John W Hess and Emeline Bigler Family History
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF JOHN W. HESS
My
father, Jacob Hess, was born in Franklin County, Penn., on May 21,
1792. In 1816 he married Elizabeth Foutz, who was born in Franklin
County, Penn., on June 4, 1797. The names of their children are as
follows:
Catherine - born Sept. 10, 1817, Franklin Co., Pa.
Polly - born June 27, 1819, Franklin Co., Pa.
Mary Ann – born Aug. 11, 1821, Franklin Co., Pa.
John W. - born Aug. 24, 1824, Franklin Co., Pa.
Died Dec. 16, 1903 Farmington, Davis, Utah
Sarah - born Feb. 22, 1827, Franklin Co., Pa.
Ann Elizabeth – born Mar. 24, 1829, Franklin Co., Pa.
Christena - born May 11, 1831, Franklin Co., Pa.
Harriet - born Aug 18, 1833, Richland Co., Ohio
Lydiann - born July 24, 1835, Richland Co., Ohio
David - born Feb. 18, 1837, Ray Co., Mo.
Alma - born June 3, 1839, Ray Co., Mo.
Emma - born May 17, 1841, Adams Co., Ill.
In
1832, my Father moved to Richland Co., Ohio, and located on a piece of
heavy timber land, cleared a piece of ground and opened a small farm,
and the prospects for a better living were quite flattering, considering
the many difficulties consequent to a new country.
In March,
1834, my Father, Mother, three eldest sisters and myself, were baptized
into the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints; previous to this
we lived in peace with our neighbors, but soon after we were baptized
our neighbors began to speak evil of, and persecute us in various ways.
About
May 1, 1836, my Father and his family moved to the State of Missouri
and settled in Ray County of that State, near Pomerroy’s Ferry, or
Richmond Landing, on the Missouri River, where we lived on a farm which
we rented from John Arbuckle, until the expulsion of the Saints from
Caldwell County, then with them we removed to the State of Illinois and
settled in Hancock County of that State. Here my Father again settled on
a piece of wild land, and in our extreme poverty we began to open a
farm, and after much privation and toil, we succeeded in getting a
comfortable home.
The many years of labor and hardships that my
Father has passed through caused his health to fail, and I was the only
boy in the family, therefore, the greater part of the labor devolved
upon me.
In the meantime I had bought forty acres of land for
myself and had made some improvement during the fall of 1844, and during
the spring and summer of 1845 I was putting up a hewed log house, while
the mobs were burning the Saints’ possessions in Morley’s Settlement,
near Lima, in Hancock County, but I continued to labor with my might
until the violence of the mob was so great that we did not feel safe in
remaining on our farm longer; so we moved to the City of Nauvoo and
occupied a part of the house belonging to Bishop Foutz, my Mother’s
brother. We had left most of our supplies on the farm at Bear Creek, and
before we had time to get them away, they were destroyed by the mob,
and we were again left almost destitute.
In November, 1845, my Father
was stricken down with a shock of paralysis and lost the use of one
side, which rendered him entirely helpless.
In the meantime, I
married Emeline Bigler, who was born in Harrison County, Virginia,
August 20, 1824. At this time the word went forth among the people that
the church would leave Nauvoo in the spring. One may well imagine the
situation we were in, to start on such a journey, when we had been
robbed of nearly all of our substance, and my poor Father lying helpless
in bed, but it being the only alternative to get away from the fury of
the mob, I began to gather up what I had and commenced to get together
an outfit, and the best I could do was to rig up two old wagons and two
yoke of oxen, one of which was my own personal property. I arranged one
of these wagons with a bed cord for my Father to lie upon, as he could
not sit up. It took one entire wagon for his convenience, and then it
was poor enough. This left one wagon to be drawn by one yoke of oxen to
carry the outfit for the entire family – eight in number – while all the
family had to walk every step of the way, rain or shine. But
notwithstanding all these difficulties, we fixed up the best we could an
on the 3rd day of April, 1846 we started, crossed the Mississippi River
and camped on the Iowa side the first night, in a drenching rain.
April
4th. We started on the wearisome journey, but with our heavy loads and
the incessant rain that continued to fall, our progress was very slow,
-- the best we could do we could only travel from five to eight miles
per day. As my Father occupied one of the wagons, the rest of the family
had no shelter only what they could get by crawling under the wagons,
and much of the time we were obligated to cut brush to lay on the ground
to keep our beds out of the water. Women and children walked through
the mud, water, wet grass, and waded many of the streams so that their
clothes were never dry on them for weeks and months until we reached the
place called Mount Pisgah, in the western part of Iowa. Here the
advance companies of the Pioneers had planted corn and vegetables for
the benefit of those who should come afterwards. We concluded to stop at
this place for a time as our limited supplies were about exhausted and
my Father was some much worse that it was impossible to move him any
further, so we constructed a temporary shelter of bark which we peeled
off from the elm trees that grew in the vicinity; this was about the
15th of June, 1846.
Word had gone out that President Young would
fit out a company to go to the Rocky Mountains that season to locate a
settlement and put in grain the next season for the benefit of
themselves and those that would come the following season.
Seeing
that I could do nothing where I was, I concluded to take my own team and
what I had, and go to council Bluffs, 130 miles distance, where the
Church Authorities were then stopping. So I made my Father’s family as
comfortable as I could with the limited facilities I was in possession
of, and taking my wife and my own team and little outfit, bade the rest
of the family goodbye and started, traveling in Henry W. Miller’s
Company.
We were overtaken one evening about dark by Captain
Allen, who was accompanied by a guard of five dragoons, of the regular
United States Army, all of whom camped with us for the night. The object
of their visit soon became apparent by questions asked by them: via.,
that they were sent to see if the “Mormon” people could and would
respond to a call for five hundred men to help fight the battles of the
United States against Mexico. This indeed was unexpected news; while the
people of the State of Illinois had driven us out, and while we were
scattered on the prairie of western Iowa with nothing, in many
instances, but the canopy of heaven for a covering, to be called on
under these circumstances for 500 of the strength of the camps of
Israel, seemed cruel and unjust indeed, but such was the case,
notwithstanding.
