| OCR Text |
Show 5 On the Santa Clara O ACOB HAMBLIN DID not have to report for this mission until April 10, 1854, which gave him almost seven months in which to arrange his affairs and to see his family through the winter. This mission is very fully reported in the writings of the historian, Thomas Dunlop Brown. In his record we get clear pen pictures of the natives and learn something of the problems connected with the effort to convert the Indians to Mormon ways. Jacob is reported as being one of the most effective missionaries of them all. Then on May 6, 1855, he was reported to be ill. He became so bad that his life was despaired of, and he was given permission to go home for a time in order to recover. On his way, he stopped in to report to President Young who said to him, "Take what time you need, but take your family with you; go, and don't neglect your mission when you get there." The idea of "Taking your family," how far could that extend? To only his wife and children, or to his brothers and their families? Would it not be best to take all who were interested to go? His brother Oscar at once decided to join him. And Gunlock Bill, his younger brother, along with his pal, Lemuel Leavitt, wanted to try it in the south. Jacob especially wanted Dudley Leavitt to come; they had shared so many experiences. Dudley's wife Mary was enthusiastic at first, but when he sug- 56 On the Santa Clara gested that her sister, Mariah Huntsman,* come along as a second wife, she was not so enthusiastic. Nor was her mother. "The girl is too young, Dudley," her mother declared. "She's not even sixteen years old yet. Give her time to grow up." On the other hand, Mary was pregnant again. Might she not need help with two babies? Mariah was always so cheerful, so quick to see the bright side, the funny side. Might she not be really a help? Does Mariah herself really want to go under these conditions? Of course she did. Wasn't the law of Celestial Marriage or plural wives being stressed now as the highest, holiest order? Jacob Hamblin was able to leave before most of the others were ready, but before he did so he went to the County Recorder's office and made out his consecration deed. Because it gives such a detailed picture of his finances it is included here. JACOB HAMBLIN Tooele County Recorder's Book B A.D. 1855 Page 21 Be it known by these presents that JACOB HAMBLIN of Tooele City in the County of Tooele, and Territory of Utah, for and in consideration of the good will which I have to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter- Day Saints, give and convey to Brigham Young, Trustee in Trust, for said Church, his successors in office and assigns, all my claims to and ownership of the following described property, to wit: Six oxen Two waggons Nine cows Eight two-year old steers Six two-year old heifers Six yearlings Eleven calves Twenty-four sheep Household and kitchen furniture $300.00 125.00 270.00 260.00 150.00 90.00 85.00 120.00 $200.00 *Mariah is also spelled Maria, but for consistency and because it is pronounced as if it had the "h," the author has used that spelling throughout. On the Ragged Edge 57 Dudley made out a similar consecration deed. DUDLEY LEAVITT Tooele County Recorder's Book B A.D.Oct. 2, 1855 Page 22 Be it known by these presents that DUDLEY LEAVITT of Tooele City, in the County of Tooele, and Territory of Utah, for and in consideration of the good will which I have to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, give and convey to Brigham Young, Trustee in Trust, for said Church, his successors in office and assigns, all my claims to and ownership of the following described property, to wit: Two horses with harnesses & waggon $200.00 Two oxen Two cows one calf one waggon Household and kitchen furniture 75.00 50.00 6.00 20.00 100.00 $451.00 Jacob Hamblin's Journal says: Sept 11, 1855, I started for Santa Clara with Oscar Hamblin, my brother, and Dudley Leavitt and our families. We arrived there the 18th of October. We were kindly received by the Lamanites; they were almost overjoyed to see our women and children. It must have been a strange caravan that left Tooele that September morning. The horses and cattle were driven on ahead by Duane on horseback. The sheep traveled more slowly and were followed by the younger children. Then came the covered wagons, loaded with household furniture, food, clothing, and seeds. Barrels of water were tied on the outside, frying pans stuck upright in the bolster, buckets and kettles dangling underneath, the shovel and ax easy of access along the wagon-bed. At the back of each wagon protruding poles carried crates of chickens or little pigs. Since they could not carry feed for their cattle, they must travel slowly enough to let them feed on the way, stopping for long 58 On the Santa Clara noon rests and early evening, staying a day or two where they found good feed, and then crowding over the barren stretches. What wonder that they were six long weeks on the way. Dudley did not leave as soon as Jacob's company did, but he traveled faster, so that he was less than a week behind them. When they arrived at Santa Clara, the crops were ready for harvest. The corn, squash, pumpkins, and beans had done very well, while the few cotton rows, planted from a half-cup of seed, were thrifty and loaded with bolls. Chief Tutsegavit greeted them cordially, glad to have them back. The three families at once took possession of the