Three Mormon Boys

By Homespun [Susa Young Gates]

Chapter 4

To say that John was surprised at any of the sights which met his eyes on landing in America, would be to say more than was true; for even in this early stage of his existence, John Brown was too clever by far to ever permit himself to be surprised at anything. He had seen big houses before, and of course large cities and rows of buildings were no novel sight to him.

I don’t think we will have time to tell all about the various little experiences of John, nor of the many efforts made by his father to secure a team and outfit. We will be satisfied to note that the team at last procured was one yoke of fairly broken steers, and the family started across the plains with the company.

John Brown was too young to realize the difference between his own crowded little island home and this great, far-reaching, limitless country which enclosed within its borders enough lands to make many Englands; but at least he could enjoy and appreciate the pleasure of a summer trip across the flower-strewn prairies of the West. He listened to the old, once common, salutation, that afterwards became a Utah byword, “If we don’t meet at t’ Bluffs, we will at t’ Valley,” between his father and those who took a different route or remained a few days behind the other wagons. He found ample opportunities to utilize all his youthful energy and restlessness in the pleasant task of team driving and the many unpleasant tasks incident to traveling.

To work all day beside the slow-moving oxen, singing, or chatting with some companion; to be sure, it was rather unpleasant in the heat of the day, but the long twilight soon came, and then, ho! for supper; the cattle were turned into the enclosure, the girls and boys were ready with song and dance, the older ones with jest and story, and all were happy and merry with the happiness of clear, upright consciences and freedom from worldly cares.

I said that John Brown never allowed himself to become astonished at anything; but I forgot one incident. The grandmother of John Brown was a worthy matron who had done her best to frighten John into staying at home by telling bloodcurdling stories of the wild men of America, and their dreadful propensity of killing and cooking people; especially small boys caught away from their legitimate home in England were thus treated, so said Grandma Brown. So that away up in the very small cupola of John Brown’s mind which he allowed to be given over to the office of Fear, was one chamber marked in blood-red letters, “Wild men of America.” This fear was not brought out, however, for his companions to jeer at, but it was nevertheless a part of poor John’s intellectual anatomy.

One evening, just at the pleasant hour of twilight, John wandered down into the deep recesses of a ravine or dell, to hunt for wild berries. He was quite alone, and too engrossed in the object of his search to care anything about that fact.

Suddenly, about two yards to the right of where he stood, in a thick clump of trees, arose a deafening, soul-harrowing yell, the like of which John had never before heard. To say that he was thoroughly astonished is not exaggerating the fact in the least. I wouldn’t undertake to say how many feet up in the air the astonished boy sprang; but when he came down to earth, he saw before him a veritable “wild man of America,” in other words, an Indian, laughing in solid, quiet, but genuine Indian fashion. John could see in a moment that he had been the victim of an Indian’s practical joke; but it made him none the less anxious to get back to camp, and thither he scurried as fast as his legs could carry him, leaving the Indian in possession of the field and his very successful joke.

One other circumstance there was of this long journey across the plains which I must relate to you. I don’t think I ever knew a boy who has had more miraculous escapes from death than did our friend John. As he himself, in speaking of the fact, puts it, “I’ve been nearly killed more times than any other fellow I ever saw and not get hurt.”

Now, you must know, there was one spot or stretch of country which every emigrant train had to cross, as it lay in the Platte river region, and it almost invariably happened that while in this particular belt of land, for some inexplicable reason, the whole herd of oxen would take sudden fright, and away they would dash, wagons, teams and loads, over the country, perhaps down the bank of a river, or into a deep and dangerous ravine. Nearly every one of our emigrant trains have experienced this phenomenon right in this particular locality. And why these terrible stampedes should occur always here and seldom anywhere else on the route, few know. It has been whispered that in the days of the Nephites and Lamanites there have been some terrible occurrences here which have left the locality filled with wicked influences. Be that here or there, it is certainly the case that no earthly explanation has ever been given to account for this peculiarity.