We arrived at Council Bluffs about the tenth day
of July and found that four companies had been enlisted and organized. I
was advised by George A. Smith and others to enlist, and after
considering the matter, I concluded to do so, and was enlisted in
Company “E”, Captain Daniel C. Davis. My wife, Emeline, also enlisted,
as the Government had provided for four women to each company of 100 men
to go as laundresses.
I left my team wagon and little outfit with my
brother-in-law, D.A. Miller, to be brought on the next year, as the
Government had provided two six-mule teams to each company. I was
solicited to drive one team, and for the comfort and convenience of my
wife I consented to do so, and many times I was thankful that I had done
so, as these teams had to haul the camp equipment which consisted of
tents, tent-poles, camp-kettles, etc., which filled the wagons up to the
bows, and the women would have to crawl in as best they could handle in
that position until we stopped for camp, and as I had the management of
the loading, I could make the situation and comfort of my wife much
better. For this and other reasons that I will not mention, I was glad
that I was a teamster.
About the 20th day of July, we took up
our line of march for Fort Leavenworth. About this time I heard of my
Father’s death, which took place on the 22nd day of June, 1846, at the
place I had left him, and inasmuch as he could not recover, I was
thankful to God that He had relieved him of his sufferings, although it
was a dark hour for my poor Mother to be in – left in such a desolate
and sickly place without her natural protector; and with four small
children and nothing to live on.
In due time we arrived in Fort
Leavenworth, where we received our outfit of clothing, provisions, arms
and ammunition. We remained here about two weeks, after which we started
on our march to Santa Fe, a distance of one thousand miles; a very
tedious march, to be performed on foot, much of the distance with very
little water or grass, with dry buffalo chips for fuel. We passed over
one desert, eighty miles across; the only means of carrying water was in
canteens holding two quarts each, one of which was carried by each man.
A great many of the men gave out by the way and had to be helped in by
others, the stronger carrying water back to their comrades.
Finally
we reached Santa Fe, but during this time General Kearney was fighting
the Mexicans in Upper California and was about to be over-powered by
them, so he sent an express to Santa Fe to have the men of the Battalion
inspected by the doctor, and all the able-bodied men fitted out and put
on a forced march to go to his relief, and all the sick and disabled
and all the women to be sent back.
Then came one of the greatest
tests of my life; it happened in this wise: I had been a teamster all
the way and had proved that I could take good care of a team and was a
careful driver, and as Captain Davis had his family with him, and also
his own private team, he wanted me to drive it for him, but the
intention was to send my wife back with the detachment of sick men; this
I could not consent to and retain my manhood. I remonstrated with
Captain Davis, but to no purpose. I could not make any impression on
him. I told him I would gladly go and drive the team if he would let my
wife go along, but he said there was no room in the wagon. Then I told
him that I would not go and leave my wife – I would die first. This was a
bold assertion for a Private to make to his Captain, but the emergency
seemed to demand it. There were many others in the command who were in
the same situation that I was, who had their wives with them and wanted
to go back with them but had not the courage to make a fuss about it.
By
this time I had done all that I could with the officers of the
Battalion, but they either could not or would not do anything for me, so
I resolved to go and see General Doniphan, the Commander of the Post. I
asked John Steel to go with me, he being in the same situation as
myself. We went to the Colonel’s Quarters, found the Orderly at the
door, asked permission to see the Colonel, and with our hats under our
arms we entered and called his attention to our business. He informed me
in a very stern matter that it was reported to him that the men who had
women there wanted to go on and let their women go back, and in
accordance therewith, provisions had been drawn for the Battalion and
for the Detachment, and there could be no change made. I told him that
we had not been consulted in the matter; he told us to leave the
Quarters, gruffly remarking that he had left his wife. I thought I would
venture one more remark, which was “Colonel”, I suppose you left your
wife with friends, while we are required to leave ours in an enemy’s
country in care of a lot of sick, demoralized men.” This seemed to touch
a sympathetic cord; he called very sharply, “Orderly! Orderly! Go up to
the command and bring adjutant George P. Dikes.” I whispered to Steel,
“The spell is broken’ let’s go.”
In a short time Adjutant Dikes
returned to the Command and climbed upon the top of the hind wheel of
the wagon, shouting at the top of his voice: “Oh! Oh! All you men who
have wives here can go back with them. I have seen men going about
crying enough to melt the heart of a crocodile, so I went to the Colonel
and had it arranged.” I said, “You hypocritical liar; you will take the
credit that belongs to others.” This remark he did not hear, but,
however, the object was accomplished, and in a short time the Battalion
was on the move west, and the Detachment on the move east by northeast.
The
Detachment was composed of all the men who had become disabled through
the long march which they had performed on foot. Their outfit of teams
was composed of given-out broken-down oxen that had been used in
freighting supplies of the Government across the plains and were not fit
for any kind of efficient service, so the compared very well with the
majority of the men. Our rations or provisions were very good in
quality, but very short as to the quantity, the Post of Santa Fe being
very short of provisions at this time. Also after we had gotten on the
move, we found we had only three-fourths rations of flour, and every
thing else in proportion, such as beans sugar, coffee, pork, and rice,
with the difficulties mentioned above, together with the fact that we
were only allowed the time to reach Fort Bent that a lot of able-bodied
men would be allowed to make the same journey in. Our slow traveling
soon put us on half-rations as eight miles per day was the best we could
do. We had a lot of beef cattle, but they compared favorably with the
rest of the outfit, so poor that many of them gave out by the way. Great
economy had to be used by killing the poorest first; the reader can
imagine that the quantity of the beef was limited.
