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Show 10 At Hebron and Gunlock I N NOVEMBER 1868 the town of Hebron was organized into a ward. The authorities evidently felt that there was no one there who would unite the people, for they called a young man, George Crosby, to be the bishop. He was also to teach school. The beardless young man arrived late in November and opened the school. In December he went to get his wife, arriving back in Hebron on Christmas Eve. That very night their first child, a son, was born. Orson Huntsman comments that "they might have named him Santa Claus, but they didn't, they called him George." New Year's Day was celebrated with a town dinner and dance, a climax to a "scalp hunt" in which the losing side furnished the meal. The first Sunday, January 3, 1869, the whole town gathered in the little log school-house for the first real meeting under the new bishop. A pitch-pine fire burned in the large fireplace. The women came with their shawls over their heads and their waist aprons on. The children were all in home-knit stockings and mittens and made-over coats. The bishop completed the organization by selecting Dudley Leavitt as his first and Richard Bird his second counselors. John Pulsipher was the superintendent of the Sunday School. The people were happy, with high hopes of building a fine community here. There were enough to make activities interesting and to have a good school; there was plenty of good land (if they could only keep water on it). At least there would be plenty of labor, if they could only On the Ragged Edge 115 have the satisfaction of conquering this desert land. Confident and full of hope, they set out to do it. The new settlement was soon to have its first experience with the Indians. The very week after the ward was organized, an express came telling them that the Nava-jos had crossed the Colorado and were making raids on the different settlements, driving off cattle and horses. John Pulsipher wrote quite a detailed account of their experience in his journal: We gathered our horses, kept armed herdsmen with them days & an armed guard at the corral with them at night. This was a heavy expense on us, few as we are, but we kept on hunting and gathering stock as well as picket guarding, which we were careful to attend to, so that we may not be surprised by any large force. Time proved that we did not gather our stock any too soon, for the Indians were spying around every night as sly & cunning as foxes. Every morning we could find tracks where they had walked or crawled around the corral in the darkness of night, but they could not break the fence or open the gate, so they must try some stratagem. A pair of horses were taken from Father Pulsipher as they were eating at his stable just at dark before being put into the big corral. We then fixed stalls in the big corral to feed them and the saddle horses where they would be safe. The rascals were very anxious to have our little band of horses - 170 head - but they were all so well-guarded it bothered them. So one day while the horses were out to feed, the sly rogues crawled from the hills north among the sage brush and chopped several of the pickets nearly off at the back side of the corral so they could be easily broken, to let the horses out. But this was discovered before dark and we prepared for an attack tonight. Moved families together and every man armed and made ready. Put a stronger guard with the horses and the rest to guard the women and children. We did not want to kill any of these warriors if we could avoid it, & we did not want them to kill us. Being some acquainted with Indian customs, I advised the guards at the corral not to leave their places & run into the light, even if any building should be fired. Just as I had said that much, a light flashed up. It was Orson Huntsman's haystack a little west of us. It 116 At Hebron and Gunlock made a great flame, as it was very dry. It burned down very quietly, not a man rushed into the light to be shot, neither did we leave our charges for them to take. The Indians, brave as they are, fear to die, & getting no advantage of us, abandoned their design that night. The next day, Feb. 6, we took our band of horses down the valley to Pinto station and herded with them about 10 days. We then built a corral and herd house about five miles below our town at the edge of the valley, kept our stock on our own range & when the wild Indians had left the country & spring come, we could let our stock have their liberty again. The Navajos always made their raids during the winter months, crossing the Colorado while the water was low. This was the reason they were forced to go back early in February before the spring thaws began and the river became impassable. In the spring of 1869 Dudley traded for Orson Huntsman's house so that he now owned an entire block in Hebron with one family on each corner. Here they were comfortable during the winter months, though they continued to scatter for a time during the summer, one or two at the Meadows to make butter and cheese, and the others at Gunlock to take care of the fruit. That fall Dudley made another trip to Salt Lake City, this time taking two of his wives, Mariah and Thirza. The records of the Salt Lake Temple show that he