three pole houses that the missionaries had built earlier. Each family must fix its own outdoor "stove." Before cold weather set in they must "muddy-up" the three pole houses, chinking them up with mud inside and out to keep out the wind. Bundles of tules must be placed on the pole roofs, the whole covered heavily with earth that they might be waterproof. They must have extra bedrooms for the older children. Two of the wagon beds were set up on loose rock foundations, their covers pulled down tightly and fastened. These were located just behind the pole house, all the boys sleeping in one and all the girls in another. Mariah Huntsman slept in with the girls, since she was only a few years older than some of the others. Now with teams and a plow, one or the other of the men began turning up the soil while the others with grubbing hoes or shovels started clearing new areas. All winter these three families lived here with no thought of trouble, the friendly natives helping to carry rocks off the land to make fences around the cleared areas in exchange for meat or bread or cooked beans. With the approach of spring, word came that the Indians farther north were angry and threatening. It was suggested that the families might do well to move to Harmony until a fort could be built on the Santa Clara. Three men could hardly defend their families alone. On the Ragged Edge 59 All were reluctant to leave until Dudley Leavitt had an experience which convinced them all that they should move. This story has been told so often that it has become legend. The family call it: The Letter to Shanob. Dudley was riding along the Mogotsu Creek one night, letting the horse pick its way along the trail. The night was pitchy black with low, threatening clouds and occasional lightning and thunder. Dudley, who always talked to his horse almost as if it were a human companion, said, "Take it easy, Maje, old boy. Take it easy. Once we get out of here we'll make better time. It won't be long now." Or he would break into a song, either a hymn or a fun song like "On the Road to Californee," making the echoes ring with his great voice. He had no fear, for he had no enemies, and he wanted anyone in the vicinity to know he was there so that they would not be taken by surprise. As the horse clambered over a great, slick rock into a small clearing, it shied, threw up its head, and stopped. Dudley could hear its nervous little snort and feel the flesh on its front shoulder quiver. He himself now had a sudden premonition of danger, an instinct which told him that he was not alone. He later said that he "smelled" Indians. He sat silent and motionless for a few seconds, when a brilliant flash of lightning threw the whole valley into clear relief. Indians! A whole circle of Indians, every one with his bow drawn to the last notch! To try to stampede through them in the darkness would bring a rain of poisoned points into both himself and his horse. Besides, there was no clear trail, and a stumble would be disastrous. More important still, he did not want to run. "Wamptun Tunghi!" he called loudly. "Me Wamptun Tunghi!" He knew all the local Indians would recognize him by his name. "Tick-a-boo! Too-wich-a-weino-ticka-boo!" This was to say that he was a friend, a very good friend. There was no answer, but he could hear them closing in on him, and with the next lightning flash one grabbed 60 On the Santa Clara the bridle bit and held the horse while others dragged him to the ground. He was a powerful man, so he shook them off while he tried to explain that he was a neighbor and friend, that he had given them bread when they were hungry and meat when he killed a beef. He had even traded a horse to one of them. Nothing appealed to them now. While one led the horse ahead the others came with him, two holding firmly to his arms and the others behind. He tried in vain to learn the reason for this ambush. What had he done to make them so surly and angry? Why would they gather here to stop their good friend? They led him on in silence along a secret trail to a place where the stream had cut a high, steep bank against the hill. In front of this was a smoldering fire with a large pile of wood in readiness beside it. The Indian in charge of Old Maje stopped at the edge of the clearing a short distance away, still holding the reins. The two guards led Dudley between the cliff and the fire and stood firmly, one on each side of their captive, while the band formed a half circle in front. Dudley could see that his chances for escape were not good, unarmed as he was, but he was still puzzled to know the reason for this strange action. He thought he was acquainted with all the Indians of the Santa Clara and Toquer bands, but most of these here he did not know. From their talk he could soon tell that they were trying to decide how best to kill him. Rush on him with knives? Bind him fast with his own lariat, put all the wood on the fire and throw him onto it? Or torture him first by twisting the burning end of a fagot into his flesh? Each of these were suggested by one or another, and he gathered that because two Indians had been killed by white men and only one white man was caught to atone, he should die twice as hard. How else could the two dead friends be properly avenged? Dudley knew it was time for him to do something. But what? On the Ragged Edge 61 Acting on a sudden impulse, he reached into his pocket and drew out the small notebook that