As usual, on
the march I had charge of a team, but instead of six-mule-team it was a
team of four yoke of poor oxen – quite a contrast our progress being so
slow that we were put on quarter-rations in order to make them hold out
until we should reach Fort Bent. It seemed as if we had gone about as
far as we could go, when one morning, after the guard had driven the
oxen into camp, it was found that there were thirty head of stray oxen
in the herd, all of them in good condition. Captain Brown gave orders to
distribute them in the teams of the Detachment, and with such an
addition of strength to our teams, we got along fine. About noon,
however, there came to our camp two men on horseback inquiring for the
stray oxen. Captain Brown told them that if they had any cattle in his
company, they could take them out. They replied that each teamster only
knew his own team. After examining our teams they claimed and took but
four of the thirty stray oxen. This still left us with thirteen yoke of
fresh cattle, which we considered a divine interposition of the kind
hand of God in our behalf, as it seemed about the only chance for
deliverance from starvation.
In due time we reached Fort Bent and
exchanged our dilapidated outfit for a new one, with a full supply of
rations for the winter, which seemed to put an end to all our troubles.
We moved up the Arkansas River seventy-five miles to a place then called
Pueblo, where we put up houses for the winter. These houses were
constructed of cottonwood logs split in halves and the pieces all joined
together in the form of a stockade. Here we passed the winter in
drilling and hunting and having a good time generally.
It was
then about seven months since we had received any pay; so Captain Brown
concluded to go to Santa Fe with the pay roll of the Detachment and draw
our wages. He took a guard of ten men, of which I was one, with him. We
started about the last day of February, and had a high range of
mountains to cross; called the Ratton Range. We encountered a great deal
of snow, at times we had to tramp the snow for miles so our pack
animals could walk over it, but in the due time we arrived at Santa Fe.
The money was drawn, and we started on our return trip, got back to our
quarters at Pueblo about the first of April, and found spring weather.
We began at once to prepare for our march.
About the 15th of
April, 1847, we started due north for Fort Laramie, three hundred miles
distant, on the California road, at which place we expected to find or
hear of the Pioneer Company that was expected to fit out and go to find a
location for the Saints but on our way we were met by Amasa Lyman and
others who had come from the Pioneers’ Camp. This was a happy meeting,
and to get news of our loved ones greatly relieved our anxieties, as we
then learned that the Camp was ahead of us, led by President Brigham
Young, and he led by revelation. So we pushed on with fresh courage and
finally struck their trail about two weeks ahead of us. We followed
their trail, but did not overtake them as we expected to. The pioneers
reached Salt Lake Valley July 24th, and the Detachment on the 28th, of
July 1847, and on the same day we were discharged from the service of
the United States, and I became a free man once more.
I feel
that the year’s service described above, is one of the noblest and
grandest acts of my life, for the reason that Israel was on the alter of
sacrifice, and the “Mormon Battalion”, of which I was a member, went as
the “Ram in the Thicket”, and Israel was saved.
I was now in a
country that was untried, and one thousand miles from where any supplies
could be obtained, with only the outfit of a discharged soldier, which
consisted of a small tent, a sheet-iron camp kettle, a mess pan, two tin
plates, two spoons, two knives and forks, a pair of blankets badly
worn, two old quilts, ten pounds of flour, and my dear, precious wife
Emeline, who had been with me through all of my trials and hardships and
had endured them all without a murmur. God bless her memory – had it
not been for her noble spirit to comfort me, I think many times I should
have almost despaired, because of the gloomy outlook, I concluded a
faint heart would not buy a baby a frock (although we were not blessed
with one at that time) and began to get out house logs to put up a
shelter for the winter.
I went in partners with Jim Beyin and put
up a whip saw-pit, and began to turn out lumber, and as there was none
except what was sawed by hand, I found ready sale for mine as fast as I
could make it, which was slow, one hundred feet being all we could turn
out in a day. In this way I managed to recruit our indigent
circumstances and was able to get a little bread-stuff, corn meal at
twelve and one half cents per pound and flour at twenty-five cents per
pound. We got along all right during the winter. In the spring we moved
out on Mill Creek, and I began to put in what seed-grain I had. Which
was very limited; this, of course, cut off the bread supply. Then began
our want of food. Through the winter we dug what we called “Thistle
Roots”, but by this time they began to leaf out, which spoiled the root.
We then resorted to the tops, gathered and cooked in salt and water.
This with some buttermilk, (which I begged of Jim Brinkerhoof and
carried one and a half miles), was all we had to eat for two months.
During
this time, an other very discouraging circumstance took place; the
crickets made their appearance in countless numbers and attacked our
grain crops. We fought them until we found that we were about
over-powered, when very providentially, the seagulls came and completely
devoured the crickets, so the balance of our crops matured, and our
pending starvation’s was averted.
On the 9th day of September,
1848, I started back to Council Bluffs after my Mother and her children
(whom I had left at Pisgah), as they had no means to come out with. I
arrived at Council Bluffs on the 2nd day of November, rested a few days,
and then continued my journey to Pisgah, one hundred and thirty miles
distant, where I found my Mother and her family all alive and well. It
was joyful meeting. I stopped with them a few days to arrange for the
move in the spring, then went back to the Bluffs to try to get work for
the winter, as I was very short of means to accomplish so great an
undertaking. I engaged to work for Apostle Orson Hyde for twenty dollars
a month. I worked one month, and then the weather got so severe that
out-door work stopped, then I was out of employment the rest of the
winter.
In the Spring I took all the means I had and bought with
it a wagon and a yoke of oxen, hitched them up and went down to Pisgah
to bring Mother’s family as far as the “Bluffs”, not knowing where the
rest of the outfit would come from; but another interposition of kind
Providence - - When I got back I found the country swarming with
emigrants on their way to the gold fields of California. On finding that
I had come over the road, they hired me for a guide, giving me Two
Hundred Dollars in cash in advance. This was truly a blessing from the
Lord that I had not thought of. I was now enabled to get the rest of my
outfit. About the 15th day of April, 1849, we started, but a difficulty
soon made it’s appearance that my emigrant friends had not thought of –
they had horse teams with light loads, while I had an ox team with a
heavy load, so that I could not travel as fast or as far in a day as
they could. They would put me in the lead, and I would urge my team on
and make as far as I could to try to give them satisfaction. I kept this
up until they saw that my oxen began to fail and would soon give out,
then they went on and left me. They served me a trick that the devil
never did, but I felt quite relieved, as I could then travel to suit
myself, which I did, taking time to hunt the best feed, and my team soon
began to recruit.
