From the Improvement Era, February 1942 –

Magic Word – A Short Short Story

By R.W. Christensen

We often hear stories told of the exciting experiences had by our pioneer grandparents, who were so willing to lose nearly all they owned and to risk their very lives in order to reach this blessed land of Zion where they could live in peace and happiness, and above all, where they could find freedom to worship in this great Church of ours.

While on a recent country trip, without purse or scrip, through a central portion of California, my companion, Elder Raymond Shallbetter, and I had some very thrilling and faith-promoting experiences.

Among the many interesting contacts that we made was one with a very elderly lady, eighty-four years of age. After introducing ourselves and telling her the purpose of our call, she invited us in and seemed rather happy to have us call at her door.

She was very active for her age, very neat in appearance, and seemed rather happy, though her home and its surroundings, which at one time had been very attractive, was now old and neglected.

After introducing herself, and sitting down quite comfortably in an easy chair, she said: “You know, boys, I owe my life to the Mormon Pioneers.”

This of course aroused our interest at once. We asked her to tell us more about it.

“Well,” she said, “I’ll tell you the story from the very beginning. My parents lived in the state of Iowa until I was seven years old. At that time my father, hearing that thoroughbred horses were rather scarce in California, decided to sell our property, purchase a few head of the best horses available, and move to California.

“Within a month we were fully prepared to leave, and in May of 1864, along with fifty other families, we set out for California. We left Iowa with several head of beautiful thoroughbred horses, and with enough money to buy a ranch after arriving there. However, the journey was much too hazardous and rough for that breed of horses, and as we traveled on we were forced to leave them behind one by one, because they failed to stand up under the strain of the steady movements and hot sun. After a month’s travel we traded our last two horses for a team of old work mules because of their strength and ability to go on.

“I never tasted any eggs, milk, butter, or flour at any time during the journey. And at times we traveled for days, through the hot deserts, without having the opportunity of replenishing our water supply, although we always tried to keep an extra supply of water in barrels which we carried on the sides of the wagons. Whenever we did find a water-hole it was generally covered with a green scum, so it always had to be boiled before we could use it, and whenever pollywogs were found in it we had to strain it before boiling.

“We had very little trouble with the Indians on the trip, for most of them were friendly. However, while we were camped at Green River in Wyoming we were attacked by about three hundred and fifty painted warriors. They carried white men’s scalps on their belts, had no bridles or saddles on their horses and used very few guns. As they swarmed down from the hills and started encircling our encampment, we knew we wouldn’t have a chance if we tried to fight back — so we all ran out, threw up our arms, and shouted, “Mormons! — Mormons!” The warriors hearing our shouts finally stopped, and believing we were Mormons turned and rode away — leaving us to travel on in peace.

“The next day on the opposite side of the river we found the charred remains of five burnt wagons, and the bodies of fifteen men, women, and children who had been ruthlessly killed and scalped by those unmerciful creatures. I then offered a silent thanks to God, and to the Mormons, for I knew it was only due to their friendliness with the Indians that our lives had been saved.

“In October, after six months of hardship and suffering, we landed in California, with two mules and exactly ten cents in our pocket but we were well and happy.

“Every family settled very near this valley, each having three hundred and sixty acres of land.

“Today I am the only one left, but I am sure if the rest were here, they would say just as I have: ‘We owe our lives to the early Mormon Pioneers.’”