had them both sealed to him in the Endowment House on October 5,1869. Mariah was now the mother of six children, the youngest, Sarah Mariah, being hardly three months old; Thirza had four, her youngest, Lister, being eighteen months. In the meantime the people of Hebron had begun to experiment with ways and means to bring water to more land. When Erastus Snow first looked their project over, he told them they had the town in the wrong place and that they should try to take up land nearer the water. They preferred to do otherwise, and he did not oppose it too vigorously. First, they built a ditch along the hill which cost $665 in labor. The next year they made it higher and longer at an additional cost of $1,520 and still later enlarged it On the Ragged Edge 117 at a cost of $400. This made the price of water for their little town nearly two thousand dollars that year (1870). Pioche had opened up as a flourishing mining town, so that those who had hay or produce to sell had a ready market. They hauled loose hay over the fifty miles of dirt road for $27 a ton. Sometime in 1870 the census taker arrived in Hebron. His record is accurate as to age and place of birth of the wives and names of the children. 1870 Census, Washington County, Utah HEBRON Dudley Leavitt Mary Louise [Hannah] Dudley Orin D. Orson Alonzo Samuel George E. Mariah Aureilla [Orilla] Eliza [Elsie] Hyrum John Sarah Thursa [Thirza] Ware [Wier] Helena Mary E. Christopher L. Henry D. Jennette [Janet] Annie Calvin Jane 39 33 15 13 11 9 7 7 1 mos. 29 11 9 7 3 1 25 11 7 4 3 2 mos. 21 9 7 2 Farmer Keeping house at home at home at home in school in school at home at home Keeping house at school at school at school at home at home Keeping house at home at school at home at home at home Keeping house at school at school at home Canada Iowa Utah Utah Utah Utah Utah Utah Utah Illinois Utah Utah Utah Utah Utah England Utah Utah Utah Utah Utah Utah Utah Utah Utah 118 At Hebron and Gunlock Heleman 4 mos. at home Utah Mary's 6th child Joseph Henry Leavitt died in July 1866 Mariah's 4th child, James William died September 16, 1866 Jennette's 3rd child Adelbert Leavitt died September 9,1866 All died at Clover Valley in the plague which took a total of 12 children under three years of age. Early in 1871 the measles broke out, and every family in town had them. Though there were no deaths, there were many sick children and some eye and ear injuries as a result. Then in June, just as their crops were looking their best, a horde of grasshoppers came. In swarms that darkened the sun, with a sound like a humming engine, they settled on the fields. They were traveling from east to west, lighting, eating, jumping over each other as they moved forward, and leaving the fields behind utterly desolate. They spared nothing. To try to fight them would be like trying to fight rain or hail. They stayed only a few days, long enough to leave the crops in ruin, and then moved on. The last of them had hardly taken flight before the people were out, ploughing their fields again. Though the season was late, they hoped to get a crop of corn matured. Early in 1871 the people of Hebron decided to build a new adobe meetinghouse. The old one was too small and was away off over in the old fort. They taxed each man according to his holdings, with the total of the first levy being $962.32. Of this, Dudley Leavitt's share was $33.60. This was about the average, being much less than that of some and more than that of others. It would indicate that he owned little property other than the block upon which his families lived or that they made some concessions because of the number of his children. They worked at the meetinghouse all summer as their farm work permitted. In the Tate fall everyone joined in the labor in order to have it completed for a social on Christmas Eve. It was not plastered, but it had a solid On the Ragged Edge 119 floor in and a roof overhead, while a large stove in the center, whose lengths of pipe twisted about in search of an outlet, gave off plenty of heat. Coal-oil lamps set in front of circles of tin for reflectors, furnished the light. The people felt that they had something fine and up-to-date and celebrated accordingly with a dance and picnic. Because of the visit of the grasshoppers the summer before, flour was scarce. By May even their corn meal was getting low, and it was more than a month before harvest. A serious shortage was prevented by a call from the authorities at St. George for teams to collect donations for the building of the temple there. The ground had been dedicated in November, and all the church was to contribute to it. Orson W. Huntsman and Charles Pulsipher were to travel through the towns holding meetings and taking up donations. The people of Hebron sent three four-horse teams and three two-horse teams. The people of the north gave what they could: wheat, potatoes, butter, cheese, pork, dried beans, cloth - whatever they had. When the teamsters returned to St. George with their loads, they were paid for their services in tithing scrip, which they immediately converted into foodstuffs. On their arrival back at Hebron, they found the whole town out of flour. By this time the telegraph line was finished through Hebron to Pioche and Bullionville. In 1866 it had