On the 27th day of July, I again arrived in
Salt Lake Valley, having accomplished one more magnanimous act by
bringing my dear Mother and her four children to the home of the Saints.
I found my dear wife Emeline well, and with her first child in her
arms, which had been born January 6, 1848, while I was away, the land I
had the year before was given to other parties, so I went north to a
place afterwards called Farmington and located there. In the meantime,
Daniel A. Miller came out a brought my team and wagon with its contents,
which I had left with him two years before when I went into the
Battalion. With this and the outfit which I had brought with me, I felt
quite well fixed to what I had been. As it was the council for the
people to settle close together for mutual protection, I could only get
twenty acres of land; but bought more afterwards, as opportunity would
afford.
On the 30th day of March, 1852, I married Emily Card
(No.2), who was born in the State of Maine, September 27, 1831. She was
the mother of ten children.
In March, 1855, I was ordained a Bishop
by president Brigham Young, and set apart to preside over the Farmington
Ward, and presided over said ward twenty-seven successive years.
On
the 16th day of November, 1856 I married Julia Peterson (No.3), who was
born in Norway, September 29, 1837. She is the mother of four children.
In March, 1857, I married Mary Ann Steed (No.4), who was born in England, November 27, 1837. She is the mother of ten children.
In 1858, I was elected to the Utah Legislature; was elected again in 1860 for two years, or two terms.
On
the 31st day of January, 1862, my much beloved wife Emeline died of
premature child birth. This was one of the greatest trials of my life,
as she was the wife of my youth and had been with me through all of our
poverty and trials of life which we had passed through. She died as she
had lived, a faithful wife, a devoted mother, and a true Latter-Day
Saint. She was the mother of ten children.
On the 25th day of
April, 1862, I married Caroline Workman (No.5), who was born in the
State of Tennessee, March 28, 1846. She is the mother of ten children.
On
the 30th day of May 1868, I married Sarah Lovina Miller (No.6), who was
born in Farmington, Utah June 24, 1850. She is the mother of nine
children.
On the 4th day of August 1872, my beloved wife Emily
Card died after giving birth to her tenth child. This was another great
trial to me, and to have a lot of little children left without a mother.
She died as she had lived, a kind mother, a dutiful wife, and a
faithful Latter-Day Saint.
On the 28th day of July, 1875, I
married Frances Marion Bigler (No.7), who was born in Farmington, Utah,
October 22, 1859. She is the mother of eleven children.
In 1876, I
was re-elected to the Utah Legislature. I was Colonel, commanding the
Militia of Davis County for many years, but when Governor Harding issued
his famous proclamation making it an offence to bear arms, I was
relieved from that responsibility.
About this time President
Young called me to a mission with some Laminates located a Washakie, in
the northern part of Box Elder County. I have been engaged more or less
ever since in directing that people.
In September, 1882, I was
called by President John Taylor and set apart to be the First Councilor
to the President of the Davis Stake of Zion, which had been previously
organized.
On the 17th day of March 1885 the people of Farmington
prepared a feast for me at the Social Hall to manifest their kindly
feelings and a proper appreciation of the long faithful labor that I had
performed during the twenty-seven years of my Bishopric. In this feast
nearly the entire ward participated. As a token of the good feeling of
the people, I was presented with a bust of President Young and a set of
book, the Church Works. The evening was spent in speaking, toasts and
dancing.
November 20, 1869. Today I started on a mission to the
place of my birth, Franklin County, Pennsylvania. Took the Union Pacific
cars at Uintah, Weber County, Utah; started at 2 p.m. and traveled over
much of the road at a rapid rate; much of it I had traveled over twice
before – once with pack animals and once with ox team. The present mode
of travel compared with pack animals or ox teams, seemed a very great
contrast – a very great improvement.
The railroad runs over much
of the route that we traveled in coming to this country, and gave ample
opportunity to reflect upon the hardships we endured in the slow
progress we made, fifteen miles per day on an average being all that we
could do, in many instances. In gliding so rapidly and easily over many
places that I could remember that I had passed in the depths of poverty,
with lean, almost given-out animals, when I looked on such places and
in my mind made the contrast between the two circumstances, I could but
exclaim, “Oh, the goodness of our God!” and she many a tear of joy and
gratitude to the Lord for His mercy to me.
I forgot to state that
at the time I was called on this mission, there were two hundred other
Elders called to different parts of the United States. We all traveled
on the same train in four palace cars, had an enjoyable time crossing
the plains, and in due time reached Omaha, on the Missouri River; there
we separated, each one going on the route best suited to him.
I
took the Northwestern Railway to Chicago. At Cedar Rapids, Iowa, I got
off to visit my cousin, David M. Secrist, who lived near that place. I
visited with him a few days then continued my journey to Chicago, where I
took the Chicago, Fort Wayne and Pittsburg Railroad, and the
Pennsylvania Central to Harrisburg; there I switched off on the
Cumberland Valley Railway to Green Castle, in Franklin County,
Pennsylvania. At that place I found a dear aunt, Mrs. Riley a sister of
my dear Mother. The family had heard of my coming and met me with open
arms, and made me very welcome. I felt very much at home here, indeed; I
made it my home much of the time while I was in the country. Mrs. Riley
was so much like my dear Mother that I loved her as a mother. She also
had a lovely family. I preached the Gospel to them and made a favorable
impression, but the prejudice at that time ran very high and our
doctrine was very unpopular, and the time of my stay was short. They put
off obeying the Gospel, but nearly the entire families have since died,
and while I was with them I got their names and ages, and a few years
ago I did work for them in the Logan Temple.
My object in going
East at that time was to preach the Gospel to the living if they wanted
to hear it, and get genealogy of the dead. The former I succeeded in
very poorly, as the living did not care to hear; the genealogy of the
dead was very meager, as they had failed to keep a record, and the only
way that I could get the names and ages of the dead was to go to the
cemeteries and obtain them from the stones that marked their last
resting places, as my people had been very particular in keeping the
record on the head-stones. In visiting the graves in both public and
private burying places, I got all the names I could — perhaps fifty in
all – and have done work for them in the Logan Temple.
