Written by Himself
1920
The following lines are a brief history of the life and experience of the writer, Thomas Ap. Davis written by his own hand.
I have thought perhaps that some day some of my posterity might be pleased to read of the hardships and experiences of one who came to this land at a rather early age in life and passed through what is termed pioneer life. The only desire the writer has is that if you feel at all interested in the narrative, read it or lay it aside. Before the end it may be that something may be written that you cannot agree with. If that should be the case, please remember that whatever shall be written will be the honest conviction of an honest man. After having given every question fair and impartial consideration, which to them seems best, believing in the great declaration that all men are created equal, etc.
Having written so much by way of introduction, I will proceed with my narrative:
The writer was born on the 10th of June in the year 1849 at the village of Drefach (meaning small village) in Cardigan County, South Wales, the month of flowers and roses. I was the fifth child born to Titus and Mary Bowen Davis. One child born to my parents before me died at the age of four months and was named Thomas. Another child born after me also died at a tender age and was named John. The children following were John, again, and Jenkin next, was a twin. The other child was still-born. Then after some years Henry was born. He remained the baby of the family. I should now write the names of the older children. They were David, Timothy, and Gwenifred. At this writing, Timothy, Gwenifred and Jenkin have died. I know but little of my people in Wales.
My father was raised by his Grandfather on a farm. His mother’s name was Dina. She was married the second time and raised a son named Timothy, who migrated to the U.S. at an early day. All traces of him have been lost. No record of my father’s birth is available, but at the time Waterloo was fought, he was a good sized lad and could remember his Uncles talking to each other of the possibility of Napoleon defeating the British.
His home was near the village of Llandisil in the Teivie River Valley, Teivie being one of the principal streams of Wales. More is known of my mother’s people, as they have resided in the locality for many years.
Mother was also born on a small farm near Llanwenog Church. It was called Maesytelin (meaning the Mill Field). At her home there was a water power mill for the purpose of fullening flannel goods. My mother’s people were engaged in the manufacture of the famous Welsh flannel, as well as running the small farm. She was an only daughter and had everything her heart desired. She had her own riding pony and saddle, attended all the mounted weddings in the neighborhood, and consequently was a good horse woman. She possessed a good voice and was a good singer. It was at a choir practice that she first met Father, he being the Singing Master. With the humdrum of the old mill, small wonder that she was a singer.
Upstream a mile from her home was the turnpike road or the King’s Highway. Across the stream there was a stone bridge of two arches. This particular bridge was a meeting place for all the gossipers of the vicinity.Less than a mile again upstream is the village (Drefach) where I was born. The village is mostly meadow land with some oak timber growing in spots. The stream furnishing the water power for the mill at Maesyfelin, meanders down this narrow valley and supplies the people with good fishing. It also operates a grist mill just above the bridge. Amidst this beautiful scenery, I first saw the light of day over 71 years ago.
But I was not to remain here long. The buildings upon the little farm which my parents had rented were very old and dilapidated and the landlord refused to make repairs. Here my father wanted to go to the U.S., but Mother could not sever her love for the old home nearby and the graves of her babies.
And so they looked for a new place several miles beyond the river in another county. This was taken as a last resort. The place was not satisfactory, was too small and isolated. The only fuel was peat. The home was small and humble and not desirable for a home. Therefore, the family only remained here one year. My brother, Jenkin, was born here and in my child’s mind, I realized that something very serious had taken place, for my mother was reported very sick. A carpenter was there making a little tiny coffin into which the little dead baby girl was placed. My father and the carpenter carried the little casket to Llanwenog and it was laid beside our other small babies.
This was a sad experience for a woman well brought up to have in a strange place. The following summer my parents found a more desirable place to live in, but farther from our birth place to which they moved in time to put up the hay. This was a better locality to live in, within 4 miles of the thriving city of Llandilo and I believe my mother was happy there. At any rate, I never remember hearing my mother complain.
In this new home, my brother Henry was born, the youngest in the family. It may be well for me to state here that my father was a shoemaker by trade. The farm was small and it necessitated hos going from home to work a good part of the time. This was necessary to secure money with which to pay the rent and keep the family.
Soon after coming to this new home, I commenced attending school at a village called Capel Isaac or Issac’s Chapel. This I did until I could read, write, and spell fairly well. At this home a great calamity befell me in a very severe spell of sickness of rheumatic fever. Up to this time, I was a perfectly healthy child, but this rheumatic fever left me a cripple for life. It dislocated my left hip and left it stiff, also my left knee was affected. This took place, I think, in the fall of 1858 and spring of 1859. I resumed my school studies as soon as I could walk the distance. In order to make it better and easier for me to attend school, my parents gave up the little farm and secured a larger place nearer another school at a village called Cumder (or Black Hollow). In this village was also located the chapel where my parents worshiped.
