We left Huntington, keeping the main-traveled road for Green River, until we reached the Iron Springs. Then, fearing that we should be arrested at Blake, we turned, crossing the San Rafael desert to Hanksville. We thereby came to a forty mile stretch without water, and while crossing that waterless sand waste we encountered the worst desert blizzard that I ever experienced. The sand drifted into the road so furiously that it was almost impossible to move; and at the close of a hard day's labor, we had not made over four miles progress.
Just at night a short, sharp hail storm swept over us. We camped, blanketed our horses, cuddled into our wagons, and rested the best we could. During the night it froze hard, which proved a blessing to us. The next morning, at three o'clock, keeping the women and children in bed, we pulled out. The road was as hard and smooth as the floor of a house. For fifteen miles we sped merrily along; then the sun's rays melted the frost, and the wagon wheels dropped into the sand five spokes deep. We rested during the day, and broke camp again at midnight; and by nine in the morning, reached Hanksville without any serious suffering.
We struck the Colorado at the Dandy crossing, swam our cattle and horses, and ferried our wagons on a small boat, paying twenty dollars for the use of it. The journey to Mexico was long, tedious and expensive, but we were happy, for we had escaped imprisonment.
Upon reaching Mexico, I bought fifteen acres of land, (it is now a part of the city of Dublan) and made a home on it for Lydia; then moved Tamar to Pacheco.
Soon after that I lost my arm in an accident, and was made a cripple for life. I felt that with only one hand I could not successfully compete with Mexican labor, and as the Manifesto had been issued, giving promise that those already in plural marriage should not be disturbed, I resolved to return to my native land.
Lydia, believing that bitterness and violence would continue to follow us in the United States, chose to remain in Mexico. I deeded to her the little farm; then with Tamar I returned to the United States. I now realize that I did wrong in leaving Lydia without a husband's help when she most needed it in caring for her young family. By nature she was proud spirited, and ambitious to appear well. She therefore toiled beyond her strength, which hastened her to an early grave. She died May 8, 1905, at Dublan, Mexico. In closing, I can affirm, conscientiously, that Lydia died a martyr for the Gospel. She was a noble woman—and under favorable conditions would have been a leader in Church activities. A love of the Gospel was born with her. And many of her sorrows are traceable to her zeal in spiritual matters.
I cannot remember that there were ever disputations, or unkind jealous feelings among my wives; they ever sustained and loved one another. But Lydia and I differed in our interpretation of the Manifesto. She believed it required a severance of marriage covenants between the husband and the plural wife, while I held that it only bound the Latter-day Saints not to enter into new, additional plural marriages, that former plural marriages remained undissolved, and were sacred. On that rock we parted. She remained in Mexico, while I returned to the United States.
In my heart, I have always felt that the Father blessed me with a noble family. I loved them; and I believed in my soul what President Young said about the young man who planted forty acres of grain. I tried to lay a foundation for growth and expansion in the Kingdom of God. I may have over-taxed my strength and ability, and through lack of knowledge, may not have cared wisely for the field I sowed, but I firmly believe that when the day of recompense comes the Lord of the vineyard will confirm to me the family relations I gave my best years' dearest efforts to build up.