I found
all my relatives on my Father’s side of the house all well off, with a
few exceptions. The old people came and settled in Franklin County,
Pennsylvania in an early day when it was new, possessed themselves of
the country, and having good staying qualities, made themselves well to
do. The old people – my Father’s brothers and sisters – with a few
exceptions, are dead, and their children are in possession of the
country, which is hard to excel. This is the situation I found them in,
and all of them belonging to some kind of religion peculiar to their own
notions, and being much prejudiced against “Mormonism” they did not
care to listen to me.
February 15, 1870. Because of pressing
business at home, I had spent about all the time that I could spare, and
having secured all the genealogy that I could get at that time, I bade
farewell to all of my dear friends, and on the the16th day of February,
1870, I left Green Castle on my return trip over the same road that I
came; arrived in Harrisburg the same day, here I bought a ticket, which
cost me $70.00. I left Harrisburg at 4 o’clock for Pittsburg. In due
time I arrived in Chicago safely, and on quick time; here I took the
Northwestern Railway for Cedar Rapids, stopped to see cousin David M.
Secrist, visited with him; then went on the train to Omaha, where I
arrived on the 22nd of February. I left Omaha, February 23rd and on the
25th I arrived in Ogden. I also reached my home the same day and found
all well. I had been gone about three months, and felt well satisfied
with my visit to the place I was born.
September 15, 1887. I left
my place a Plymouth, Box Elder County, Utah, at 12 o’clock noon, went
to Logan, and there joined Bishop Zundel and two Lamanites, John and Jim
Brown, and secured a part of our outfit, consisting of one baggage
wagon, two work horses, two riding horses, two horses and a buggy. I
furnished horses and buggy, the Church furnished baggage wagon, Bishop
Zundel furnished two horses to pull the wagon, and the Lamanites
furnished riding horses.
The object of this mission was to carry a
lot of presents to Chief Washakie, who was camped on the east side of
the Wind River Range of mountains, now in the State of Wyoming. The
presents consisted of five hundred pounds of dried fruit, one bale of
blankets, shirts, underwear, and silk handkerchiefs in great numbers and
varieties.
September 16. We left Logan City, traveled up Logan
Canyon, found the country very rocky but the road good considering the
country that it passes through; camped for the night, having had no
accident through the day.
September 17. Traveled up the Canyon,
reached top of divide about noon; in Dean's Hill got a lot of pine hens
and had our first feast of wild meat, which we enjoyed very much.
Traveled down the east side of the mountains to Garden City, thence up
the Bear Lake shore to Laketown; camped for the night with Bishop
Nebeker. Bear Lake is the most beautiful sheet of water that I have ever
seen --- water as clear as crystal and gravelly bottom at a great
depth. We obtained a supply of oats for the horse feed.
September
18. We started this morning at 8 o’clock, crossed over a ridge and
traveled down grade to bear River; found it almost dry; traveled across
the country to the mouth of Twin Creeks where we struck the Oregon Short
Line Railway. There we camped for the night and had our first feast of
Mountain Trout, John having secured a fine string of them.
September
19. Started at 8 o’clock; traveled up Twin Creeks, also up the Oregon
Short Line Railroad, which comes down the Creeks, the wagon road crosses
the railroad nineteen times, very dangerous in places, just room enough
for the wagon to pass when there is no train a that time; camped at the
tunnel on the summit of the ridge. This tunnel is 800 feet through.
Started at 2 o’clock, traveled over the ridge down to Ham’s Fork, went
up Ham's Fork for three miles, camped for the night. There we saw the
first antelope, which were very wild and not come-at-able.
September
20. Started at 8 o’clock; traveled over some very steep hills; struck
the Lander Road which used to be one of the main roads that the gold
seekers traveled to California by the way of Fort Hall. We struck a very
steep hill, almost perpendicular, hitched both saddle horses to the end
of the wagon tongue and pulled by the horns of the saddles; traveled
down the hill to Fontinell, near Green River, and camped the night.
September
21. Started at 7:30, passed over some rough, Hilly country on to the
Green River, then up Green River 13 miles to a beautiful stream called
LaBarge; noon halt, started out at 1 o’clock, traveled 24 miles up the
river, good roads, camped for the night on river bottom, good grass.
September
22. Broke camp at 8:30, crossed both Pineys, beautiful streams of
water, wide bottoms, good meadow land by the thousands of acres;
antelope in large herds but very wild; traveled over a ridge due north,
struck Marsh Creek, caught some nice Mountain Trout; waited for baggage
wagon to come up; then we found we had taken the wrong route and gone
out of our way. Started at two o’clock, traveled over High Cobble Stone
Ridge to the fork of Green River; this is the main fork of Green River, a
large stream of beautiful clear water.
September 23. We have
gotten out of our way; went for 10 miles down the river, struck the
trail, traveled due east over Large Cobble Stone Ridge down on the east
fork of Green River; this fork has a great amount of water in it at some
seasons of the year, but low at present. Noon halt; at 2 o’clock
started up the river; hereafter must travel without a road through heavy
sage brush; made slow progress across the bottom to river, and camped
for the night.
September 24. The mountains to the northeast begin
to look very high and difficult to cross. At 3:30 broke camp and
climbed over hills, washouts, and sage brush; difficult to travel; made
slow progress; bet some Indians who informed us that Chief Washakie had
gone on a hunt; not likely to see him; camped for the night.
Sunday,
September 25. Camped about twenty-five miles from the foot of the
mountains; are told the mountains are very difficult to cross over to
Chief Washakie's camp; considering this, with the fact that we could not
see him if we did cross, we concluded to send an Indian over and ask
the chief men of the camp to send a delegation over to receive the
presents. We were in camp waiting for them to return. The Indians in
that vicinity who were hunting, began to gather into our camp, and we
held meetings with them, preaching the Gospel to them, and a number of
them became converted and demanded baptism.