My parents belonged to the Baptists, so this was a good move and made it better for all. Here is where my mother ended her career. She died in the year 1881, at 60 years old. She was not buried at Cumder, but in a church yard farther away. This was the reason why she was buried at Talley.
One time Father and Mother came through Talley carrying a hive of bees in the night time and to make the trail shorter, they took a path leading through the cemetery. It is reported that it is a very beautiful place. They had selected the night time in which to make the trip as bees are handled better at night and so among the graves they placed their burden upon the ground and rested among the tombstones. Father, being the oldest, said, “Mary, if I die first, I want you to bury me here and if you die first, I promise to bury you here.” And so it was agreed. Subsequent events made it impossible for Father to be buried in Talley, but when Mother died, her friends carried her there and she rests in Talley. But Father is not there, but instead she has one of her boys, Jenkin, with her; he being the only one that was left in Wales with her. Perhaps I should not have written of this just yet in my narrative, but later on. However, I will proceed with my sad history though often blinded with tears.
About the year 1858, something took place that disrupted our family. My father was in Dowlais working at his trade, also my oldest brother, David was working at a Mercantile house. They both became acquainted with a new sect called the Latter-day Saints and became members of the new religion or new church, perhaps I should say.
To this my mother was very much opposed as in years passed she knew a good many people who had joined the Latter-day Saints and left the country for America; but many had died of sickness and hardships on the way. Mother knew it was the custom of the Latter-day Saints to gather with the body of their church in the United States, and therefore, she feared that Father would in time do the same and want to take the family along with him to that new place of gathering.
It must be said here that my mother was a devout member of the Baptist Church, born and raised in that church. One of its principal rituals was baptism by immersion, in like manner as John of old, baptised the Messiah in the River Jordan. And therefore, she reasoned that another church was not necessary for her to leave her own church and join a new movement in which baptism by immersion was also practiced. Notwithstanding that Father declared to her that he knew that the new church was right. She firmly, on the other hand, declared back to him that she knew equally well that her church was the right church. It had broken loose from the Roman Catholic Church and established a new form of worship in harmony with the New Testament and the teaching of the Savior. In this way they discussed religion for some months. Father, during most of this time, was located at Dowlais. These discussions took place during his visits at home. It, therefore, became evident to Mother that Father would in the near future, migrate to the U.S. Most likely he would want to take part or all of the family along with him. Ane with her it became a very serious question whether she would go along or remain in her native land. One fact must not be overlooked that she sought the counsel of her Church Minister and her many relatives. They all said with one voice that it was her duty to remain and not go to Utah where polygamy was practiced and religion was a mockery. That line of argument prevailed. She firmly made up her mind to remain with her own church which she did to the day of her death. Her co-religionists showed her marked respect by carrying her remains a good distance to the ancient cemetery at Talley and laid her to rest near the ruins of the old cathedral. Later I may have more to say before closing my narrative as some are inclined to censure Mother for refusing to accompany the family to the new land.
To do her justice, the reader must reason that at that time the venture was a very uncertain one. The journey was long and reports had come back to Wales of many deaths on the way. All these reports had their effects to deter her from consenting to go with the family.
Father began to make preparations for the move. By this time, Timothy had located to Dowlais and worked as a miner and had joined the Church. He also was in favor of migrating. He had taken upon himself a certain amount of ground to work and to extract the iron ore in time to go to the U.S. It was necessary for him to have help so I was sent for to help him. My mother made me some flannen (flannel) drawers and shirts to wear in the mines and otherwise make me look respectable. So, one morning, I was ready to go. Just who accompanied me or how I traveled to the nearest town where there was a stage, I do not remember. It is all forgotten. But, I do remember Mother came up the narrow lane to the road with me and in the road said goodbye to me. That’s the last I saw of her in this world. I was too young to realize the situation, too excited with the thought of going on a trip from home, that I never thought that I was parting from my mother forever. But why was I not permitted to go and see her once more upon the eve of our departure from the country?
Arriving in Dowlais, I worked with my brother in the mine and I think I did good service until I was injured by a fall off the top. I recovered from that after some weeks of confinement in the house. During this time it was thought best by my father that we rent a house to live in instead of boarding as we had been doing. So, my only sister, Gwenifred, was sent for to come and keep house. John, a brother younger than me, came also. I did not return to the mine but obtained a job in the company blacksmith shop at 10 shillings a week. Blowing and striking was too heavy for me, but I persevered and got hardened to it by and by. My hands were blistered and my father fitted me with some leather that was soft and nice.Turpentine healed the blisters and after that I got along fine. It must be noted here that after my sister and John had left home, there was no one left with Mother except Jenkin and little Henry, the baby. Jenkin was seven years of age and Henry was about four years old. Mother had five or six cows to care for and feed. She had to carry her eggs and butter to town some 4 miles and perform all other work that was to be done on the place regardless of its character. The outlook was discouraging to say the least.