he always carried. Then, sensing that the Indians were all watching him, he pretended to search everywhere to find the little stub of a pencil that he well knew was there. Wetting it with his lips to make the soft lead write darker, he began to draw heavy circles and strange figures. He kept at this until he knew all the Indians were watching with so much interest that they had stopped their talk. Knowing that he now had their full attention, he tore the page out, stepped to the fire, and held one corner in the flame until it started to burn. Then he stood up tall and held it high toward heaven, and as it blazed he began his prayer: "Pi-ump Shanob! Epawk-i!" (Great God, or Almighty God, hear my distress cry. Or, more literally, Help! Help!) Dudley went on to tell God how he had always befriended the Indians, given them food and helped them to get meat for their children. Now they were heap tobuck. They were going to kill him, their very best friend. He had noticed that the guards on either side had stepped back a few paces, and the circle beyond the fire had retreated a little as every eye watched the magic words burst into flame and whirl away. As he stood thus with his arm extended and repeated his cry for help, another flash of lightning cut the darkness and struck a pine tree high up across the valley. At the same instant the crash of thunder shook the earth. It could not have been timed better. Instantly every Indian disappeared. There was the fire burning; there was Old Maje standing patiently with dangling reins. But where were the Indians? Dudley mounted and as he rode along sang out loudly, "God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform." Soon after this, they moved their families to Harmony where they remained until a group of missionaries had built a stone wall between and around their homes to 62 On the Santa Clara make a solid enclosure, with large double gates to admit a wagon to the inside if it seemed necessary. The record says that this wall was one-hundred feet square, eight feet high, and two feet thick, set together with good lime mortar so that there was solidarity which was reassuring to them all. They also built a solid pole corral for their cattle and enclosed a yard adjoining for their hay, grain, squash, and sugar cane. Three other families now joined them. In addition to Jacob and Oscar Hamblin and Dudley Leavitt, there were Zadoc K. Judd, twenty-nine, his wife Minerva Dart Judd, not yet eighteen years old and the mother of two children. Thales Haskell and Samuel Knight, both in their early twenties, had brought brides to this frontier. Thales' wife, Maria Woodbury, had been a neighbor girl back in Salem, Massachusetts; Sam's wife, Caroline Beck, was a Swedish girl, newly arrived, who was struggling with learning the language. They were all young and full of vigor and faith, with great hopes for the future. The girls helped each other with washings and ironings, with baby sitting and hand sewing. Then in the evenings they gathered to sing. Maria Haskell had a concertina which she played with great skill. She herself had a strong soprano voice, while Caroline Beck had a full alto. These two would lead out, while everyone else joined in, even some of the children; almost every evening there would be a sing-a-long of sorts under the stars. It was a great morale builder. They would need a morale builder this season, too. The February to April rains did not come; the water in the creek began to fail. The Indians felt that the Mormons had brought this curse upon the land, and old Agarapoots became angry and threatening. He demanded that Jacob's God bring rain. In the meantime other members of the Leavitt- Hamblin families had come south, not as missionaries, but as colonizers. Jeremiah brought his mother and Priscilla along with his wife and four children. Lemuel's family also consisted of his wife and four children, while On the Ragged Edge 63 William (Gunlock Bill) Hamblin had Mary Leavitt and her two children and her sister Betsy, his second wife, with one child. Of the family of Mother Sarah Sturde-vant Leavitt, only Tom remained in northern Utah. He would not desert the farm in Wellsville. If Mother Leavitt felt that she had been living "on the ragged edge" of civilization before, she found that she had moved farther out. But her chief concern was that she be near her family and that they all be active in the church. Jerry selected a site for his home on the creek some eight to ten miles northeast of the Santa Clara settlement and promised himself that this would be his last move. He did not keep that vow but he did keep the one NOT to take a plural wife. About a half mile below his home, he built one for his mother - far enough away to be removed from his family problems and close enough that he could easily make a daily check on her. Bill's holding was next, and still lower down was Dudley's. The official record says: "Dudley Leavitt and William Hamblin, without counsel, moved out of the fort and settled on the creek." The place became known as "Gunlock." The move out of the fort, "without counsel," was due to several things. First, the water had failed until none was running as far south as the fort. The women must get their water from pools. Second, they had no fear of the Indians who thought that Gunlock Bill had eyes in the back of his head and never missed a shot. Third, there were larger patches of tillable land nearer the