CHOLERA AT THE ISLAND.
The summer was passing, it was late in August. Cholera was raging at Mackinac Island. Fifty-two deaths had occurred there and three deaths occurred at Beaver Island. A lady was boarding with us from Mount Clemens. Her two youngest children died from cholera in our house. My father and I both had it but recovered. Also a captain of a small vessel died. After the deaths our clothing was all washed and the Mormons came, taking everything they could find. They took several boats and all the fish from the fish houses between Cable's dock and the harbor. It was now becoming serious between the Gentiles and the Mormons. Peter McKinley had moved his family to Mackinac Island, not considering it safe to carry on business any longer. Mr. Cable had also left and gone to Indiana. His uncle, Mr. Alva Cable, came with his vessel, taking C. R. Wright and family, with several others, to Charlevoix, then called "Pine River." All the Ohio, Canada and Detroit fishermen had gone home. My two brothers had gone to Detroit to school for the winter. Our family, and seven others, were the only Gentiles left on the island, and we were preparing to leave as soon as possible. One morning about the first of November a messenger came to every Gentile family with a letter from the king, saying every Gentile family must come to the harbor and be baptized into the Church of Zion or leave the island within ten days after receiving the notice signed by the King, James J. Strang. Within twenty-four hours after receiving the notice every Gentile family had gone but ours. They had taken what they could in their fish boats. Our boat being small, father thought best to wait for a vessel to come and take us away. The fourth day no vessel had come. Father feared the message to the captain of the vessel had not been delivered, which had been sent by an Indian family going home to the Old Mission. Winds were ahead, the weather rough. Our goods were packed, and every day some Mormon men could be seen walking along the beach, each carrying a gun, but none ever spoke to us. These were anxious days to us, watching and waiting for a sail. Father had made up his mind if the vessel did not come we would take what we could in our small boat and go to the Indians for protection until we could get to the main land. The evening of the ninth day had come and no welcome sail in sight. John Goeing, our faithful friend, was with us and cheered us with his strong faith that the vessel would come in time.
I had laid down and fallen asleep. I was wakened by hearing low voices talking. I listened a few moments and knew it was Mr. Bower. He was the man who had doctored father when he was sick. He had stolen away from his home in the darkness and came to sympathize with us. He then told us he was going to leave the island the next spring if possible, as he was tired of the life he had to live among the Mormons, saying. "There are many excellent people here that would be glad to go, but they have no means to go with and fear to try to go." With a warm clasp of the hand and a good-by to all, he was gone.