“As we journeyed, the weather every day grew colder. Many of the unfortunate people lost their fingers and toes, others their ears; one poor woman lost her sight, and I was told of a poor sick man who held on to the waggon-bars to save himself from jolting, and had all his fingers frozen off. Few, if any, of the people recovered from the effects of that frost. One morning they found a poor old man who had vainly tried the evening before to keep up with the rest. His corpse was not far from the camp, but it had been sadly mangled by the wolves. Then there came another snow-storm, only worse in proportion as the weather was colder, and it was with the utmost difficulty that we could be kept from freezing. We wrapped blankets and anything else we could get around us, but the cold wind penetrated to our very bones. I was told that some of the people, even women and children, who lagged behind, were whipped so as to make them keep up, and to keep life in them. I did not see this myself; but I believe, if the story was true, it was an act of mercy and not of cruelty, for to delay a moment was fatal. The captain of our hundred more than once stayed behind the company to bury some unfortunate person who died on the road: how he ever got up with us again I cannot tell, but he seemed to be as indefatigable in his labours as he was wonderfully preserved.
“Sometimes the carts came to a dead stand-still, and several had to be fastened together and drawn by a united effort, and in more than one instance the poor people gave up altogether;—they were carried on, while they lived, as well as we could; but their carts were abandoned. The stragglers came in slowly to camp the night of the storm—the people from the Valley even went back to fetch some in—and it was nearly six o’clock in the morning before the last arrived.
“The next day we remained in camp, for there were so many sick and dying that we could not proceed. Early in the morning Elder Chislett and three other Elders went round to see who was dead, that they might be buried. They found in the tents fifteen corpses—all stiff and frozen. Two more died during the day. A large square hole was dug, and they were buried in it three abreast, and then they were covered with leaves and earth, every precaution being taken to keep them from the wolves. Few of the relatives of those who were dead came to the burial—they did not seem to care—death had become familiar to them, and personal misery precluded sorrow for the dead.
“As we drew nearer to Salt Lake Valley we met more of the brethren coming to our assistance. They supplied us with all we needed, and then hastened on to meet those who followed us. The atmosphere seemed to become sensibly warmer, and our sufferings were proportionately less as we approached Zion.
“What the feelings of others might have been when they first saw the goal of our hopes—Zion of our prayers and songs—I cannot tell. Weary, oh so weary I felt, but thankful, more than thankful, that my husband’s life had been spared. He was pale and sick, but he was with us still.
“I have written too much already, Sister Stenhouse. I cannot tell you more now, but I may as well add that when we left Iowa City we were about five hundred in all. Some left us on the way. When we left Florence, and began the journey across the Plains, we were over four hundred and twenty, of which number we buried sixty-seven—a sixth of the whole. The company which followed us, and to which I have frequently alluded, fared worse than we. They numbered six hundred when they started, but they buried one hundred and fifty on the journey—one in every four. May God grant that I may never again see such a sight as was presented by the miserable remnant of that last company as they came on slowly through the Cañon towards Salt Lake Valley.”