jane would see to that. Sarah continued:

She didn’t sit long, however, for my mother was never one to cry. When it was time to move out, mother had her family ready to go. She put her invalid son in the cart with her baby [four-year-old John], and we joined the train. Our mother was a strong woman, and she would see us through anything.

Mary Ann likewise paid tribute to her mother’s strength during this most difficult time:

Imagine, if you can, my mother only a young woman of forty-one, her husband lying dead in a frozen wilderness, with seven little children, starved and freezing, crying for comfort. Her physical and mental endurance was surely nothing short of miraculous.

From Rock Creek, most members of the Willie company had to pull their handcarts another nine days before they met up with enough rescue wagons that they could ride the final week to the Salt Lake Valley. “We were cold all the time,” Sarah recalled. “Even when you wrapped up in a blanket your teeth chattered.”

The James family suffered two deaths on their journey to Zion: their baby during the voyage and William on Rocky Ridge. Jane and her other seven children all survived.

As I read this story this week, I was struck by the tremendous strength and faith possessed by Jane James. I honestly cannot imagine having to make a choice between helping her husband or her children. My heart just aches imagining her feelings in that moment. Therefore her determination and ability to maintain her faith and continue on is truly remarkable!

Verily, verily, I say unto you, ye are little children, and ye have not as yet understood how great blessings the Father hath in his own hands and prepared for you;
And ye cannot bear all things now; nevertheless, be of good cheer, for I will lead you along. (D&C 78:17–18) 

Reviewing the Lessons of the Past

Pioneer Stories - The Goble Family

   

William and Mary Goble, future great-grandparents of Marjorie Pay Hinckley, joined the Church in November 1855 and immediately began preparing to emigrate. Six months later they sailed for Zion with their six children, ages 2 through 13. A seventh child would be born on the trail. The Gobles were among the Saints on the Horizon who joined the Hunt wagon company, which traveled near the Martin company for most of the journey. The Gobles's oldest child, 13-year-old Mary, explained: "We had orders not to pass the handcart companies. We had to keep close to them to help them if we could."

Mary's account of the journey includes this tragic event in Iowa City: "My sister Fanny broke out with the measles on the ship, and when we were in the Iowa campground, there came up a thunderstorm that blew down our shelter, made with handcarts and some quilts. . . . We sat there in the rain, thunder, and lightning. My sister got wet and died the 19th of July 1856. She would have been two years old on the 23rd. The day we started our journey, we visited her grave. We felt very bad to leave our little sister there."

Sadly, other tragedies would soon follow for this faithful family.

The Hunt wagon company arrived at the last crossing of the Platte River right after the Martin and Hodgetts companies. Their 2-year-old daughter had died in Iowa City, and another daughter had been born during the journey across Nebraska. Their oldest daughter, 13-year-old Mary, had the following recollection of crossing the Platte for the last time:  "We traveled on till we got to the Platte River. That was the last walk I ever had with my mother. We caught up with the handcart compan[y] that day. We watched them cross the river. . . . It was bitter cold. The next morning there were fourteen dead in camp through the cold. We went back to camp and went to prayers. We sang the song 'Come, Come, Ye Saints, No Toil Nor Labor Fear.'" Although Mary's mother did not die that day, she apparently became so ill that she was unable to walk again. Mary did all she could to attend to her mother's needs: "We had been without [fresh] water for several days, just drinking snow water. The captain said there was a spring of fresh water just a few miles away. It was snowing hard, but my mother begged me to go and get her a drink. Another lady went with me. We were about halfway to the spring when we found an old man who had fallen in the snow. He was frozen so stiff we could not lift him, so the lady told me where to go and she would go back to camp for help, for we knew he would soon be frozen if we left him. When she had gone, I began to think of the Indians and looking in all directions. I became confused and forgot the way I should go. I waded around in the snow up to my knees and I became lost. Later when I did not return to camp, the men started out after me. It was 11:00 o'clock before they found me. My feet and legs were frozen. They carried me to camp and rubbed me with snow. They put my feet in a bucket of water. The pain was so terrible. The frost came out of my legs and feet but not out of my toes."

