Memoirs of John R. Young, Utah Pioneer, 1847

by John R. Young

I did not attempt to make any answer to your letter before this because I have been for a long time under the weather and have neglected a great many matters which did not require immediate attention. While I have been confined to a very great extent to my room, I have had a great deal of time to devote to reflection and musing over earlier scenes and missionary experiences of my younger days. Your letter brought back very vividly the days of our missionary labors in the islands, where I was sent when only a boy, inexperienced in many things, and yet, through force of circumstances caused by the loss of both father and mother whose counsels I very sorely needed, with a training beyond my years caused by contact with hard necessity in those early pioneer days in a new country where but a few years before scarcely a white man had placed his foot. I recalled my travels across the desert and our journeyings to southern California and from there up to San Francisco; the dangers through which we passed because of hostile bands of Indians; laboring in California in order to get means to make the passage over the ocean to the appointed field of labor and the difficulties encountered after arriving there. I recalled the promises made to me by Brother Parley P. Pratt that I should receive the knowledge of the native language by the gift of God, and how it was fulfilled. I thought of the arrival of our boat and when the natives surrounded us as they came out in the harbor talking what appeared to me as an unintelligible gibberish, how it would be possible for me, or any one else, to learn to speak such a language and preach the Gospel to them in such a tongue. But the Lord blessed me and it was not many days before I was able to converse in the Hawaiian language and preach in my missionary journeyings among that dark, benighted but kind hearted people. I recalled not only the companionship of my friends, John R. Young, Silas Smith, my kinsman, Smith B. Thurston, Washington B. Rodgers, William W. Cluff, Francis A. Hammond and many others, but the many dark skinned natives whose friendship and brotherly love could not be surpassed. How my love went out to them! For are they not also the children of God, and of the seed of Abraham with a right to the promises made by the Lord to Israel? And did they not prove to us their worthiness and integrity even though they had not been taught and trained as we and were filled with the superstitions of their people which had come down for many generations.

And farther back to the days of my childhood in these valleys, my reflections carried me, to the time when as a herd boy I tended my mother's cows and those of others in this Salt Lake Valley where many prosperous farms are now located, to my early school days which were sadly limited because of necessity and then my early departure for the Islands of the Sea.

Yet farther back I went in my wandering to the days of Nauvoo where for so short a time the Saints were happy and I played, amused myself in the home of the Prophet and with his sons as well as in my father's house. Well do I remember the return of my father with the Prophet after they had crossed the river and had started on their journey west, because the false cry was raised that they were deserting the flock and how they went to Carthage never again to return in mortal life, cut down because of the testimony of Jesus in the prime of life and sealing their testimonies with their blood. Then followed the feverish days in which the Saints continued the labor on the Nauvoo Temple until it was complete and endowments were given therein and the wicked expulsion of thousands of innocent people from their homes. I recall the departure of the first companies over the frozen river on the ice in the depths of winter and how, shortly afterwards my mother and her family were forced also to take their departure in poverty and wend their way westward with the rest. My Brother John had gone at an earlier day and we overtook him on the journey. Then came the struggle on the banks of the Mississippi where we tried to save means to continue the journey to the valleys of the mountains and my employment as herdboy while we there sojourned. It was here that I had one of the most thrilling and exciting adventures of my life when the Indians made a raid on our cattle and, although but a child, I remember how the thought came to me that if our cattle were taken our journey to the Salt Lake Valley could not be taken. With more than human effort—for I know the Lord was with me—I turned the cattle and started them for home where they escaped although I was taken captive by the savage redmen, but considered so insignificant that they dropped me on the ground where I was left to survive or perish as chance it may and the horse on which I rode was stolen. Then came the journeying across the plains and after many difficulties the arrival in the valley—the promised land—where we were promised rest at least from enemies thirsting for our blood. We moved out on the Mill Creek and started to farm, but before many years had passed away my beloved mother was called home and I was sent out when but fifteen years of age to perform a man's duty in the world—a duty that was not, however, new to me—for had I not done the like when we crossed the plains?

All these thoughts and a thousand more have coursed through my mind, and I have reflected on many scenes of the days of Missouri, when I was too young to remember the persecutions of the Saints, and on scenes of more recent years, not all of which have been sad, for there have been many bright days in the years that have followed and companionships that have been formed that shall be everlasting. And I remember my old friends, many of whom are now laboring in the great beyond and a few who are still left and scattered throughout Zion. And among these friends I recall my beloved brother and true friend John R. Young. May his days be increased and made happy in his declining years, and may we all meet in the Kingdom of our God when our work is done, there to dwell in joy and happiness forever. This is the prayer of your friend and brother, who greets you in love and remembrance of former days. Respectfully yours, JOSEPH F. SMITH

IN MEMORY OF PRESIDENT JOSEPH F. SMITH.

By John R. Young.

I thank the Mutual Improvement Association of Blanding for the invitation to speak a few words in memory of my boyhood's friend, Joseph F. Smith. I shall not attempt to speak of the activities of his matured life, his splendid manhood and noble, spotless character. It has been well told by his bosom friend, Bishop Charles W. Nibley.

It was my lot, however, to know Joseph in his boyhood. I was with him on his first mission in 1854. We were numbered with the twenty young Elders called to the Sandwich Islands. Joseph was the youngest, (when called he was in his fifteenth year) of the company, but of the thirty men who crossed the desert to southern California together, there were but five who were believed to be his equals in athletic exercises.

As I am limited to time, I shall speak only of the most marked events, delineating his character when a boy. Upon reaching San Francisco, President Parley P. Pratt gave Joseph, William W. Cluff and myself a mission to tract the city. At the close of the first day's tracting Joseph asked to be released. He said, "I can not offer a Book of Mormon without having to listen to a burst of blasphemy and a tirade of falsehood and abuse to my Uncle Joseph, and I cannot be peaceable and hear it." He was released from tracting.

At that time he was lodging at the home of his Aunt Agnes. She was the wife of his Uncle Don Carlos Smith, who died at Nauvoo. After his death she married a man by the name of William Pickett, a man whose heart was full of bitterness toward President Brigham Young and the Utah Mormons, and he seemed to delight in slurring them to annoy Joseph. Pickett's home was on a sandy hillside. One day a man came with a load of wood. In passing through the gate the hind wheels slid down so the hub struck the gate post. Mr. Pickett asked Joseph and the teamster to lift the upper wheel, while he would lift the lower one and slough the wagon back. The upper wheel was lifted, but the lower one was too heavy. Joseph proposed that he try the lower one. Pickett replied, "Young man, if you think you are a better man than I, take hold, and maybe you'll learn something." The wagon passed in, and when the man had unloaded and was gone, Joseph faced his uncle and said, "Uncle, you seem to enjoy making slurring remarks about Brigham Young and the Utah Mormons. I wish you would not do so any more in my presence, and Mr. Pickett remembered the request.