water. There was, indeed, some trouble with Indians. Chief Tutsegavit and his tribe were friendly, but Agarapoots had killed a beef, and he stalked about with glowering, angry looks that frightened the women and children. One evening when the whole group was assembled outside for their evening sing, Jacob called them all to attention and held up an empty bullet shell. It was a 45-60 brass bullet. "I want you all to see this," he told them, "and I want you to hear it. It is to be our signal of 64 On the Santa Clara trouble, a call for everyone to drop whatever he is doing and come in to the Fort. It must never be taken from this place unless it is truly needed. Then he demonstrated. "Press it against your chin and blow hard down into it like this." The whole valley echoed with a shrieking, piercing sound that would curdle the blood. A few days later the women were so warm and uncomfortable in the fort, the children cross and fretful, that they decided to open the gate and all go down to the creek bed where there was shade and puddles of water. It was so pleasant to relax here, so cool, so wonderful. Then suddenly, there was old Agarapoots and his band horseback, dashing over the low hills. How the women hurried to get the children inside, carrying them, dragging them, hurrying them along. They were all safely inside, but the women could not pull the heavy gates together in time. The old chief and two of his men got inside. "Get the whistle and lift Lyman over the wall. He must catch a horse and go for the men," Rachel ordered. Then maintaining a calm exterior, she said, "See - my wickup. Come. Shotcup!" She held out a part of a loaf of bread just as the sound of the whistle cut the air. The men would soon be here! Now the old chief wanted to get out, but she pretended that she could not open the gate or all the other Indians would rush in. The Indians outside were frightened too. They yelled at Lyman and shot arrows in his direction, but he was out of range. The Indians outside yelled something to the chief as they turned their horses to run away. Agarapoots and his companions just couldn't get out of there fast enough and away over the hill. In the end, it resulted only in reminding the girls that they would do well to obey counsel, and it demonstrated the value of the alarm whistle. Soon after this, old Agarapoots fell sick and some of his men thought the Mormons had put a curse upon him. When he died and the long-waited-for rain came at last, the natives argued among themselves as to whether the rain had to stay away until this evil chief had died. In On the Ragged Edge 65 reporting the events of this year, Zadoc K. Judd became eloquent: The greatest production of the earth that I ever saw. Peach trees grew from the pits ten feet tall the first season; squash vines grew over the fences and into established trees, the squashes hanging like giant fruit from the branches. James G. Bleak records that the Saints at Santa Clara planted five acres into cotton, which meant 200 pounds. Their attempts to remove the seeds the year before led Zadoc Judd to invent a crude cotton gin. It was constructed on the same plan as a clothes wringer, the two rollers about three-quarters of an inch in diameter. A crank was attached to each roller, turning them in opposite direction. Two people were needed to operate it, one to feed the cotton in with one hand and turn the crank with the other. His companion pulled the cotton out and turned the other crank. "By diligent labor, these two could clean about two pounds of lint a day with four pounds of seed." James G. Bleak recorded that thirty yards of cloth was made by Caroline Beck Knight, Maria Woodbury Haskell, and Sister Lyman Curtis. Minerva Dart Judd wrote in her record that, "This fall Mother Leavitt came down and being an experienced weaver, taught us the art of weaving. We made thirty yards of cloth." This all sounded so encouraging that samples of the cloth were sent to Brigham Young who forwarded one to England for evidence. All were elated with the prospect of a major industry in southern Utah. The very next spring fifty families from the southern states would be called to settle the town of Washington and raise cotton. The church would move to build a factory to handle it, to be ready by the time enough could be raised to pay. Meanwhile Mother Leavitt was encouraged. Here she could be of service as a midwife and could train some of the young women in the art of spinning, weaving, and dyeing of cotton materials. 66 On the Santa Clara That fall Dudley went north for a load of provisions for the winter. Mary hated to see him go for she was expecting her second child soon. They all knew that he must go before the roads were closed with snow, and he figured that he had time. He tried to console Mary with the fact that his mother would be there, and she would be worth more than a dozen men. So he went and was detained. When finally he did drive up, he was met by Mariah, her hands on her hips, ready to scold him soundly. "A fine husband you've turned out to be," she said. "You had as well turnaround and go back. We don't need you now." Mary was in bed, a bundle by her side. The new son was the first white child born in Utah's Dixie, November 30, 1856. It was also the first delivery that Mariah assisted with. For though they sent word for Mother Leavitt to come, she didn't make it in time, either. From this time on into her old age, Mariah Leavitt acted