During the first week of November, tragedy twice again struck the family. On November 3 their infant daughter Edith, who was born in Nebraska, died "for the want of nourishment."  13-year-old Mary, recalled her feelings at the grave: "I felt like I couldn't leave her, for I had seen so many graves opened by the wolves. The rest of the company had got quite a ways when my father came back for me. I told him I could not leave her to be eaten by the wolves. It seem[ed] too terrible. But he talked to me and we hurried on." 

That same week the Gobles' four-year-old son also died. Mary recalled: "When we arrived at Devil's Gate, it was bitter cold. We left lots of our things there. . . . While there an ox fell on the ice and the brethren killed it and the beef was given out to the camp. My brother James ate a hearty supper [and] was as well as he ever was when he went to bed. In the morning he was dead.  My feet were frozen, also my brother Edwin and my sister Caroline had their feet frozen. It was nothing but snow. We could not drive the pegs in our tents. Father would clean a place for our tents and put snow around to keep it down. We were short of flour, but Father was a good shot. They called him the hunter of the camp, so that helped us out. We could not get enough flour for bread as we got only a quarter of a pound per head a day, so we would make it like thin gruel. We called it skilly."

    

This family that had started the journey with six children and expecting a seventh had now lost the three youngest children, including the one born on the trail. This would not be the end of their losses. As the family neared the Salt Lake Valley, their mother slipped away also. Mary recalled her mother's death, as well as subsequent efforts to save her own frostbitten feet: "My mother had never got well; she lingered until the 11th of December, the day we arrived in Salt Lake City, 1856. She died between the Little and Big Mountains. She was buried in the Salt Lake City Cemetery. She was 43 years old. She and her baby lost their lives gathering to Zion in such a late season of the year. . . . We arrived in Salt Lake City [at] nine o'clock at night the 11th of December 1856. Three out of the four that were living were frozen. My mother was dead in the wagon. Bishop Hardy had us taken to a house in his ward, and the brethren and the sisters brought us plenty of food. We had to be careful and not eat too much as it might kill us we were so hungry. Early next morning Brother Brigham Young and a doctor came. The doctor's name was Williams. When Brigham Young came in, he shook hands with all of us. When he saw our condition, our feet frozen and our mother dead, tears rolled down his cheeks. The doctor wanted to cut my feet off at the ankles, but President Young said, 'No, just cut off the toes and I promise you that you will never have to take them off any farther.' . . . The doctor amputated my toes using a saw and butcher knife. The sisters were dressing my mother for her grave. My father walked in the room where mother was, then back to us. He could not shed a tear. When my feet were fixed, they packed us in to see our mother for the last time. Oh, how did we stand it? That afternoon she was buried.  We had been in Salt Lake a week when one afternoon a knock came at the door. It was Uncle John Wood. When he met Father, he said, 'I know it all, Bill.' Both of them cried. I was glad to see my father cry. . . . Instead of my feet getting better they got worse, until the following July I  went to Dr. Wiseman's to live with them to pay for him to doctor my feet. But it was no use. He  could do no more for me unless I would consent to have them cut off at the ankle. I told him what Brigham Young had promised me. He said. 'All right, sit there and rot, and I will do nothing more until you come to your senses.' One day I sat there crying, my feet were hurting so, when a little old woman knocked at the door. She said that she had felt that someone needed her there  for a number of days. When she saw me crying, she came and asked what was the matter. I showed her my feet and told her the promise Brigham Young had given me. She said, 'Yes, and with the help of the Lord we will save them yet.' She made a poultice and put it on my feet, and every day she would come and change the poultice. At the end of three months my feet were well. One day Dr. Wiseman said, 'Well, Mary, I must say you have grit. I suppose your feet have rotted to the knees by this time.'  I said, 'Oh, no, my feet are well.'  He said, 'I know better, it could never be.' So I took off my stockings and showed him my feet. He said that it was surely a  miracle."

Although William Goble's wife and three of his children died during the journey west, he still had four relatively young children when he arrived in the Salt Lake Valley in December 1856. That same month he married Susanna Patchet. The next spring William moved his family to Nephi.  Like many others, William Goble became discouraged during his first months in Zion. In his case the discouragement was so severe in the summer of 1857 that he told his children he would take them home to England as soon as he earned enough money. Those plans changed, however, through the influence of his deceased wife. One day he came home and told his children, "I have seen your mother today, and she wants us to stay here. Everything will be all right."