Preparations had now been made for our departure for the U.S. in the spring of 1863. I was 13 years old. In a conference of the Saints at Merthyr Tydfil, my brother, David, was called on a mission and to remain in Wales a year longer. This was a great disappointment to Father as David, who had lived with an English speaking family for several years, could speak English better than the rest of us. But we had to submit.
Father and David went to see Mother about the first of May, and if possible prevail upon her to come along, but the time was now too short for her to prepare had she been disposed to go. It was now known that David was to remain in the country another year and hopes were entertained that she would come at the end of the year. It was arranged for Jenkin to remain with Mother, but Henry was taken along. Jenkin would sooner be of help to her. I must state here that my mother must have possessed a rare balance of mind or she would have torn the universe to shreds before giving up her baby to be taken, that she perhaps never could see him more. She could have raised the neighborhood and in an hour of time could have had a mob of farmers there to protect her and her two children. But, no, she submitted to be bereft of her children and even walked with them to the railroad station and quietly bade them goodbye, took little Jenkin by the hand and walked home. She was surely one woman in ten thousand. I do not propose to discuss the right and wrong of the matter, but it seems to me that someone or more will be held responsible for the manner in which Mother was robbed of her children, for the heartaches she endured in her lonely home. It is gratifying here to say, that no doubt her rest is peaceful along with the little fellow that comforted her in her isolation, in sight of the old Cathedral at Talley.
Let us leave them here for a time and resume our narrative. I do not have the date of our departure for America, but it was in the forepart of May, 1863. We left Dowlais one fine morning and walked down to Merthyr to take the train for Cardiff. Along with us there were several families of Saints also bound for Zion. The run down to the old town did not take long and we found ourselves and our little baggage on the platform there waiting for someone to convey us to a place to remain overnight.
While waiting, a couple of tall fine looking men came along and asked us where we were going. We answered that we were going to America. At this they seemed to be pleased. One of them, pointing to myself and my brother, John, said, “These two boys are going over at a good age. They are young enough,” he said, “to make good Americans, and old enough to always remember something of their native land.” He told us that they were Americans, in Wales, buying coal and railroad iron. He also said that there was now a war in their country. “But after a while,” said he, “there will be peace.”
That night we spent in the hall where the Cardiff Saints were in the habit of holding Sunday meetings. Next morning we left for the train. As we were seating ourselves in the little cars, women were weeping for husbands they were leaving behind, but who were to follow in the near future.
We arrived in London early in the afternoon. The country we passed through was level and in great contrast to the hills of Wales.
Reaching London, we found a great many Saints at the large depot, all having come from various sections of England and Scotland. Our baggage was soon placed upon some very large wagons and the people climbed on top. I looked for a place to ride, but failed to find any space where I could sit or cling. So I concluded that I would cling to the rear of one of the big wagons. And away we went over the stone pavement. It never occurred to me that London was a rather large village, but I began to think that it was some distance, though, and after traveling at a good canter for about one and a half hours, they stopped to water the horses. During this drive, I had been missed and Father came back along the line looking for me. He said, “Boy, have you been running behind the wagon all this time? I answered that I had. We had then gone over eight miles. He took me forward and asked one fellow up on a high seat, if this boy could come up and ride with him. He said, “Yes, send him up.” Father explained that I had been running behind all the time. Then there was an order given for some beer and I had a good drink of English beer.
In front of us, it was all buildings as far as the eye could see, until finally we turned to the right and soon we could see the masts of ships in the docks. One very large one near the landing was said to be the one to take us across the ocean. The ship was to carry us to the U.S. The ship was American built and was named Amazon. She was a splendid vessel in every way, a fast sailor and was new. She had four masts. The crew consisted of a Captain, 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and 4th mates, and about 75 sailors.
We remained four or five days in London, aboard the ship, before sailing. During this delay, my sister, Gwenifred, became homesick. She realized, poor girl, that she too was leaving her mother behind. She wept bitter tears and finally Father said she could return home. He said he would take her to the railroad station and buy her a ticket to Llandilo. From there she knew the four miles of road well, as she was nearly 16 years of age. Finally, by some of the friendly women consoling her with the hope that next year her Mother would come, she became pacified and consented to continue on. But that was a sore trial for all of us to see our only sister weeping so. But our family was not the only one in tears. The greater portion of the eleven hundred Saints aboard were weeping in groups.