been completed from Logan to St. George, connecting all the settlements enroute. In 1871, with Pioche running full blast, and with eleven stamp mills in operation in Bullionville, it was decided to connect those towns with St. George. The people of Hebron were given their quota of poles to get out and set and were given tithing scrip for pay. Dudley Leavitt and his older boys helped with the project. In May Major Peck, a cattle buyer from Pioche, came to town. Every man in Hebron sold him some cattle. Orson Huntsman gives an interesting account of the trip across the desert with them: May 27, 1872. Arrived at Mountain Springs at 9 a.m. [It was necessary to make night drives because of the heat and the desert country.] We watered 186 head of 120 At Hebron and Gunlock stock and seven horses with the bucket; that is, we dipped water from the spring and carried it two rods and filled a trough and paid 18 cents a head for the water. At the end of the trip they received $2,247.00, which was divided according to the number of cattle each man had sold. The year 1872 brought another event of moment to the Dudley Leavitt family. Dudley took another wife, this time Martha Hughes Pulsipher, the widow of Zera Pulsipher. In some ways, this was a greater trial to Mary than his earlier marriages had been. The other four had all been girls together; they had sacrificed for each other; they had worked together; they had stood by each other in sickness; they had grown old before their time, together. Now to have their husband pay attention to this lively, twenty-seven-year-old widow while they cared for their families was really a trial. The courtship was short. The young woman, left with four children, had few resources and had been working out in the various homes to support herself. The marriage took place November 30, 1872, in Salt Lake City, with Daniel H. Wells officiating. Once it was over, she took her place with the other wives, receiving no favors and fitting into the family very well. In 1872 there was a heavy flood at Hebron which washed out their flume and the ditch along the hillside. People, generally, were very much discouraged, for it would mean such a lot of hard work to rebuild it. Dudley still had holdings at Gunlock and Mountain Meadows as well as a small place at Santa Clara. Except for the block on which they lived, he had little at Hebron, so this year they decided to sell out and care for their other places. They had plenty of fruit and farm land at Gun-lock to keep them busy. The family record says that nine children were born while they lived at Hebron: Frank and George to Mary; Sarah, Albert, and Hubert to Mariah; Lister and Henry to Thirza; and Jane and Helaman to Janet. Perhaps Aaron should be included in this group, for he was born during the summer before they finally moved away. His mother, Mary, was at Gunlock at the time. Hannah, the oldest girl, tells the incident thus: On the Ragged Edge 121 I was there a day, and the next day Aaron was born, 17 Aug. 1871. Father and I were all the help mother had . . . he hadn't had time to build a house, and Aaron was born in a wagon box. Father handed him to me wrapped in mother's skirt, and aunt Emma Huntsman and I washed and dressed him out under the cottonwood tree. But I had most of it to do as she was just newly married and had no experience with babies. For an unmarried girl of sixteen, this was quite unusual. It does not take a very vivid imagination to reproduce the whole scene with the covered wagon box and the crude arrangements under the tree. In spite of it, the baby did well, and the mother was soon up and around again. The establishment and care of the family was now at its heaviest, for there were twenty-five children living (Mary had lost one baby, Mariah one, and Janet two^ and they were all quite young. The oldest girl, Hannah, was seventeen, and the boys just younger were large and husky and accustomed to work. Even so, much of the responsibility was left to the mother, for try as Dudley would to divide his time equally among them and to keep in touch with them all, it was almost more than one could do. The thing that is most remarkable is that he had as much influence with them as he did. Interviews with every one of the living children show without exception, that it was to their father that they turned for affection and guidance. "I used to think that if father were only home, nothing in the world could harm u s , " one of them said. "In my childish heart, my greatest wish was that we could have him with us all the time." They all tell of how their father loved them, of how kind and considerate he always was, and how full of faith. His daughter, Lena, tells this incident: I remember once when I was a little child about eight or nine years old, and Wier was eleven or twelve. One of mother's babies was real sick. Alma, I think it was. In the night father came to my bed and woke me up. He went and got Wier up, too. "Get up children," he said, "we have a very sick baby, 122 At Hebron and Gunlock and we need your help. Mother and I must have your support and faith and prayers, for we have done all that we can." We got up and all kneeled around the bed. Father prayed and mother prayed; then he asked Wier to pray, and I prayed. Then father prayed