William bought some land in Nephi and farmed it for the rest of his life. Eventually he gave part of it to the Church for the building of a meetinghouse. He died in 1898 at age 81. His descendants remember him as "a man with great faith and healing power."

Mary stayed in Spanish Fork when the rest of her family moved to Nephi in 1857 and then rejoined them in 1859. In June of that year she married Richard Pay. He was a 38-year-old widower who, like Mary, had sailed on the Horizon and joined the Hunt wagon company. His wife and baby daughter had died during the trek west. "The baby died October 4, 1856 at Chimney Rock," Mary recalled. "Bro. Pay could not get anyone to dig the grave, so he started digging it himself, when my father came and helped him." Later, Richard Pay returned the favor, helping Mary's father dig a grave when Mary's baby sister Edith died at the Sweetwater. 

Mary and Richard Pay had 13 children, three of whom died very young. After 22 years in Nephi, they moved to Leamington. There Mary served as president of the Primary for 12 years and also in the Relief Society. Richard died in 1893, leaving Mary uncertain how she would provide for her children. "It looked pretty dark with nothing coming in," she wrote. "I had to depend on my boys, [but] they did not get much work, so I started to nurse the sick. In this I had good success." Mary's oldest son had died the year before her, and another son died the next year, making three very trying years. 

Mary returned to Nephi and lived another 20 years as a widow. Her autobiographical account of these years covers just two pages but tells of attending three handcart reunions. One of these was the 50-year reunion—the handcart jubilee, as it was called. While in Salt Lake City for this reunion, Mary visited her mother's grave for the first time. "No one knows how I felt as we stood there by her grave," Mary wrote. "I thought of her words, 'Polly, I want to go to Zion while my children are small, so they can be raised in the Gospel of Christ. For I know this is the true Church." Although Mary's mother did not live to raise her children in Zion herself, Mary concluded, "I think my mother had her wish."

One of Mary Goble Pay's grandchildren was Marjorie Pay Hinckley, wife of President Gordon B. Hinckley. After telling Mary's story, President Hinckley said:  "[This] is representative of the stories of thousands. It is an expression of a marvelous but simple faith, an unquestioning conviction, that the God of Heaven in his power will make all things right and bring to pass his eternal purposes in the lives of his children. We need so very, very much a strong burning of that faith in the living God and in his living, resurrected Son, for this was the great moving faith of our gospel forebears. . . . With faith they sought to do his will. With faith they read and accepted divine teaching. With faith they labored until they dropped, always with a conviction that there would be an accounting to him who was their Father and their God. Let us look again to the power of faith in ourselves, faith in our associates, and faith in God our Eternal Father. Let us prayerfully implement such faith in our lives."

Have a great week! 

Sister McHood

An Act of Courage - LDS Church History

Rescue Riders

Pioneer Story - Rhoda Rebecca Oakey

Rhoda Rebecca Oakey

Thomas and Ann Oakey were not quitters. They did not give up easily, even though poverty continually threatened their family. In February 1839, Ann Collett Oakey was about to give birth to her third child. Thomas was out of work again, due to recurring health problems. In a document that addressed the matter of “Thomas Oakey, a Pauper,” Thomas declared “that thro indisposition [sickness] he is unable to work and is chargeable to the said parish of Eldersfield, the place of his birth."

The parish of Eldersfield, however, refused to recognize any settlement rights for Thomas Oakey, and the Church warden was ordered to “remove and convey” the family to the parish of Ash Church to the Overseers of the Poor there.


Thomas Oakey’s inability to perform much physical labor in 1839 did not keep him from giving his all in spiritual matters. Like hundreds of their neighbors searching for truth, Thomas and Ann had joined a religious group known as the United Brethren. Thomas was a lay preacher in this religious community when Elder Wilford Woodruff visited the area in 1840.  Thomas was alarmed at first. He had heard about this American preacher who was baptizing so many of his neighbors. However, soon after Thomas and Ann Oakey heard the preaching of Elder Woodruff for themselves, they embraced the restored gospel.

On the day they planned to be baptized, a mob of about 100 persons gathered. Elder Woodruff recorded that they called out to him, “You American, where are you going to wash your sheep?” The baptism was delayed for a few hours, but Thomas and Ann Oakey were undeterred. They were baptized later that day by Elder Woodruff, who wrote: “As I commenced to baptize, the mob began to gather, but I baptized 9 persons, 3 of which were preachers, while surrounded by the rabble. But I performed the ordinance without any insult or injury excepting the tongue of slander and throwing a dog into the pool where I was baptizing.”