Finally, the brass band from Cardiff began to play and I will never forget how red were the eyes of Rice Hancock, who played the brass tuba. He was the life of the whole company and a noble fellow. Finally, the time was fixed for our sailing and Father went and took a stroll for the last time on the soil of his native land. He loved that noble woman that reigned over that land and could remember the time, tho but a girl, she ascended the throne of Britain.
The next morning the great ship was pulled from her moorings in the dock and by rope pulleys, she was pulled out into the Thames River and the great locks closed behind her. During this time the band was playing “Hail Columbia,” “Star Spangled Banner,” and “Yankee Doodle.” The docks and the river banks were lined with people. Some cheered, some groaned. We were assisted downstream by a steam tug. She took us far enough so the breeze could take effect upon the great sails. After this the tug left us. On board the tug was George Q. Cannon and other prominent saints. Our course lay downstream eastward, the direction of the North Sea that was so famous during the late war (which at the time this history was written was World War I).
The next day we could see no land in sight and our anchor was dropped and we waited for a small ship that came with our water supply. They then hoisted the anchor and we sailed on, I guess, around the northernmost point of Scotland and headed west. It must be borne in mind here that the north of Scotland is away north of New York and so we headed a little south of west. The Captain had promised that we would be in New York by the 4th of July, but by continual contrary winds, he could not make time and it was the 18th of July when we reached the port of New York, some two days after the anti-negro riots had occurred there.
After our great ship anchored, two gunboats laden with soldiers went by with full speed. They had been sent for, to quell the rioters, which they did in short order.
The journey across had been very monotonous, taking nearly nine weeks to make the voyage. The health of most of the people on the voyage was fairly good. One child was buried at sea. My brother, Timothy, was very sick nearly all the way. It was supposed that he had Typhoid Fever. He was attended by the ship;s doctor and when we reached New York, he was just able to walk. Thus was Father deprived of the assistance of his two oldest boys–David, remaining in Wales and Timothy being disabled by sickness. He had to be nursed and cared for like a child. But the doctors passed him at New York and the next day we landed at Castle Garden. Our names were taken and our age and destination. The officials there treated us with a very kind consideration and courtesy. The next day we were taken up the Hudson River and boarded a train for Albany.
It was war time and our progress was slow. At Detroit, a little girl belonging to a Dowlais family died and was taken and buried by the City. The family had come alone, the father remaining behind, the mother being the wife of Thomas Davis, President of the Dowlais Branch. The balance of the family was nearly all little girls, the oldest being only about 15 years old. It was surely a sad trial for the mother, thus to leave one of her loved ones so soon on the journey.
Soon after leaving Detroit, we were detoured into Canada because the railroads were so congested. It was wartime and food was almost impossible to secure. Whenever a stop was made Father immediately went in search of food. By making many stops, we finally reached St. Joseph on the Missouri, having made the last leg of the journey in stock cars. At St. Joseph, we took a boat for Florence, called in Mormon history, Winter Quarters.
It took the boat several days to make the trip as the water was low, the boat making several stops. But we finally reached the vicinity of Florence and for the first time saw Utah men and ox teams. Our luggage was loaded on wagons. The land was very sandy on the river bottom and it required a good use of the whip for the teamsters to make the fat oxen pull the wagons up the bluffs to the higher lands.
Florence only consisted of a few log buildings, most of them were vacant. However, we were glad to get there and rest for a few days. We received some rations which consisted of some fat bacon and a little flour with a package of saleratus (sodium bicarbonate for leavening). With these we tried to do some cooking and our bread was a complete failure, as we were inclined to put too much saleratus in it. But we learned to use sour dough by and by and in that way were able to make a better article. A couple of days after our arrival at Florence, we were taken to the camp of the Utah boys, some five or six miles out.
It happened that among the young men sent to take us and our few articles of baggage out to the main camp, my father recognized one John L. Edwards, the son of John Edwards, who had come out a few years before from near Llanwenog or the vicinity of Drefach where I was born. This was the second trip for Mr. Edwards to make–from Utah to the Missouri River, after the Saints and Father was exceedingly happy in meeting one that he knew. It was agreed that we go with Mr. Edwards as part of the company allotted to him. After being established at the Camp, we began to prepare for the journey across the plains. We had to buy a few cooking utensils.
Before starting, we were requested to sign a note obligating ourselves to pay to the Perpetual Emigration Company, the sum of forty dollars each, upon our arrival at Salt Lake, or as soon thereafter as possible with 10 percent interest until paid. We were happy to learn that the little band that was with us aboard the Amazon were to be with us again crossing the plains.
The Captain of our company wawa a man by the name of Thomas Ricks and he was a very energetic man, too. It required nearly two weeks to prepare for the start as they were waiting for freight to haul to Salt Lake. The wagons were loaded with merchandise for the merchants of Salt Lake and the people were to walk.