September 27. Still
in camp waiting for the messenger to return; health good, appetite good,
and conscious that we are in no immediate danger from our enemies that
we had left so far in the rear in Utah, the Anti-Mormon raid being in
full blast when we left.
September 28. This morning our express
men returned with Chief Washakie’s son and three other of the principal
men of the tribe. Dick Washakie, a son, is a noble looking man, about 6
feet 4 inches tall, well proportioned, speaks good English, about 25
years old, well dressed in the American style, fine gentlemanly
appearance and must sooner or later be a great leader among his people.
After
greetings and breakfast were over, we all sat down, had prayer, John
Indian being mouth, after which Bishop Zundel preached to the Lamanites
that had gathered in – twenty in number; talked about one hour. John
preached next. Jim Brown followed, after which I bore a powerful
testimony and prophesied of the future of that people; much of the
spirit of the Lord was enjoyed. After several meetings, the Lamanites
all asked to be baptized, which was attended to with much pleasure.
Bishop Zundel did the baptizing and I did the confirming. After we had
gotten through with the ordinance of baptism, the presents were
delivered, and after a hearty handshaking we separated from our kind
friends; the Lamanites going east and we south-west on our return trip;
traveled ten miles through sage and greasewood and camped for the night.
Jim killed an antelope, which was very acceptable, as we had had very
little meat on our trip so far.
September 29. This morning we
baptized four more Indians – two men and two women. Broke camp at nine
o’clock and traveled over to Green River; camped for noon, and traveled
over a ridge to Piney’s two fine streams of water; meadow and farm land
in abundance; camped for the night.
September 30. Broke camp at
seven o’clock traveling up the largest piney, much of the time in the
middle of the stream; very rough canyon and very difficult pass over
several high ranges; traveled until after dark down a steep
mountainside, almost perpendicular; camped on the creek in a narrow
gorge.
October 1. Had now gotten through the range of mountains,
sixty miles distant, and were at the head of Star Valley; traveled down
the valley to the mouth of Salt River, camped for the night.
October 2. Laying over to rest the horses; started at noon up Salt River, and camped for the night near the Summit.
October 3. Started at 7 o’clock, traveled down creek; camped.
October
4. Started at 7 o’clock; came out of the canyon and reached Montpelier,
noon half at Amasa Wright's place, fed, got dinner, then traveled to
Georgetown; stopped for the night with Nicholas Barkdall, my
brother-in-law, were treated royally.
October 5. Started at 7
o’clock; nooned at Soda Springs, started at 2 o’clock; camped for the
night with Serl Hale; were treated to the best his house afforded.
October
6. Started at 7 o’clock; came over the ridge, camped at Church Farm,
fed, got dinner, broke camp at 1 o’clock; traveled to Weston Creek, fed,
lunched and then we separated, Bishop Zundel and the Lamanites crossing
the range of hills into Malad Valley, and I going by way of Clarkston
and reaching home at nine o’clock; found all well; had traveled sixty
miles on this the last day, and about seven hundred miles on the entire
journey.
I thank and praise the Lord, who has had His kind and
preserving care over us while fulfilling this mission of peace to one of
the largest friendly tribes of Indians in this part of the country.
Ogden
City, Utah, November 23, 1895. This morning, in company with Ezra T.
Clark, John R. Barnes, and Ephraim P. Elleson, I left for Omaha,
Nebraska, to attend the Trans-Mississippi Congress to be held at that
place on the 25th of said month. We crossed the plains of a thousand
miles without an accident. I passed my first night in a Pullman palace
sleeping car, and with all of its grandeur in appearance, I could not
sleep; two men in one berth is one too many for comfort; the car being
very warm. Arrived in Omaha about 8:30 and took the street car to the
Millard Hotel. This Hotel was selected as the head-quarters of the
members; charges $3.00 per day. We had first-class fare and two good
rooms for our accommodation; all of the accommodations there were on the
modern plan, first-class style, with colored waiters, who were very
polite.
November 26. Held three sessions today. All the members
were invited to a reception given by a gentleman whose name I have
forgotten; we were royally treated to all kinds of drinkables, also
candy and ice cream.
November 27. Held one session. In the
afternoon the members went in body, by invitation, to visit the Omaha
Smelter where they reduce silver and lead ore to bullion, from there it
is shipped to Wales, and there refined; a great amount of business is
done there. The same afternoon we took the street car five miles to
South Omaha to visit the stockyards and slaughter houses, a great amount
of slaughtering and packing is done here. After looking through the
mammoth establishment we went back to the Hotel.
November 28.
Thanksgiving Day. Crossed the bridge over the Missouri River, went to
Council Bluffs, held meeting with a small branch of the Church presided
over by Robert Huntington; had Thanksgiving dinner; had a good time
after dinner went back to Omaha; took the street car, went three miles
up the River towards Florence (once Winter Quarters) then back to the
Hotel; had supper, packed our grips, and got the lunch basket recruited.
Union Depot.
November 29 At 8:10 we took the train for Ogden, securing our berths in the Pullman sleeper, “Susanna”. Cold north wind blowing.
Green
River - November 30. 8:15. Green River was once a thriving railroad
town when the road was being built, but now it is dilapidated.
Echo
- November 30 Had a pleasant trip, were favored with the company of
President George Q. Cannon all the way across the plains, which we
appreciated very much.
Ogden - November 30 All in good health and
spirits; changed cars for Farmington, reached home in safety; found all
well, glad to see each other.
This was a pleasure trip to me, in
very deed. I had an opportunity to form the acquaintance of influential
businessmen from different parts of the country; made acquaintances
that will not be forgotten very soon.
January 15, 1894 Today
William R. Smith, President of the Davis Stake of Zion, died after a
severe, lingering sickness of six months, of cancer in the intestines.
This was a severe shock to his family and to all the people of the
stake, as he was a first-class man, a good president, a good father, and
a friend to all good people; his faithful memory will live in the
hearts of the people.