Another thing has been often remarked in connection with this matter: The stampede is generally introduced or preceded by a violent quarrel or altercation between some human members of the camp. The whole infested district might be seemingly crossed, and then some family or brethren would get into a loud dispute, and, like a sudden shot, away would go the whole train of oxen, with wagons behind them, if it were in the day, or with their yokes on, if in the morning or evening, and often lives of women or little children were sacrificed by the horrid onward sweep of the maddened, insane oxen.

I have heard men say that sometimes their oxen, who were very old and worn out with work, poor, perhaps, and hardly able to walk, after a long day’s tramp in the broiling sun, if this strange excitement took possession of the camp, away would dash the jaded old oxen, flinging their tails in the air and pounding and tearing the soft green earth in their crazy fear of some unseen foe, some spiritual pursuer.

You all recall the descriptions you have heard of the manner in which our brethren arranged the wagons at night, in order to make a corral for the oxen, and at the same time provide a safe-guard for themselves against attacks of the Indians. The wagons were drawn together in a circular form, the tongues of the wagons pointing inward and diagonally across to the wheel of the next wagon. In this enclosure were corralled the oxen, and there, too, the suppers were prepared and eaten, and the work of the camp was there done by the women folks.

One morning, while the camp was just preparing for a start, some wagons hitched and some not hitched, they having passed about half of the “stampede district,” a brother who was bringing from England a family beside his own, got into a violent dispute with this family about some trivial matter. Their voices arose loud and clear in the cool, quiet morning air, and then, suddenly, like an arrow shot from an Indian’s bow, there was an instantaneous thrill of communication to every hoof and hide in the camp, and away tore the whole herd, some yoked to their wagons, in which were a few women and children, ready for the day’s journey. Away flew the whole deadly concourse, crushing, in their wild flight, more than one human soul into death and a premature grave.

John Brown stood just between his father’s wagon and the one next to it, when the flashing start was made. Like a brief note of command, a spirit seemed to whisper to his soul, “Run the same way the oxen run. Run for your life!”

Without a second’s hesitation, he tore frantically along in exactly the same direction taken by the infuriated oxen. Keeping his eyes well open, he found a chance, by adroit turns and twistings, now and then, to slip in between a team or two oxen, and gradually get behind the main body of them. He ran quite a distance before he could accomplish his purpose and get behind the runaway train. But it was successfully accomplished, and he escaped without a scratch or a bruise.

One poor little boy that was in between some of the yoked wagons when the start was made, laid down to escape the danger, and he was crushed almost to death. There were two wagons completely broken up, and two people killed by this stampede. Nearly all of the forty wagons in the train were hitched up before the stampede, and the wonder is that not more people were killed and injured. The two wagon-boxes were taken to make coffins for the dead, and then, after brief and infinitely painful services, the saddened emigrants moved on to another camp along their route.

The brother who had charge of the company had a dream before he left England, in which every detail of the stampede was made plain to him, even to the color of the horse he should ride in pursuit of the runaway cattle. And he had been dreading the occurrence daily until it really happened. Thus are we often apprised of the future, and if we would only heed these warnings much trouble might be averted.

No other incident of particular interest occurred, and John Brown accepted the “Valley” and all its free, wild beauties as any other boy would do, as a matter of course.

After some days. Brother Brown found a chance to rent part of a house, paying the rent in labor on the lot. The house belonged to a Brother Tompson, who was on a three years’ mission, and Sister Tompson was glad to spare two rooms in order to have her lot and garden taken good care of while her husband was away.

The Tompson family consisted of the absent father, the rather delicate mother, a boy thirteen years old, Martin by name, a girl about ten years old, called Rose, and two noisy, rollicking little boys of three and five years respectively, who rejoiced in the euphonious names of Sam and Tom.

To these Utah bred children the quaint little English boys and girls were a constant source of good-natured amusement. To hear them urge each other to “give over now,” and to observe the odd, broadsoled shoes clumping around in quiet obedience was as novel as it was entertaining. As for John and Martin, and the two sisters of the boys, they at once became the most intimate of bosom friends.

(To be continued)