I have not the date of our start, but the weather was wet and rainy. The oxen were in splendid condition having been on good grass and they remained so all the way. The wagons numbered about one-hundred. The form of the campat night was oblong with an opening in the front and also one at the rear. In driving in for camp, the lead team would stop at a place indicated by the Captain or his aid and the next wagon would stop so that its front wheels would be just near the rear of the first wagon. This would be so until half of the wagons would be lined in a half circle. Then the Teamster of the other section of the train would drive to a spot about 75 or 100 feet from and abreast of the leading wagon on the other side. The yoke and chains of the second sections would be on the outside of the circle. In the morning, the oxen would be driven in at the rear end of the enclosure.When so driven in, it was the custom of the boys to go in search of the oxen belonging to their wagons and drive them near so the teamster could place the yoke on their necks. It did not take long to have our outfit ready. After being on the trip a week or two, I was a good teamster and did do a good part of the driving and when I got so that I could pop the big whip good and loud, I felt that I was a real Bullwhacker. Each wagon usually had from four to six yokes of oxen, according to the load and size of the wagon.
Walking gave us a tremendous appetite and our rations were really half what they should be. Timothy just recovering from his long illness could devour the food of the whole family. Father tried his luck at fishing, but with poor success. The first stream of any importance we arrived at was called Loopfork. This stream we had to cross by ferry boat and here, I may say, we saw the first American Indians and they were nearly naked. After crossing the Loopfork, we soon came to Wood River, a small stream. Here the various companies had supply depots for the return trip. There was also a store there. Up until this time, there were a few scattered settlers to be seen, but we soon came to the Platte River valley and then we saw no more except Military stations a long distance apart.
I presume this stretch of country is really the “plains” so much spoken of, for there is a very great sameness to it day after day. We followed the river for a great many days. The water was low, mostly in the sand. There were a great number of fish, but owing to the low water, they were not good and we soon sickened on them, as they were mostly very large and of all species.
The road was finally farther away from the river and we saw less of it, but could often smell the dead fish. Before leaving the Platte River, I should say that the soil adjacent to the stream was very rich and deep and the grass very luxuriant, making splendid grazing for the oxen and buffalos, of the latter we see but very few as they were on their summer range.
We finally reached Platte Bridge. At this point there was quite a strong garrison of soldiers guarding the mail and watching the Indians. The water was all on the surface, as the bottom of the stream was rocks and gravel. The bridge was at least a half mile long and built of timber. Soon after leaving Platte Bridge, we came to the hill country, commonly called the “Black Hills.” We then found wood to burn and also sage brush, which was much preferable to buffalo chips. I remember the sand hills, which made wheeling very hard and slow. The rattle snakes were very numerous here and it was great fun for the emigrants to kill them and pull off the rattlers. In my memoirs, I have only one really sunny spot to mention. I have spoken of it a number of times.
It was a beautiful afternoon. My brother, John and a boy by the name of Joseph Jenkins were on the road far in advance of the company when a team of four mules came along with some soldiers in the wagon. We quickly caught hold of the hind end, the road being good, we could easily keep up. We commenced singing an old song, “My Old Kentucky Home.” We finished the song and the wagon came to a sudden stop and the officer said, “Come up here, boys.” We gladly climbed up among them and then sang some more songs. This we did until we sang everything we knew. They gave us hard crack and sugar to eat. After a time we were afraid that they would carry us further on than our company would travel that day, but they said, “No, your Captain is ahead of us, you need not fear. We will put you down there on the place he selects for a camp.” And they did. We gathered a fire log of sage brush for a campfire and gave Mr. George Harding, the mess cook, some brush upon the arrival of the company for which I got a fresh flapjack for supper.
It may be well for me here to state who composed our mess. They were all Willard men. There was first George Harding in command, then came John L. Edwards, John Taylor, Edward Morgan, George Rees, and George Ward.Willard sent these men and supplied them with teams, wagons, and food, all free. These men were frontiersmen, were accustomed to travel or fight the Indians. Mr. Harding was the cook. The others did guard duty, gathered firewood and carried water. Their food was not rationed out to them. They could eat all they desired, while we were in a half famished condition all the time.
Our sister did the cooking and did the very best she could to make the small rations go around. I am satisfied she often went hungry herself. We were fortunate in 1863 as the Indians were peaceful and never molested us on the journey.
We were now getting into a high altitude and the weather was cooler at night. We slept on the ground under the wagon. Our sister slept in the wagon under the cover with little Henry and Mary Jones, who later became the wife of George Harding.
I have written little of our little brother. He must have suffered many a want. He was such a meek little child, always satisfied. But he had to subsist on such plain food. If he had the care of a mother on this tiresome journey, he might have fared better.