About this time I was called by the Presidency
of the Church to take the Temporary Presidency of the Stake in President
Smith’s place, with Brother Hyrum Grant as my first counselor to assist
me. Of course, we took hold and did the best we could, but because of
the long sickness of our latest President, all public Stake matters were
much run down so we had to labor with our might to get matters
straightened up.
March 4, 1894 Today at the Stake Conference in
East Bountiful, I was set apart to preside as the President of the Davis
Stake of Zion with Joseph Hyrum Grant as my first counselor; set apart
by the Apostle Franklin D. Richards and Heber J. Grant, Apostle Richards
being mouth.
Brother F. D. Richards stated to the Conference
that my name had been considered by the first Presidency and the Quorum
of the Apostles, and it was decided unanimously that I was the man. It
was put before the High Council and they were unanimously in favor; it
was also put before the Conference, and I was unanimously sustained.
I
had presided over the Farmington Ward as its Bishop for twenty-seven
successive years, and had labored as the First Counselor to President
W.R. Smith from 1882 to 1894. I got along with this very well, or
reasonably satisfactorily, but to accept the responsibility of presiding
over the Stake seemed a great responsibility, and so it has proved in
every sense of the word. It has caused me to feel very humble and to
live as near to the Lord as a man of my temperament could do, but
through the help of the Lord I have done the best I could, and as to how
well I have succeeded, I will leave to the Lord and my charitable
brethren and sisters to judge. I pray most earnestly that I may continue
to be faithful and humble in the future in my labors among the people,
that I may put my trust in the Lord and have His approval, then I will
be content.
A MANIFESTATION
THAT I, JOHN W. HESS, BOTH SAW AND HEARD:
About
September 15, 1900, during my late illness, on Sunday morning about 9
o’clock, while lying upon my bed, and my brethren of the Priesthood were
out among the people performing their various duties, I was thinking
over my helpless condition, not being able to be with them in the
performance of my own duties; I began to pour out my whole soul in
prayer. My prayer finally resolved itself into a lamentation, asking the
Lord what I had done or what I had not done that I should be so
seriously afflicted, that I should be deprived of the privilege of going
forth with the rest of my brethren and performing my duties.
I was
told that it was not for any great sin of commission or omission that I
was thus afflicted, but it was because of my long and faithful labor and
the many hardships that I had passed through during my long life that
had weakened my faculties and brought me to my present condition. I was
told that the Lord accepted of my labors and that my career on earth
would, in the near future, be brought to close.
About this time I
saw, sitting on a box at the foot of my bed, a personage that looked
familiar to me, in the full bloom and vigor of life. I gazed upon it
with great earnestness and finally came to the conclusion that it was my
own visage in every form and feature except the age.
About this time
I heard a voice saying and pointing directly at this visage; This is
the body of your spirit, you see that it is in the exact image and form
of your temporal body.” He repeated again with great earnestness, “This
is the body of your spirit,” and then remarked, “Now, let this suffice
for the present.”
Now, I do declare in all soberness, and in the
fear of God while writing, that the above statement is true, and shall
be a testimony to all who read it.
Farmington, Davis County, Utah
January 13, 1902
A SHORT LIFE SKETCH OF EMELINE BIGLER HESS
by Russ Bateman
To
tell Emeline’s story, we begin in the picturesque land of tulips and
windmills. Her great-grandfather, Mark Bigler, came to America from the
River Rhine, Holland. He was born about 1705 and died in Pipe Creek,
Frederick, Maryland, when about 82 years of age. He had married a girl
we know only as Catherine. She had been born about 1712 and lived in
Frederick County, Maryland.
About 1752, Jacob was born to Mark
and Catherine. Jacob became a farmer in Summerset County, Pennsylvania.
He married Hannah Booker and they had ten children. Jacob died in
September 1829, at the age of 76. Hanna lived until July 18, 1853. She
was 93 at the time of death.
The sixth child of Jacob and Hannah
was named for his father. Jacob Jr., was born June 9, 1793 at Harrison
County, Virginia, where his family had lived most of their years. When
Jacob grew to manhood, he married Elizabeth Harvey on May 24, 1814.
Elisabeth had been born January 10, 1795 at Montgomery County, Maryland,
to Basil Harvey and Polly Hall Harvey. Jacob and Elizabeth had five
children: Henry William, Polly Hannah, Emeline, and Bathsheba. Little
Bathsheba was buried when she was but 14 months old.
Jacob and
Elizabeth were poor, humble, hard-working, honest and religious. They
arose by candlelight and worked until late at night. They loomed the
flax of their fields, made their own clothing, including shoes. The
simple log home was furnished with plain furniture, fashioned by Jacob.
Education was important to these parents, for the children went to
school and were tutored by David Masters, a Methodist minister. The
curriculum consisted of the usual three "R’s" with a spelling bee
"thrown in for fun." Whenever the weather would permit, it was barefoot
time. On Sundays the girls would carry their hose and homemade shoes
until they almost reached the little church. Jacob was a farmer, not a
shoemaker.
The beautiful State of Virginia was rich in resources.
Game was plentiful. The family lived on fat venison, wild turkey,
honey, acorns, nuts, and pigs, which ran wild in the forest to be
fattened. One of the highlights of the year was "sugaring." Families for
miles around would gather and make camp. Large buckets were attached to
the trees, the oozing sap collected and poured into huge kettles, to be
boiled and processed into the delicious sugar. The children loved to
sample the tempting sweet, and happily licked their sticky fingers.
Emeline
was three years old when her mother contracted consumption. Elizabeth
realized that she would soon have to leave her five little children;
therefore, she made Jacob promise that he would soon remarry so her
beloved children would have a mother to love and care for them. This
brave and thoughtful little mother even picked her successor – Sally
Cunningham, who was but 17.
Henry William, the eldest child, was
12 years at this time. Within a few years, Henry found the answer to his
sad questions. He was converted to the Church. This was a great turning
point in their lives. In the fall of 1838, when Emeline was 14 years
old, the family moved to Farr West, Missouri, to join the Saints. More
challenges were in store for Jacob – no sooner were they settled in Far
West when with 15,000 other Saints, they were forced to flee from
Missouri. Jacob, his new wife, Sally, and his four children arrived at
Quincey, Illinois in the early spring of 1839. The father rented a farm
near Payson, Illinois, to start over. Henry was now 24. To help the
family, he went to work on a steamboat. However, this job was soon
terminated because Henry answered the call of the Lord and went to
preach the gospel.