Ann Oakey’s parents and other family members were also baptized. By the middle of May 1840, more than 300 people in the area had joined the Church. By the middle of June, the membership was more than 500.

On June 14, just two months after the baptism of Thomas and Ann Oakey, former members and preachers from the Froomes Hill Circuit of the United Brethren met in a conference at the Gadfield Elm chapel. The Saints were organized into two conferences with twenty branches. Thomas Oakey, having been ordained a priest, was called to “have the care of the church at Gadfield Elm.” Three weeks after this meeting, Elder Woodruff reported 1,007 members in the area.

On Christmas day 1840, Thomas was ordained an elder. He stayed actively involved in the Church until his family emigrated 16 years later. A receipt from the mission office in Liverpool in 1846 shows that Thomas, as “treasurer” of the Frogsmarsh Branch (near Gadfield Elm), had sent money for the purpose of “Erecting a House of Worship in the city of Nauvoo.” This house of worship was the Nauvoo Temple, which Thomas and others in this small branch in England were doing their part to help build. In 1847, Thomas carried a certificate stating that he was a “Brother beloved, in good standing in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” It was a very different document from the one that labeled Thomas a pauper in 1839.

Thomas and Ann added seven more children to their family during the 16 years following their baptism. Two of those children died as infants. In 1856, with the help of the Perpetual Emigrating Fund and the less-expensive handcart mode of travel, the Oakey family was finally able to answer the call of a prophet to gather to Zion. Their journey began in May, when they boarded the Thornton at Liverpool.

Sarah Ann Oakey had early childhood memories that were not typical—walking up a gangplank to a large sailing ship, receiving a hard sea biscuit for her fourth birthday a week later, riding more than a thousand miles in a loaded handcart, and being frightened by Indians along the way. Sarah recalled: “Being the youngest child and only four years old, I was put in a cart to ride, but my brother Reuben, who was [eight], had to walk. ... We had two carts of personal belongings; one was pulled by the boys and the other by the girls.” This arrangement seemed equitable enough—one cart pulled by young Ann, Jane, and Rhoda Rebecca, and one pulled by Charles, Heber, and Lorenzo. But 12-year-old Lorenzo was not happy about it and determined that he would not go to Utah that year. By July 29 the Willie handcart company was approaching Des Moines, Iowa, having traveled about 150 miles from their outfitting camp in Iowa City. Lorenzo decided it was time to act, and that day he ran away.

Thomas and Ann Oakey were distraught when they realized Lorenzo was missing. The search for him was fruitless, and they had to continue forward without him, praying that he would be watched over. Ann was given a blessing in which she was promised that she would one day see Lorenzo again.

By mid-August the Willie handcart company had traversed another 150 miles and was traveling through Nebraska Territory. It was also buffalo and Indian territory. Sarah remembered: “The first Indians we met came up to our carts and pushed our people away and pulled our carts into camp laughing at us. I was four years old and was riding on the top of one of the carts. Mother was frightened when the Indians came up, so she took me from the top of the cart. The captain said that they would not harm anyone, so Mother put me back.  Sometimes in the evenings the Indians brought buffalo meat into camp to trade for salt and clothing, which was a welcome change. We saw lots of buffalo along the trail. ... Twice we had to split the company to let the buffalo pass.”

In September, extra flour was loaded on the handcarts after many of the cattle that pulled the supply wagons were lost. The nights began to be cooler. Thomas Oakey had always had poor health, and he was rapidly growing weaker. Sometimes Ann crossed streams with Thomas on her back, while the children continued to pull the handcarts. Other times Thomas fell beside the trail and had to be left until the family could get to camp and then return with help.

On October 23, Thomas’s health deteriorated even further. The day’s grueling trek over Rocky Ridge left him freezing and exhausted. Sarah related: “There were many people in camp who died, but we fared fairly well until we reached the deep snow in Wyoming. Our father froze his feet and hands, and his toenails came off. Though the family suffered many hardships, we always held our family prayer.”