We finally reached that part of Wyoming so famous for bad storms and we certainly got our share of snow and wind. We did not sleep that night as the snow blew over our bedding, but we were finally shown water that flowed to the Pacific Ocean and the weather became milder. We reached and crossed the Green River and finally entered Echo Canyon, having passed Fort Bridger and other famous landmarks–Independence Rock, Chimney Rock which I can remember seeing at a distance; Pulpit Rock where Brigham Young preached his first sermon in Utah, I did not see. Echo Canyon is a long narrow defile in the mountain. For most of its length it dips to the west and at the western opening we see the valley of the Weber River. The stream flows from the south downhill to the north. At the mouth of Echo we turned south and camped that night not far from the little settlement of Coalville.
Next morning, we passed through this settlement and leaving the valley of the Weber turned westward into the mountains again. We made camp somewhere in the region where Park City is now situated. Starting early the next morning without breakfast, in order to make Salt Lake City before noon, we crossed the divide separating the waters of the Weber and those flowing into the Valley near Salt Lake City; left Millcreek Canyon and crossing a divide, drove down into Emigration Canyon and out into the foothills near Fort Douglas and in sight of the City of Salt Lake.
The train drove into Emigration Square about noon on the 8th day of October 1863 and camped. We remained in Salt Lake a couple of days unloading freight, then left for the north and reached Willard at noon on the third day.
About two miles south of Willard we met Mr. John Edward’s son on a gray pony. He was glad to meet my father who he knew so well in Wales and we were glad to reach our destination after such a long and weary journey. Mr. Edwards took our family to his home where his wife had prepared a fine dinner of which we heartily partook.
Having met John L. Edwards at Florence and forming a part of his quota of people across the plains, it was natural that we go with him to his home settlement and make Willard the place to establish ourselves in the land.
It seemed that it was to be so, for in time John L. Edwards married my sister, Gwenifred, and I was destined to marry a woman born in Willard. But as a boy, I was not to stay long at this place at present for I learned that a man by the name of John D. Rees had built a nail factory at Brigham City and wanted a boy such as I was, so I went to see him and he said they were not ready to start up as their iron had not arrived, but would in a few days. So he sent me to see one John Morgan who was a partner. I did so and John Morgan put me to work sawing winter wood and milking cows. I heard the clinking of an anvil and turned in curiosity and there was a rather wild looking man at the forge dressed in a buckskin shirt and pants. Soon he brought his red hot iron and said to me, “Can you strike boy?” I already had the sledge up and we went at it in proper style. He was very much surprised and said to me, “You have struck before.” And I said that I had. He said to me, “You are the only one in this country who can handle a sledge properly.” He wanted to hire me at once for a year. I told him if my father was willing that I would be glad to work for him. He said, “I will see Mr. Morgan at once. You remain here.” He said, “You are the very man I want.”
My father came up from Willard one morning and I was apprenticed to Mr. Williams for one year at a salary of twelve dollars and my board. I was yet only a little over 14 years of age and Mr. Williams thought one dollar a month was a good wage and also I was to learn the blacksmith trade.
I soon discovered that Mr. Williams possessed two families and practiced that very peculiar doctrine called plurality of wives. However, his folks were very kind to me and Mrs. Williams urged me to eat all the food I could. She said she knew how hungry people were after coming in from the plains. And she proved to me that she was a very excellent mother indeed. Under her care and the exercise in the shop, I soon became strong and wielded a man’s sledge all the time.
We were very busy at the shop, as the freighting from Utah to the gold mines in Montana was very great. We had to repair wagons, shoe horses, mules and oxen. We made the shoes and nails by hammering them out of wagon tire iron. It was a hard and laborious process and every blow had to count.
To explain, we would split a wagon tire in three pieces, hammer each of those into a flat piece and split those again into three more and out of these make the nail. Then the nails had to be pointed ready for use. In this way we worked all that fall of 1863. Winter coming on, we made fifty new plows out of steel brought from the Missouri River by the Harding Brothers of Willard. This was extremely heavy work for the facilities we had at hand. The winter of ‘63 and ‘64 was a very hard one. The snow was deep and the weather was cold. For lack of house room, I had a hole made in a large straw stack and slept in it, having a couple of buffalo robes for bedding.
Spring coming on, we resumed our work of repairing wagons and shoeing freight animals. It was considered a good day’s work for the two of us to shoe four yokes of oxen a day, make the shoes and nails and put them on. The oxen would be led into a frame, his head fastened to the front end. Two heavy canvas cinches were placed under his girth and by a roller on the opposite side, he was wound up until he swung clear of the floor. One foot at a time was fastened to a block of hardwood. A clevis and a pin through the block completed the fastening. The animal would struggle, the framework would squeak, but the shoeing went on regardless of it all. When the fourth foot was shod, the ox was released and would back out of the frame and another one would be led in. With good luck we usually turned out four yokes a day, at $10.50 a yoke. My share of that was very small. The pay was generally gold dust and it was my duty to go down to the Cotton Thomas store where the amount would be weighed by Mr. Thomas. In this way I carried many a parcel of the yellow substance.
