Chapter 4

Another winter (1864) I spent in Beaver. In the Spring I returned to Salt Lake and hired out to the Sharp Brothers to haul rock. They were quarry-men and contractors, and delivered the rock for the Eagle Emporium (which was owned by Jennings), also for the Godbe building. It as a very wet, rainy spring and I took sick with the measles. For several days, I laid in wet bedding up in the mouth of Red Butte Canyon near to the quarry. I was sick enough to die. A man by the name of, William Bowman, who also was a workman there, took be down to his mother's and she nursed me until I got well.

My folks were then all living in the South. At this time I owned one blanket and five dollars, and I started to walk to Beaver, a distance of two hundred and ten miles. All I had to eat was bread and milk, with sometimes a little butter. This was all, The best that the poor people had. I offered to pay them for the meals they gave me, and nowhere could I get my five dollar bill changed. I was like the Indians, for when I reached my destination, I still had my money and my blanket. When my brother looked up and saw me, he said, "John, where in the world have you come from?" I suppose he thought his eyes were deceiving him, and I answered, "Why, I have come all the way from Salt Lake." Still staring at me, he asked, "Well, who did you come with?" "I have come alone." "Did you walk all that way?" "Yes, and I walked it in six days." I lived in Beaver Valley that summer and the following winter, and I went to school.

The Spring of 1865, I came back with my brother-in-law, Alexander Easton. With the two yoke of cattle we came up with, he sent me with a load of flour up to Virginia City, Montana. It took me three months to complete the trip, but it was over one of the finest roads that ever I freighted upon. That Fall, with the same cattle, I hauled wood from out of Bingham Canyon, (that is now known as "Old Dry Fork"). The coal that was used at this time came from Wanship, thirty-six miles East of here and was the first coal mine in Utah.

That winter of 1855, we took a pair of mules that my brother-in-law had and with a load of dry goods from Randoff's Store, we headed for Tokerville, Dixie, Utah, where my brother-in-law had been called to fill a two year mission. Here he had raised considerable cotton. He went back to settle up his business, and had contracted with Brigham Young to get all the cotton that was available there for the Brigham Young Cotton Mill in Provo, Utah. So, we exchanged our dry goods for cotton. What cotton we had and what we got for the goods we sold to Brigham Young, and made for ourselves five hundred dollars. We were gone a few days over a month. From here, almost all the distance into Cedar City was a snow white way and we followed a large mule train bound for Los Angeles, California for freight. And if I am not mistaken, William Henry Streeper was the wagon boss for this train. One morning the train got the start of us of about an hour, going from Payson over the summit of the hill and the blizzard almost covered every sign of their track. It was a valuable lesson for us, and we saw to it that no more did they pull out without us. We came back in the month of February.

My brother-in-law was an adobe-maker and I worked for him hauling sand and clay, then the finished adobes. The next winter, that of 1867, I spent in Beaver, and in the Spring I purchased five head of beef steers and drove them up here to Salt Lake City and sold them to a butcher by the name of Charles Taylor, and they brought me five hundred dollars. I had one little mare that I rode up and I sold her to William Showles for forty dollars.

In June I was called to enlist in the "Black Hawk War". We went out to protect the people at San Pete, with headquarters at Gunnison, it was the most profitable time, I think, I ever spent. I am greateful for my pension.

Here is another story, one that belongs to 1867. It was the afternoon of a hot June day. Three cavalry men were on duty, riding between Gunnison and Manti. They were Orson Miles, the Captain, and a Mr. Houts and a Mr. Vance.

Coming from Manti as they were, horses all warm and thirsty, they rode into "Twelve Mile Creek" to let the animals drink and cool off a bit. The stream was one known for it's clear water and green banks. Great patches of willows hemmed it in on either side, and all around was heavy with the odor of water and white willow. There was no sound save that made by the drinking of the half-famished horses.

A sharp ping, ping, cut the still air. Vance, mortally hurt, sank and tumbled from his rearing steed, while the horse ridden by Houts was shot from under him. Digging the spurs deep into his horses flanks, Captain Miles wheeled and rode out of the creek, headed for Manti. Poor Houts ran shouting after him, followed him for about a mil and then the Indians cought and killed him. No one knows how! Afterward, when friends recovered his body, they took from him the arrow in his shoulder that had been driven in right up to the feathers, coming out under the opposite arm.

Touched to tears, the group of rugged men stood in silence, till someone said quietly, "Boys, let's carry his body home." While we were here we built a bastian of rock. Among us were stone cutters and stone masons. There was a handy supply of sand and rock, but we had no lime. However, there was a lime-kiln about five miles North of Gunnson. A number of men (I was one of them) were given orders to go and fill the kiln with lime rock and wood and then to come back. I was a teamster. Later there were men who were sent over to burn the kiln. While three of them, Robert Morris, James Clark and Johnny Haye were sitting watching the kiln (at night), two Inidians and a papoose crawled up into a little bowery about twenty-five yards away and shot Johnny directly back of his right ear, the bullet coming out at the right temple. He died instantly. They sent the word over to us at the main camp in Gunnison. Captain William Binder called my because I was one of the teamsters, to hitch up my team and with five or six men to go over and guard the rest of the night. The next morning we placed the corpse into the wagon and brought it back to Gunnison: we washed, dressed and buried him near the camp. I have been told that a monumnet stands there today in memory of him, Johnny Haye.

In June of 1868, I went out to Round Valley in Weber Canyon, just above Morgan. Brigham Young had the contract to build the Union Pacific Railroad from the head of Echo Canyon down to Ogden, and he let each Ward have a part of the contract. I was then one of the Sixth Ward. In May of this year and just before leaving Round Valley, I was married to Mary Emily Friday. I had courted her for three years. We had our good times in those days as well as the hardships. I drove a good pair of mules and a sleigh for four, and I'll tell you we did some jolly sleigh riding. We also enjoyed some very fine plays at the Old Theatre built by Brigham Young. It's stage was filled with good acting. John Linsay and David McKinsey starred in the heavy parts, they played good villians. Mighty exciting too, they were.

A Mr. Pontsfort and a Mr. George B. Waldron were actors from the Eastern stage, with Julie Dean Hayne, as a leading lady. These were real actors, I have never seen any, any better. This Julia Deane Hayne was an exceptional actress. She was a great favorite of Brigham Young's. Often he took her (in company with the rest of the cast) out in his big swan-necked sleigh. He enjoyed her company so much that he named the sleigh after her, the "Julia Deane Hayne".

At that time we had also a good home dramatic clup; Phil Margetta was the sport of the company. Miss Alexander and Miss Maud Adams were very good in their parts, very good.

Our dances in those days lasted all night, and when we danced we were willing to pay for the music.

The year 1869 found me out at Indian Creek. We went out there to chop wood for the Southern Pacific. This was the fuel they depended upon for their engine firing. Bishop Thomas Jenkins had the contract for this work and we worked under him, getting out the cord wood. The snow out there was about two feet deep. We slept in a tent and cooked our food under a big cedar tree, directly in front of it.

Our work was divided into three; one did the cooking, another rustled the wood for the fire, and I happened to be the water carrier, which was a very fine job with sonw on all sides, two feet of it.

Chapter 5