Thomas Oakey survived that tragic day, but 13 others died and were buried at Rock Creek Hollow; two more died the next day. Charles Oakey, age 18, likely assisted in digging the graves. His poignant memories of this experience were a source of sad reflection. He often shared these stories with his children. His daughter Mary Ann recorded:  “Father told us that he well remembered ... that one morning before starting on their journey, fifteen were buried, thirteen in one grave and two in another, with only blankets, pieces of canvas, or other materials that could be spared, wrapped around the bodies. There were no caskets, flowers, or funeral sermons, only tears of sorrow, cold aching hands and feet, and heavy hearts, but with all a firm belief in God and a faith and courage to push forward; a faith and courage that should make every pioneer son and daughter proud and give them a determination to help further the cause of God.
          I shall never forget the emotions of my father, as he recalled and related the incidents of their trip across the plains. The memory of their hardships and suffering brought tears to his eyes, and I have seen him cry like a child.”

The Willie company left this heartbreaking scene on October 25. Many of the Saints were sick, and Ann Oakey, who was skilled in nursing, helped where she could. The older Oakey children continued to pull the handcarts through November 2, when enough rescue wagons met them that all could ride.

Despite assistance from the rescuers, 10-year-old Rhoda Rebecca was weakening quickly. Earlier in the journey, she had used her musical talents to entertain and inspire the Willie company.  Rhoda Rebecca had a sweet soprano voice, and many evenings after the camp had been set up and supper eaten, she would sing the hymn “Come, Come, Ye Saints,” which helped lift the weary travelers in camp.

On November 8 the Willie company made their last camp before reaching the Salt Lake Valley. Weary and worn, Ann stayed up all night, nursing her sick husband. When she woke the children the next morning, she found that Rhoda Rebecca had died during the night.

The Willie company continued to Salt Lake City that day, but Thomas was in no condition to travel in a crowded wagon. Ann made sure he was as comfortable as possible and left him beside the body of Rhoda Rebecca while she went for help. Ann returned later that day with her brother, Don Collett, and an empty wagon. She could then more adequately attend to her husband’s needs and mourn her daughter’s death in private.

The Oakey family had given their all to reach Zion. Now they would do their part to help build Zion.

Rhoda was buried in the Salt Lake City Cemetery and the rest of the family remained at the Collett home while they were being nursed back to health. The family eventually was called to help settle the Bear Lake Valley in Idaho, where they settled in Paris in 1865. Thomas and his sons dug some of the first water wells, fenced fields, and helped build roads, houses, barns and churches in this Valley. Thomas was ordained a Seventy and then to the office of Patriarch, which position he held until his death in 1890. Ann was one of the first midwives in Bear Lake and assisted in bringing many babies into the world from St. Charles to Montpelier. Her fee was two dollars per delivery and she usually took that in trade.

These faithful parents accepted their grief and heartache with Rhoda's death and Joseph's disappearance, but never stopped praying for their missing son. Ann particularly was confident she would see Joseph again. In the early 1870's, Charles C. Rich, who was a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and assigned to the Bear Lake area, was going east with his son on business. Thomas and Ann took the opportunity to ask Elder Rich if he would please advertise in the newspapers in Nebraska for any knowledge of their son. Through this advertisement, Joseph was located, at that time living in Kansas. Joseph was married and had a family and in 1876 he brought them to meet his parents and siblings. Joseph told his family he had left the handcart company twenty years before because he was discouraged, tired and hungry. He had gone to one of the homes in the area, one to which Ann and Thomas had gone seeking him. The family had hidden him and when the handcart company had gone on, they invited Joseph to stay with them. They had raised him as their son. Joseph had changed his name to Joseph Lorenzo O'Kee. He had also fought in the Civil War on the side of the North. On one occasion he was sent into battle with a battalion of 983 men of which only 33 survived.

The Oakey family made faithful payments to the Perpetual Emigration Fund but never were able to get the account paid in full. Their account was one of the "faithful poor" that was forgiven by Church President John Taylor during the Jubilee Year in 1880.