The years of ‘64 and ‘65 were very strenuous for me and I naturally suffered a good deal of hardships incident to the times and conditions over which I had no control. Being a boy and a stranger, I was often imposed upon, being young in the country.
In the old country we were told we were going to the land of Zion to dwell where righteousness prevailed and where there was none to injure us or make us afraid. But on the contrary we found men in sheep’s clothing who were really wolves in their disposition. For they would wrong and defraud innocent people who were expecting better treatment and who had been told that this was a land of Zion for the gathering of Israel in the latter day. But instead we found it was a place where rogues prospered and deceived the innocent.
After the first few months with Mr. Williams, I found him to be an extremely hard task master. Many things were said and done which I prefer to keep out of this record, suffice it for me to say that he physically injured me upon several occasions and called me harsh and cowardly names. Herre I must do honor to Mrs. Williams, her memory I must revere as a noble woman, for she always knew that things did not go well with me and those little kindly acts of hers to an innocent and hard-working boy shall shine like pearls in the diadem of my memory.
The second year Mr. Williams paid me one hundred dollars and as pay he made me take two steers, two years old, and that was all I received for my year’s work. The second year with Mr. Williams was very much like the first. It was hard work in the shop from early morning until late at night. For the third year we had no understanding about my pay and time went on until nearly the end of the year when he was called by the church to go and settle in St. George or the Muddy in Arizona. He wished to take me along, but I declined to go. At this he was very much displeased so I left him and went back to Willard and entered the employment of John L. Edwards, my brother-in-law.
When I refused to go with Mr. Williams to the south, he, in turn, refused to go, but instead moved to Malad, Idaho which was at that time a new place being settled. I continued in the employ of Mr. Edwards for several years. I was doing farm work and herding cows in the summer. I spent one winter in school. That was all of my schooling in the U.S. In the summer of 1868, the Union Pacific Railroad was being built westward from the Missouri River. In September of that year, I was now doing a man’s work.
In the company of a friend by the name of Thomas Pierce, we went to Weber Canyon to work. We carried our blankets, walking the first day from Willard. We made our camp on the foothills east of Ogden City and slept on the ground among the oak brush. Starting early the next morning, we walked into the canyon. We were offered work at a number of places, but we had an objective. We were given a ride by a young man who was going to Coalville after coal and at about 6 o’clock was stopped at the camp of some Spanish Fork people who had taken a large contract and needed some good men. My friend, Thomas Pierce, knew several of the Spanish Fork men and to my delight, I found a friend from Dowlais by the name of David Evans who had come out the year after us. Soon I became acquainted with a man by the name of Howell Davis who was the husband of a woman and the father of several children who were on the train with us leaving Cardiff and were with us across the sea. They had a little girl with one leg and when I told him all of this he cried like a child. In this camp there were quite a number of men from Wales and a lot from England. On Sunday, I was kept busy writing letters for them.
My brother, John, was working for Sharp & Young in Echo Canyon. When he learned that we were down the Weber a little way, he came down and joined us. We built us a shanty to sleep in. Late in December, my friend Thomas Pierce became sick and had to go home. My brother and I remained until the work was nearly completed, when the 21 men who composed the company could complete it. We started for Salt Lake to spend Christmas.
Carrying our bedding, we walked down to Morgan and slept in a granary building. The weather in the canyon was cold and I was sick with dysentery and did not sleep any. There were three of us; my brother, John and I and a Scotch boy whose name I have forgotten. He was a fine youngster about my age and a good singer. Coming out of the Weber Canyon, we turned south along the mountain road. About noon we became hungry and somewhere east of Kaysville on the high road, we entered a house and asked for some dinner. There were two elderly women there who became interested at once, but said they had nothing to eat themselves. We told them we had plenty of money so we planned a dinner. The women had some chickens and we soon caught one and had it cooking. The Scotch boy went about a mile and bought some bread. We paid the good women liberally for our dinner and went on south through Farmington and Centerville and Bountiful. It was getting late and we wanted to reach the Half-way House, a hostelry well remembered by old timers. They made us welcome, the proprietor and two or three women. They were very hospitable and we had supper with the family though it was late.
After supper we retired to a vacant room and made down our own bedding. We were so glad to be near the end of our journey that we commenced to sing. We sang together and in turns “Ten Nights in a Bar-room” was then a new song and very popular. Finally the host came into our room with a jug of beer and some glasses and treated us for singing. He said it was the best ever done in his house. I am informed by current history that the good man has long ago crossed the Great Divide.