again. After a little while, as he sat watching the baby, he said, "Now you can go to bed. He will be all right." We did go to bed, and the baby slept until morning and got well. Hannah tells how he used play with the children, dancing them on his knee and singing to them or romping with them. On moonlight nights he would get out and play Run, Sheep, Run and Steal Sticks with the older boys. It always made the game twice as interesting if father played with them. He went to the dances and joined in the fun there. From several of his children came incidents which show his treatment of them. His daughter Lena tells this one: When I was a little girl we were traveling up the creek when it had a flood in. At one crossing the water ran up into the wagon box. I was back under the cover and was frightened nearly to death. I screamed and cried at the top of my voice. When we got across, he stopped the team and got out and took me in his arms. Instead of scolding, he was so tender and kind with me. "Father wouldn't let anything hurt his little girl," he said. "Why, if you fell in, I'd jump right in after you." And he held me close and petted me until I was quiet and happy before he started the team again. Mary Jane tells of a similar experience: One time when I was a little girl, I had a big boil on my arm and father was bringing me to St. George to see what to do about it. I was sitting on the hay in the wagon and went to sleep. When we were crossing the creek in one place, I fell out. I was crying at the top of my voice, but he couldn't hear me above the jolt of the wagon over the rocky bottom and the sound of the water. It wasn't deep; I could have waded out easy enough, but he stopped and came back for me, wading right into the water. He picked me up and carried me out. I would On the Ragged Edge 123 have expected him to stand on the bank and call me to come on. I wasn't hurt. Betsy tells this one, which though it happened years later, still shows his way with his family: I remember when we were quite small, but old enough to know better, and father and the boys had been making adobes. They had them out in long rows in the sun to dry. There were five of us little girls within a year or two of each other. We began playing around the yard and ended up by walking up and down the rows of adobes, stepping into the middle of every one. When the older boys saw it, they certainly were angry. They scolded and swore and said for us just to wait until father came and saw what we had done. We were so frightened that we all ran and hid. When father came, the boys took him out to show him how we had ruined their work. "Well, now," he said laughing, "I think that is right cute. I don't know what I would rather have in the walls of my house than all those pretty little foot prints." When we heard that, we weren't afraid to come out of hiding. The next few years, while they lived at Gunlock, were prosperous ones. The Indians were peaceable, and Dudley cultivated their friendship. The first harvest he invited them all in to a feast, barbecued a young beef, roasted a load of corn in the husks, and had plenty of melons. The Indians danced and feasted and celebrated in general for three days. They raised all the wheat, corn, beans, squash, and other vegetables they needed; they had a surplus of molasses and dried fruit to sell and their own flock of sheep furnished them wool for clothing. An incident recorded by Orson Huntsman shows something of their setup. In the early winter he came to St. George to buy chickens and pigs to peddle in Pioche for Thomas S. Terry. He bought twelve little pigs for one dollar each and three hundred chickens. It had begun to storm on his way 124 A t Hebron and Gunlock down; before he left St. George the snow was eight inches deep. He received the following telegram: Hebron, Dec. 8,1873 Snow three feet deep and still snowing. Take load to Dudley's and stay storm over. Don't try to come until road is open. T. S. Terry. Orson Huntsman's diary tells how he went to Gunlock and turned the pigs and chickens all loose onto Dudley Leavitt. On January 10, more than a month later, he went back for them. That seems evidence that they knew Dudley would have a surplus and be able to feed them. In 1874 Mariah's oldest daughter, Orilla, was in Hebron working for Bishop Crosby. She was a beautiful girl of fifteen. Early in March she was taken ill, and though they did all they could for her she got no better. They sent word to her family. Dudley went on horseback, leaving Mariah and Mary to come in a wagon with one of the older boys. He arrived in time to hold his daughter's hand at her passing. Though they met the wagon with fresh horses at the Meadows, the women were too late. This death was a blow to all the family, for it was the first time an older child had died. During the plague year at Clover Valley they had lost three babies, and Janet had another die soon after birth. Their philosophy that "whatever is, is best," that the matter of life and death is in the Hands of God, and our finite minds cannot always understand his infinite wis-don, made them able to accept it. To them immortality was real and unquestioned. If God wanted this lovely girl, why should they protest? It was part of their duty to be submissive to His will. |