Like so many of the pioneers who came to Zion with the Martin and Willie Handcart Companies, the Oakey family made great sacrifices and lost so much. I love that they were faithful through it all, continuing to say their family prayers. Rhoda, their daughter, was the last pioneer to pass away before the company made it to the valley.  Despite the sorrow they must have felt at the passing of their beloved daughter, they continued faithful in the gospel and did not despair. As I re-read their story today and was pondering what lessons I could learn from them and apply in my life, I was reminded of Elder Bednar's talk from this past general conference. He said: "The Savior has suffered not just for our sins and iniquities--but also for our physical pains and anguish, our weaknesses and shortcomings, our fears and frustrations, our disappointments and discouragement, our regrets and remorse, our despair and desperation, the injustices and inequities we experience, and the emotional distresses that beset us. There is no physical pain, no spiritual wound, no anguish of soul or heartache, no infirmity or weakness you or I ever confront in mortality that the Savior did not experience first. In a moment of weakness we may cry out, “No one knows what it is like. No one understands.” But the Son of God perfectly knows and understands, for He has felt and borne our individual burdens. And because of His infinite and eternal sacrifice (see Alma 34:14), He has perfect empathy and can extend to us His arm of mercy. He can reach out, touch, succor, heal, and strengthen us to be more than we could ever be and help us to do that which we could never do relying only upon our own power. Indeed, His yoke is easy and His burden is light."

I have full confidence that the enabling power of the Savior's atonement comforted and strengthened the Oakeys through their trials just as it constantly comforts and strengthens me through mine.  If we turn to the Savior and allow him to do so, he will lighten our load and rescue us in our infirmities.

Have a great week!

Sister McHood

Do You have an ancestor who was a Handcart Pioneer?

A friend of mine showed me a REALLY cool website today
where you can find out if you have any relatives
who were in the Willie or Martin Handcart Companies,
or were with the Hunt or Hodgett Wagon Companies
(who followed the handcarts with supplies)
or if you have a relative who was a rescuer!

If you want to do a little research to see if you have any handcart pioneer ancestors here are some instructions for how to do so:

11.  Click here  

22.  Set up an account using your familysearch.org account log-in info.

33.  On the “relatives” tab, select Hodgett Wagon, Hunt Wagon, Rescuers, Willie Handcart and Martin Handcart

44.  Click “show relatives”

You might be surprised at what you find!

(I am related to 134 or the the handcart pioneers…very distantly, but still related!)

If you DO have an ancestor that you want to walk for, please let your Ma & Pa know so they can pass the information on to Sister McHood.  She needs to know by this Sunday (May 4th)

Pioneer Stories - Joseph Elder

Joseph Elder: "I'll Go Where You Want Me to Go"

Joseph Elder, age 21, had joined the Church in the Midwest in 1855. In 1856 he was attending McKendree College in Lebanon, Illinois. On April 11 of that year he wrote, "Today I left McKendry College with peculiar feelings and started to visit the saints in Saint Louis." Heeding those "peculiar feelings" led to some unexpected changes in his life. His four-day absence from college in April 1856 occurred because “peculiar feelings” had prompted him to visit Church leaders in St. Louis. While he was there, leaders proposed ordaining him to the office of elder and asked him to express his feelings. “I esteem it as a high and holy privilege to be an elder of the Church,” he said, “and I am determined by the help of God to perform every duty and bear every burden that God through his holy priesthood is willing to lay on my shoulders.”

When Joseph was ordained, he felt the Spirit in his heart and sought the counsel of Church leaders about what he should do. He recorded their response—and his—in his journal:

Their opinion and decision was that I should return home and arrange my business the best I could and leave old McKendree [College] and go to the valley of the great S. Lake, or rather that I should return as soon as possible and accompany Brothers Grant and Kimball in buying cattle, horses, mules, etc., for the emigrants to cross the plains with, and this seemed to me just to be my duty, and I accordingly determined to set about it in good faith.

Joseph promptly showed his “good faith” by leaving college the next day, returning home to settle his business, and leaving 10 days later on a journey that would change his life. His feelings were especially tender as he said good-bye to his family:

I bade adieu to my sisters and mother, and oh how my heart did almost break to leave them when they with tears and sobs and entreaties pled to the last for me to stay. But God had use for me in other places, and I must go, so I spoke a few kind words to them and embraced them and parted, not knowing when we should see each other again, and I took up my line of march for the valleys of Ephraim 2,000 miles distant.