as midwife, delivering in the neighborhood of two hundred babies. This first one they named for his father, Dudley Leavitt, Jr. Things at the fort on the Santa Clara were quiet that morning of June 19, 1857. The men were all away at different tasks; the women were busy with their morning chores. Thales Haskell had been detailed to go up the creek some twelve miles and remove some beaver dams so that the water could run freely and not be backed up into this miniature lake. His wife, Maria, was busy about her cabin when a young Indian boy came to the door. Thales had taken a special interest in this lad, taught him some English words, and hired him to do some small tasks. He had been away for several months now, so Maria was rather surprised to have him here - surprised and a little frightened - for she had never been able to conquer her fear of the natives. Why did he come here now, she wondered. Why hadn't he gone with Thales up the stream? She must try to appear brave, as Rachel and all the others had learned to do. He just walked around and looked at things without giving any reason for coming or stating any errand. She On the Ragged Edge 67 dared not order him to go; she would fix him something to eat, and then maybe he would leave. She saw him reach for Thales' gun, but she dared not cry out against it. A shot rang out. The gun fell with a clatter. Maria, her hand holding her side, staggered through the door, while the Indian boy, looking at her, hesitated a second and then started running up the trail toward the creek as fast as he could run. Mary Judd came running, a dish in her hands. "What is the matter?" "I think I am shot." In an instant all the women were there. Rachel took Maria back into the house and on the bed stripped her clothes off to examine the wound. The bullet had entered through the hip on the left side and gone through the abdomen and now lay just under the skin on the right side. "Take it out. Take it out," Maria begged. If you can get the bullet out, maybe it will be all right." Rachel bathed it with turpentine and got the razor ready to cut, but her heart failed. She could hear Jacob hurrying up the path, for the Indian boy had gone straight for Jacob, thinking that he had medicine strong enough to cure anything. "Put Lyman on the buckskin horse and send him for Thales. It's a long trip. You'd better send some food along. And tell him to remember that twelve miles is too far for any animal to go top speed. He'll get there quicker if he is mindful of the horse. Thales will take care of his end of it." Jacob did get the bullet out, but that made little difference. Without any sedative to deaden the pain, they could only keep hot packs on the wound and give her some whiskey-sling to drink. Dudley had been working nearby and he too came running. They all knelt around her bed and prayed earnestly for God to be kind to her, to spare her life if possible. Thales arrived just at sunset, a haggard, grief-stricken man. He had been at work since daylight; he received 68 On the Santa Clara word of the accident just after noon. He knelt by the bed and took her hand; for a brief instant she opened her eyes with the light of recognition in them. All through the night the little group kept their vigil - all but Dudley. He went straight home, told his mother, and got her off in the wagon. She would be a source of strength to all the girls. "She cannot last long," he said. "And with the weather hot as it is, we'll need to get her buried before noon." He began assembling lumber for a coffin, which meant that he took apart a wagon box from one of his own wagons and proceeded to plane and fit the boards into a solid box with a lid. Finally, just before daylight, Jacob called Thales aside and after talking seriously to him for a few minutes came back to the group. "We have decided to dedicate her to God, to ask Him to release her from her suffering," he said. "Brother Leavitt and Brother Knight, will you assist? The others of you wait outside. It's cooler there." The women stood silent with bowed heads. After a few minutes Jacob joined them. "She is resting now," he told them. In less than an hour she was dead. The women who had so stoically controlled their tears now wept freely, clinging to each other for strength. Caroline Knight was inconsolable. Maria had been her idol, her closest friend, her one bright spot in this vast, barren land. There was no time for tears. They must act quickly to get the body buried while they could still handle it. Already the odor was getting heavy. While the men helped put the finishing touches to the coffin, Aunt Rachel and Mother Leavitt bathed the body, put on the underwear, the petticoat, and the wedding dress not quite a year old. Now that she was relaxed, Maria did look lovely, except for a dark streak which was creeping up the side of her neck. Rachel had wound the long braids in a coronet On the Ragged Edge 69 around her head, then put her one fancy comb in and pinned her favorite broach at her throat. It was a sad little group that followed the casket to the meetinghouse in the corner of the fort. How could they sing without Maria? She had always set the pitch and led in the melody. And what could anyone say? Empty words? But they did have a brief service, lowered the box into the first grave to be opened in the area that had been set aside for a cemetery. No one blamed Thales for walking away, silent. He needed to be alone. |