The beautiful City of Nauvoo was now the
headquarters of the Church, so Jacob and his family moved to Bier Creek,
16 miles from Nauvoo. Once again dark clouds threatened Jacob’s world –
persecution forced him to move into Nauvoo for the safety of his loved
ones.
Emeline loved the City of Nauvoo, especially after she met a
tall, dark and handsome Dutchman, named John Wells Hess. Emeline had a
genial disposition and a gentleness which attracted people to her. And
perhaps there was a sense of fellowship because long ago, Emeline’s
great-grandfather, Mark Bigler, had called Holland his native land. This
lovely, sweet girl was 24 when she married 24 year old John. On a cool,
crisp day, November 2, 1845, they exchanged vows. They were endowed on
January 29, 1846.
The Saints were forced to leave Nauvoo and John
and Emeline left April 3, 1846. John was the oldest at home in his
family and felt a responsibility for his father, mother, and their four
children. His father had suffered a stroke and was an invalid. But John
was strong and resourceful. He managed to secure two old wagons and two
yoke of oxen. The ailing father was made as comfortable as possible in
one wagon and their possessions were packed in the other. Of course,
only meager necessities could be taken and the family had to proceed on
foot.
The first night, weary and drenched with rain, they camped
on the Iowa side. Their progress was slow and tedious because they could
only make from five to eight miles a day. Through rain and mud, sun and
sleet, they trudged on. At night they cut willows and piled them into
crude mattresses, then fell upon them, exhausted - to sleep in wet
clothing, and arise the next sunrise to plod on again.
Two and a
half months later, on June 15, 1846, they limped into Mount Pisgah.
There they made a temporary shelter of bark. John was faced with a
difficult decision. His father was too ill to travel any further. Food
was running perilously low. John and Emeline decided to push on,
promising to return for his family later. After John and Emeline left,
his father’s little remaining strength failed and he was buried at Mount
Pisgah on June 22, 1846.
Reconstruction of a log and sod
cabin at Mt. Pisgah. John Hess built his family a house of bark. Others
made dugouts into the hillsides.
Emeline and John made their
way west to Council Bluffs, Iowa. They stayed a short while, building
shelters, securing food and planting crops to be harvested by those who
would follow.
Another decision faced John and Emeline at Council
Bluffs, because on July 1 word came that 500 men were to be enlisted
into the United States Army and sent to fight Mexico. John loved his
country, even though he and his people had been cruelly treated. He
enlisted in the Mormon Battalion. But what of Emeline, who loved her
husband devotedly? She learned that with every company, a woman was
hired to go as a laundress. Emeline was quick to volunteer so that she
and John might stay together. Emeline was strong and courageous - as
well she needed to be. The journey of the Mormon Battalion was long and
full of many hardships. She was a great source of joy and strength to
her husband. History tells us that the women endured the trek better
than did some of the men.
So the Battalion marched out from
Council Bluffs to Fort Leavenworth, a distance of 200 miles. This was
accomplished in ten days. On August 13 they started for Santa Fe,
Mexico, 720 miles away. The heat, dust and sunbaked stretches took their
toll. Many soldiers became ill and disabled. The Battalion was slowing
down. When it finally reached Santa Fe, Colonel Phillip St. George Cook,
the Commanding Officer, ordered the sick to return to Pueblo, Colorado.
All women and children were to return also.
John Hess was very
upset. He didn’t want to go without Emeline. How could he bear to see
his beautiful, young sweetheart march away with a company of sick,
heat-deranged men, with none but woman and children to help protect her.
Again
John made a decision. With courage and daring, he approached the
Commander, General Doniphan, with a proposal. He secured permission for
the husbands of all the women to return with their wives to Pueblo.
Even
though the trek back was severe, John and Emeline were still together,
for which they were happy and grateful. But the way was hard and long.
Here was a company of women and children, tired and discouraged,
traveling those many, many miles, saddled with the care of the sick and
disabled men. Food was scarce, so half rations were doled out the first
part of the journey, and these were cut to quarter rations the second
portion of the torturous journey.
The winter was spent in Pueblo
recuperating. In the spring of 1847, with renewed bodies and hopes,
Emeline and John started on the trail to Fort Laramie. Joyfully they
joined with a company of Saints and came on into the Salt Lake Valley,
arriving July 28, 1847. Thus ended two years of wandering over deserts,
rivers and mountains, and through rain, snow, heat and cold. At last a
place was found where they could live and build homes in peace. John and
Emeline had the same experiences of all the early pioneers – struggles
and failures, heartaches and discouragements, but they were dedicated
disciples of our Father in heaven, and overcame all obstacles with
strong courage and determination and thankfulness in their hearts that
they had each other.
John made Emeline a home in Salt Lake, but
after a short while they moved out to Mill Creek, where John cut timber
to earn money. But John still had a pledge to fulfill and on September
9, 1847, he left Emeline with friends and family and returned to Mount
Pisgah. He was saddened by the news of his father, but brought his
mother and his brothers and sisters back to Salt Lake Valley, arriving
on July 27, 1848. His joy at seeing his beloved Emeline again was
multiplied when he beheld his beautiful son, born on January 6, 1848.
Little Jacob was named in honor of Emeline’s father.
It’s moving
time again. Once more John gathered their possessions and with his wife
and baby, his mother and her family, journeyed to Farmington. A home was
established there. John performed a mission to the Indians and was a
Bishop and Patriarch in that area.
Emeline was "beloved Emeline," the light and joy of John’s life. She yet faced many other problems
Further reading: "John W. Hess and Emeline Bigler" Researched or written by Chuck Hess, Dr. Harold C. Bateman, et.al.,Edited by Ron Bateman
Posted by Roland Lee at 11:52 PM 1 comments