Two days later, Joseph Elder was back in St. Louis, and three days after that he was on his way across Missouri to meet up with Elders Grant and Kimball. After finding them, he helped buy cattle and herd them to Florence, where he stayed to assist the handcart companies. He planned to remain in Florence until early September and then join with President Franklin D. Richards and most of the emigration leaders for the rest of the journey to the Salt Lake Valley. Soon after the Willie company arrived on August 11, however, plans changed again for Joseph Elder. Emigration officials wanted to provide the Willie company an extra wagon to carry provisions and supplies for the first part of their journey. On August 15 they approached Joseph Elder in the corral and asked him to leave immediately with the Willie company and drive this wagon. Joseph Elder's response, written in his journal, reflects a model of willing obedience:

"They proposed my starting with the present handcart company on the morrow and drive their team until they overtook us on the plains. Short notice. However, I determined to start for Utah."

In less than two days, Joseph Elder was on the trail with the Willie company. During the journey across Nebraska, he quickly proved faithful and competent, prompting Captain Willie to give him important assignments. For example, he was one of the men who was asked to keep searching for the lost cattle when the rest of the company moved on. During the search, Joseph Elder met President Richards's group, which was moving homeward after concluding the season's emigration business in Florence. He traveled with this group until they caught up with the Willie company two or three days later.

Originally emigration leaders asked Joseph Elder to stay with the Willie company only until President Richards overtook them. When President Richards arrived, however, Joseph Elder received a third abrupt change of plans. Sensing that the Willie company would continue to need help, President Richards asked him to remain with the handcarts for the rest of the journey.

Again Joseph Elder agreed to what was surely a difficult request. He must have been disappointed that he would not finish the journey with Elders Grant and Kimball. Many people would have resented being left behind with the plodding handcarts while their friends hurried ahead in relative comfort and ease. Many would have sulked, feeling left out or taken advantage of. But in his journal, Joseph Elder does not indicate any of these feelings. Rather, he again shows a simple, understated willingness to serve at any time, in any place, and in any way his leaders felt he was needed:

"I had made arrangements such as to go on [to the Salt Lake Valley] with them, that is, the missionaries, but owing to the advice of Brother Franklin and others, I chose to remain with the handcart company and assist them all that I could."

William Kimball would later praise his friend's selfless service, as Joseph Elder recorded in his journal:

"He said that I had not only been a talker but an actor, that I had imparted freely of all that I had, both money, property, time, and talent to the emigration, and that every word and action proved that I was determined to do the will of God and do all that I was able to help build up the kingdom of God in these last days."

Joseph Elder was not a person who viewed Church assignments as a buffet from which he chose only what suited him at the time. He was not a person who set conditions in serving the Lord, accepting only certain assignments, fulfilling them only for so long, or working only with certain people (or not with others). He was not a person who was prone to negative feelings when an assignment changed and became more demanding or difficult than when he accepted it. Because he served willingly wherever the Lord needed him, he would soon play a pivotal role in the survival of most of the Willie company.

Doing their best to press forward with diminished wagon teams, the Willie company traveled more than 400 miles during the next five weeks, reaching what is today central Wyoming. Because the people were running out of flour, they walked more than 200 of those miles on reduced rations. Even with rationing, their flour supply dwindled until it was gone on October 19, when they were nearly 300 miles from Salt Lake City. They were desperate for help, and some were losing hope. “We had not yet heard whether there was any help coming to meet us or not, but we were determined to do all we could,” Joseph said.

After issuing the last ration of flour on October 19, the Willie company had only a one-day supply of crackers remaining. That day they had to travel 16 miles to reach the next place they could camp. “It was severe, for the people were weak, having been on short rations,” Joseph wrote. Their plight became even worse when the first snowstorm blew in later that morning. The squall lasted less than an hour, but the starving, poorly clothed Saints suffered terribly from the cold. Even if they could rally the strength to get to camp, many wondered how long they could survive with no food and threadbare clothing.

At about noon, a break in the storm allowed the Willie company to resume their travel. After going a short distance, they looked ahead and saw a long-awaited answer to their prayers. Joseph recorded:

Lo and behold, we saw a wagon coming, and it was close. Such a shout as was raised in camp I never before heard. ... What made them shout? ... It was that the Spirit of the Lord bore testimony that they were saviors coming to [our] relief, and truly it was.

These “saviors” were four men from the first group of rescuers sent by Brigham Young. Five days earlier they had hurried ahead of the rest of their group to find the late handcart companies and let them know help was coming. “They brought us glorious news,” Joseph wrote. “They [and] many of their brethren [were bringing] teams and provisions to help us.” The express riders were not carrying enough provisions to feed the Willie company, but they revived hopes with their message that supply wagons were only a day or two away. After staying briefly and giving encouragement, they hastened on to search for the Martin company.