Next morning after an early breakfast, and the compliments of the ladies, we started for the City, it being my first visit since coming in 1863. After spending Christmas, we started for Willard, but where we stopped the night, memory fails me.
(Picture of two men on two horses with other men in the background by some corrals)
After resting a day in Willard, we went to work at the hot springs for Thomas E. Jeremy and son, John. The nature of this job was wheelbarrow work. It was heavy being in heavy alkaline clay and water. We finished that job before the arrival of the tracklaying force. After this I went to the Promontory and entered the employ of Mr. Edwards again. I was in that country when the road was copested by the driving of the golden spike at Promontory Station. I was denied the privilege of witnessing that great event by being sent to Willard with some horses to prevent them from being stolen.
I remained with Mr. Edwards all summer working for $40 a month. That was considered a good wage in those days. My work was looking after range cattle. The next year which was the year 1870, I went into partnership with Mr. Edwards in the cattle herding business and in this way became located on the Promontory, taking up a place of my own, which I homesteaded when I became of age.
On April 10, 1871, being nearly 22 years of age, I married Margaret E. Lewis, oldest daughter of Richard and Rebecca Davis of Willard, Utah. We soon made our home on the place I had located.
Now I must resume my narrative after many months of time. I take it up with a sad heart because my dear wife, the partner of my life for over fifty years of time and the dear mother of all my good children, passed from this life. She died on 29 November 1921, being nearly 67 years of age. It would be much better if I could have completed my history while she lived as her memory was good concerning our own family affairs. Now I must write of her knowing that she is with us no more. But her health being so poor, I was compelled to discontinue my writing as it tired her.
As I stated above, we commenced to live and build a home on the place that I had located on the Promontory in the summer of 1871. I built a house of old telegraph poles. Tese poles were rotted at the bottom, but made a room of 16 by 14 feet. This room we lived in until we sold the place in the spring of 1887. Some years before we had built a kitchen at the back, made of square railroad ties.
During the years preceding our selling the old place, we had purchased a house and lot in Willard. As some of the children became old enough to attend school, we moved to Willard for the winter. The building of a ranch out at that remote place was quite expensive and laborious. Cedar posts were fairly easy to get, but all other fencing material was expensive and hard to get. First I fenced with smooth wire, this was before barbed wire became in vogue. It proved to be worthless and rotten and brittle. The cattle would break it to pieces. So then I used lumber and later on barbed wire. After this we got on fairly well. I did some training for the railroad company, had some milk cows and made a lot of butter to sell to the railroad people. In the way we worked hard and were getting along fairly well. The land was unsurveyed U.S. public domain. But in the summer of 1886, the country was surveyed and the land placed on the market. I took a homestead of 160 acres. This was in Section 12, an even section. About one-half of the 160 acres was bench land and above all water and gravely and rocky. Most of my hay land became an odd section and was called railroad land. In time we would lose it.
About the year 1886, the railroad company sold all its lands that were embraced within the land grant to a company consisting of George Crocker, Captain Buford and one John W. Taylor of San Francisco. In the course of a year or so, this new company expressed a desire to purchase all the ranches within the limits of their purchase, cattle and all. Owing to the fact that so much of our hay land was within an odd section, we believed it advisable for us to sell, which we did.
I believe to this day that we made a mistake in disposing of that ranch as it is in a good locality with a short winter. The place remained in the hands of the company for some 30 years, but was finally purchased back by our oldest boy. I felt that a good old friend had been received back into the family. Tender memories come to my mind when I write this of the old place. The oldest boy was fifteen years old when we left there and Mary Elizabeth, we called her Minnie, she was a girl of fourteen years and R.B., we called Richard, was a lad of ten years or more. I can see them now running to meet me and opening the gate to let me drive in.
Well, we moved to Idaho and purchased a farm at Henderson Creek in Malad Valley, near Malad City. This proved to be a good place, but required a lot of hard work to handle it. I bought something like one-hundred head of horses and cattle with the place. The winters being long, it required a lot of feed to carry them through. Cattle and horses became very cheap, the price of wheat was low and some years I scarcely marked at all. The financial picnic of 1892 made ranching a very unprofitable business. In a few years, things improved a little. I got into politics and was elected to the Legislature of the 3rd State Session. That was in 1894 and 1895. I was elected again to the 4th session and to the Senate this time. In the 3rd Session I was a lone Democrat, but in the 4th Session things were reversed and my party was in the majority in both houses.
Very little money was made in being a member of the Legislature, in fact a man was out of pocket, if he lived respectable.
In the summer of 1897, I received an appointment by President William McKinley to be the Mineral Commissioner for Idaho.