A Plucky Pioneer Mother

A PLUCKY PIONEER MOTHER 757

At the summit of the mountain, the captain ordered the lead teams to be turned out, loosened from the wagon and driven down the mountains. The hind wheels of the wagons were all rough-locked with chains, and we dragged the wagons down the mountain with one yoke of oxen. Thus we traveled on down to the foot of Little Mountain, making our camp there for the night. Early next morning, the Captain gave notice to the company to arise, hitch up and roll over the mountain into the valley. To our consternation, when we gathered up our cattle, the essential part of our means of transportation for some reason had strayed away, and were not to be found with the herd. A brother of mine, who was also a boy scout at that time, then obtained a horse and rode back over the road in search of the lost cattle. The captain ordered the march to begin, and, regardless of our predicament, the company started out, up the mountain. The morning sun was then shining as brightly as these electric lights here, without a cloud appearing anywhere !

I had happened to hear the promise of my dear mother that we would beat the captain into the Valley, and wouldn't ask any help from him, either. I sat in the front of the wagon with the teams we had in hand hitched to the wheels, while my brother was absent hunting the others. I saw the company wending its slow way up the hill, the animals struggling to pull their heavy loads. The forward teams now had almost reached the summit of the hill, and I said to myself, "True enough, we have come thus far, and we have been blessed, and not the slightest help from anyone has been asked by us." But the last promise seemed to be now impossible; the last hope of getting into the valley before the rest of our company was vanishing, in my opinion !

You have doubtless heard descriptions of the terrific thunder storms that sometimes visit the mountains. The pure, crystal streams a few moments before flow gently down their channels; but after one of these rains, in a few minutes they become raging torrents, muddy and sometimes bringing down fallen trees and roots and rocks. All of a sudden, and in less time than I am taking now to tell you, a big, dark, heavy cloud arose up from the northwest, going directly southeast. In a few minutes it burst in such terrific fury that the cattle could not face the storm, and the captain seemed forced to direct the company to unhitch the teams, turn them loose, and block the wheels to keep the wagons from running back down the hill! The cattle fled before the storm

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758 IMPROVEMENT ERA

down into the entrance into Parley's canyon, from the Park, into and through the brush. Luckily, the storm lasted only a short time. As it ceased to rain, and the wind ceased to blow, my brother drove up with our lost cattle. We then hitched them to the wagon, and the question was asked by my uncle of my mother: "Mary, what shall we do? go on, or wait for the company to gather up their teams?" She said: "Joseph [that was her brother's name], they have not waited for us, and I see no necessity for us to wait for them." So, we hitched up and rolled up the mountain, leaving the company behind, and this was on the 23rd day of September, 1848. We reached the Old Fort about 10 o'clock that Saturday night. The next morning, in the Old Bowery, we had the privilege of listening to President Brigham Young and President Kimball, Erastus Snow, and some others,, give some very excellent instructions. Then, on the afternoon of that Sunday, we went out and met our friends coming in, very dusty, and very foot-sore, and very tired! The prediction of the widow was actually fulfilled; we beat them into the Valley, and we asked no help from them, either!

Why Should I Sing? My lute is attuned, but why should I sing? Harken! the ages with great anthems ring: Wonderful music of minstrelsy old, Triumphant songs of the mountains and wold, Of brave cavaliers, of love and of hate, Songs of achievement of country and state, Themes great and small, well sung have they been, In the long ago time by both women and men. Yet, should I not sing? Must my voice be mute, When heart tlirobs insistent vibrate with the lute?

Unashamed, I raise my feeble voice, nor longer think of failure. If noble theme my song may never grace, Still must I sing, tho' none e'er list or heed the simple strain Must ever strive to fill my humble place. For, lo borne on the fresh'ning breeze of morn, methinks I hear !

A message wafted o'er the tideless sea; "Be not afraid, sing on! sing on! 'Tis I, Thy God, who speaks: Thy little songs may bring a soul to me." Grace Ingles Frost

Gold Mines and Riches By Nephi Anderson

Early in the morning I climbed up the hillside above Eureka, perchance to find a gold mine. The air was clear, cool, and invigorating. The gray hills were tinted with the green of growing grass, and dotted with the bright red and blue and yellow, odorous wild flowers whose names I do not know, more's the pity or the shame. However, I was not to be enticed by flowers or landscape. I was to find and locate a mine. I was not the first prospector who had been on these hills, for I had been informed that every foot of ground had been crawled over by men in search of "indications." The heaps of earth of various sizes and colors lying close by gaping holes told where the searchers after wealth had tried to find it by means of pick and shovel, and had failed. I knew very little about mining, but I was told that Uncle Knight was not much wiser in his day and time, when he, too, sat on these hills and received his impressions on where to dig. "Right around the hill toward Knightsville," said my informant, "Brother Knight started his first tunnel. 'What shall we call this mine?' he had asked, and the skeptical friend had suggested 'The Humbug.' 'The Humbug' it shall be,' was the reply, and 'The Humbug' it is." The first shipment from this mine brought $10,000, which amount was turned to a very good public purpose. But I found no mine that morning. Perhaps it was because I did not know where to look or what to look for; so I philosophized instead, which is more pleasant on a warm spring morning than to dig in the dirt. I climbed up on a warm boulder and looked out over town and the distant sage-covered valley, checkered with blocks of green — the beginnings of dryfarming. How strange, I meditated, that eo much time and means and labor should be expended on getting from the mountains certain metals called precious! Deep down lies the gold, mixed with earth and rock and baser metals, and tucked away between rock-bound walls. Why had not the Creator, instead of mixing things up so, just had all the gold and the silver made into conveniently sized bars of bullion, ready for use? The question was still with me when, after breakfast, I visited the Tintic High school and spoke to the students a few moments; and the answer came when I saw those young people