An Englishwoman in Utah: The Story of a Life's Experience in Mormonism

by Mrs. T. B. H. Stenhouse

“For some time the nights had been getting colder and colder, and by the time we arrived at the Sweetwater river we suffered considerably from that cause; we felt that winter was fast approaching. In fact, it came on earlier and more severely last year than at any time before since the Saints settled in Utah. Does it not seem strange that at the very time when they were offering up special prayers for us in Zion, that we might be defended from cold and storm, the terrors of a more than ordinary winter overtook us and proved fatal to so many of our company? The mountains were covered with snow; and it was soon quite evident, even to those who had prophesied most loudly that the Lord would work a special miracle in our behalf, that the storm-clouds of winter would soon burst upon us.

“You have never seen the Sweetwater river, so I may as well tell you that it is a very irregular stream, and we had to cross it again and again upon our way. As usual we had to wade through the water each time, and though the men helped over the women and children as well as they could, many of us got very wet indeed, and quite chilled, and we were all cold and miserable. Still, our faith never gave way—some, I know, began to doubt a little, but they had not yet lost all faith, and discouraged and wretched, as indeed we were, the greater number bore up with heroic resolution. I noticed, however, on the faces of some poor souls—men and women—a peculiar expression which it is quite impossible for me to describe. Later on I was led to believe that at that time they, perhaps unconsciously, felt the presentiment of that fearful death which so soon overtook them.

“We suffered much at night. You may remember that I told you we were only allowed seventeen pounds of clothing and bedding, and that, of course, was of little use. Sleeping in a tent, under any circumstances, is not generally pleasant to those who are accustomed to the shelter of a house; but sleeping in a tent, exposed to the keen night air of a wilderness, and with scarcely a rag of covering, was almost sufficient to prove fatal to the stoutest and strongest. During the summer time, although our fare was scanty and our labour incessant, we rose each morning refreshed and strengthened, and ready for the toils of the day. But now we crept out of our tents cramped and miserable, half-frozen, and with our eyes red and tearful with the cold. We seemed to have no life left in us.

“These things soon began to tell upon the health of every one of us, especially upon the aged and those who were sickly. Hope at last died out in their poor weary hearts. One by one they fell off—utterly worn out. Poor things! how they had longed to see the promised Zion, and now all expectation of peaceful rest on earth was over—the bitter end had come.

“We dug graves for them by the wayside in the desert, and there we laid them with many tears, scarcely daring to look one another in the face, for we felt that our own time might perhaps be nearer than we thought.

“One by one at first they fell off, but before long the deaths became so frequent that it was seldom that we left a camp-ground without burying one or more. This was, however, only the beginning of evil.

“Soon it was no longer the aged and sickly who were taken off, but the young and strong, who under other circumstances would have set disease and death at defiance. Cold, hunger, and excessive toil brought on dysentery; and when once attacked by that there was little hope for the sufferer, for we had no medicine, and it was quite out of our power to give them relief in any other way. I now began to fear for my husband, for I had noticed for some time an expression of extreme weariness in his face. Our trials had not hardened our hearts; on the contrary, I think, as death seemed to be drawing near, our affection for each other grew more pure and devoted, and in my heart I often prayed, that if it were His will, God would let us die together and rest in the same grave. We never spoke a word to each other on this subject, but we felt the more. I exerted all my strength, and day after day toiled along at his side, helping him all I could; but although he never complained, I saw in his eyes a dull and heavy look which, more than any words, told of failing strength and the approach of disease, and my heart sank within me.

“But my own troubles did not alone engross my attention; there was too much wretchedness around us to allow any one to be absorbed entirely in his own griefs. Acts of devotion on the part of both parents and children came before me daily such as would have put to shame the stories of filial and parental piety which we used to be taught at school.

“I saw one poor man, whose health had evidently never been strong, draw the cart with his two little ones in it, as well as the baggage, mile after mile, until he could hardly drag his weary limbs a step further; his wife carried a little five-months old baby in her bosom. This they did day after day, until disease attacked the husband, and it was evident that he could bear up no longer. The next morning I saw him, pale as a corpse, bowed down, and shivering in every limb, but still stumbling on as best he could. Before the day was half over, the poor wife lagged behind with her babe, and the husband did not seem to notice her. This was not the result of heartlessness on his part; I believe that even then he had lost all consciousness. He did not know it, but he was dying. Still he stumbled on, until the short wintry day came to a close, and we pitched our camp, and then I missed him. There was no time to inquire, and a chill came over my heart as I thought of what might be his fate. Presently my husband came to the tent and told me all. The poor man had dragged the cart up to the last moment, and, when the company halted for the night, he had turned aside, and sitting down he bowed his head between his knees and never spoke again. Later still, the poor wife reached the camp, and I saw her then. There was no tear in her eyes, and she uttered neither cry nor moan, but there was upon her features a terrible expression of fixed despair which I dared not even look upon.

“A few days after this, one morning as we were almost ready to start, I saw that poor mother in her tent, just as they had found her. She was cold and still—frozen to death—her sorrows were over at last, and her poor weary spirit was at rest; but on her bosom, still clasped in her arms, and still living, was her little child, unconscious of its mother’s fate.