The Willie Saints continued their march and finally reached camp at dark. Four people died along the way, in addition to one who had died that morning. The wagons did not arrive until sometime between 10:00 and 11:00 p.m.

Snow continued to fall through the night. “The next morning when we got up we found the snow about 6 or 8 inches deep,” Joseph said. The people were in no condition to travel. “The camp was hungry, naked, and cold,” Joseph continued. “To rush them into the snow would be certain death to a great many of them.”

Rather than wait for the rescuers, Captain Willie determined to go find them and urge them to hurry forward. He asked the ever-willing Joseph Elder to accompany him. Of all the assignments Joseph had fulfilled since driving cattle from Missouri that summer, this would be the most important. Hundreds of lives depended on getting the rescuers and their wagons to camp as quickly as possible. Joseph described the arduous day:

We started ahead in search of our brethren. We rode 12 miles [to the base of Rocky Ridge,] where we expected to find them, but they were not there. We ascended the Rocky Ridge. The snow and an awful cold wind blew in our faces all day. We crossed the Rocky Ridge and upon the west bank of the North Fork of the Sweetwater we found a friendly guidepost which pointed us to their camp down upon the Sweetwater in amongst the willows. When they saw us, they raised a shout and ran out to meet us. Great was their joy to hear from us, for they had long been in search of us. They could scarcely give us time to tell our story they were so anxious to hear all about us.

Early the next morning, the rescuers started toward the Willie company’s camp. When they arrived later that day, they were greeted with shouts and cheers. Women embraced and kissed them, and even the men wept. The rescuers distributed lifesaving food, clothing, and bedding. The Willie Saints knelt in the snow and gave thanks to God.

The next day, October 22, the rescuers divided. Several men and six wagons stayed with the Willie company, and the rest continued east to find the Martin company. The Willie Saints labored 10 or 11 miles and camped near the base of Rocky Ridge.

When they arose on October 23, they faced the hardest day of their journey. They had to climb Rocky Ridge and travel about 16 miles to reach the next camp. They had to do it in another snowstorm with freezing wind. Joseph Elder’s heart could hardly bear what the company of nearly 400 people suffered pulling their handcarts over Rocky Ridge:

That was an awful day. Many can never forget the scenes they witnessed that day—men, women, and children weakened down by cold and hunger, weeping, crying, and some even dying by the roadside. It was very late before we all got into camp. Oh, how my heart did quake and shudder at the awful scenes which surrounded me.

The last wagons rolled into camp at 5:00 a.m., having been on the trail for 20 hours. Thirteen people died from this ordeal. “We buried [them] all in one deep and wide grave,” Joseph wrote.

The Willie company resumed their journey the next day, October 25, still 250 miles from Salt Lake City. Joseph said that “it snowed and blew and sometimes seemed as though we would be overwhelmed in the storms in the mountains.”  By November 2, enough rescuers had arrived to allow the people to ride in wagons the rest of the way. A week later, on November 9, the Willie company finally entered the Salt Lake Valley. Joseph had been eagerly anticipating this day since he was ordained an elder in St. Louis six months earlier. Describing his first sight of Salt Lake City, he wrote:

At last we emerged from amongst the mountains, and the beautiful valley with all its loveliness spread itself out before our view. My heart was filled with joy and gratitude. The lovely city of G. S. Lake lay about 5 miles distant in full view. We entered it. The houses at first looked odd, being built of adobes or sundried brick. Truly it is unlike anything I ever before had seen. The journey was over at last, and the people were soon distributed amongst the several wards, and I put up with my old friend Wm. Kimball.

Joseph Elder’s service to the handcart Saints wasn’t finished. Two weeks later he went to the Old Tabernacle and heard Brigham Young make another call for rescuers to help the Martin company. They had fallen three weeks behind the Willie company, and their condition was even worse. Again showing his courage and commitment, Joseph volunteered to help, and he started east that very day. After a week in “snow that sometimes would almost blind us and our teams,” he arrived back in Salt Lake City with the Martin Saints on November 30. “I returned home feeling first rate glad that I had gone,” he said.

Seriously…what an amazing example of service and obedience.