Monday, October 20, 2014


I am the son of Edmund Z. Carbine and Adelia Rider Carbine, born February 17, 1835, in Cairo, Green County, New York. My father was broken up in his business by giving security for his brother, Francis. Soon after this he joined the Mormons coming to Nauvoo in 1842 or 1843, my father going by water taking charge of the goods of some of our relatives. The rest of us, Mother going as far as Buffalo with us, traveled by team belonging to Uncle William Van Orden. Then she and Cousin Isaac Haight went by water with his mother who was sick. The rest, my sisters, Mary, Julia and myself, went on with Uncle William Van Orden by team, going by Kirtland and through the temple at that place. After coming to Nauvoo, Father was sick and the Prophet came in and administered to him. Later, we moved out about six miles from Nauvoo between Nauvoo and Carthage on a place belonging to Uncle William Van Orden. Father taught school at a place called Camp Creek.
I was nine years old when the Prophet was martyred. I well remember the excitement at that time. The people hardly knew what to do. The Prophet was gone and Sidney Rigdon wanted a guardian put in for the church. Brother Thomas Grover, one of the High Council, spoke and told the people not to be in a hurry, the Twelve would be home soon and they would tell the people what to do. When Brigham Young came home, he held a meeting at which time, the mantle of Joseph fell on him. It was a manifestation to let the people know who was to lead the Church. His looks and ways were like the prophet. I, as a boy, was quite well acquainted with the prophet. I was sitting with my mother in the meeting and I thought it was the Prophet and told my mother so. There are a good many who have heard my mother tell this.
After the Prophet’s death, the mob spirit became very bitter, even more than before, and the people had to move into Nauvoo. They were burning houses and grain all around. The Mormons kept picket guard men on horseback quite a way out from Nauvoo. The sheriff of Hancock County was quite favorable to the Mormons and liked to see them protected in their rights. One time, a large mob got after him on horseback; when they came where Porter Rockwell was in the bush on guard he said, “Back, shall I shoot?” The sheriff said, “Yes.” Porter brought down the leader from his horse. The rest ran back as hard as they could go. I expect they thought the brush was full of Mormons.
Time passed on until the spring of 1846 when the move came. We did not have a team, but Uncle Hector Haight and his father furnished us with a team to move. It was very stormy and the roads were bad, or where we traveled, there was not much road as I remember it. The people, while traveling, made two or three camps where they put in grain for those that would follow, and those that had teams sent back to bring them that did not have teams. They would stop where the people had put in grain and build some houses. When we got to what was called Council Bluffs, the government called for 500 men to cross the continent to what is now California and fight in the Mexican War, and this, after the people had been driven out from their possessions by a mob and the government did not protect them. I remember seeing them start to cross the continent over a desert on foot--somewhat different from the way our boys go today.
We went down on the edge of Missouri to winter where Father and a brother-in-law could work to get something to eat. It had been quite an undertaking to start off for some place, we did not know where, with all we had in a wagon. Some had two oxen and two cows to pull the wagon. Some had three oxen and one cow, and some had two oxen. Where we went, it was quite sickly for our people. Father was taken sick and died on the 30th August, 1846. He was sick a week. My two sisters were very sick when Father died. Also, my brother-in-law was sick. We had to watch my sisters very closely, especially my sister, Julia. We had to watch her to see when her pulse would stop and raise her shoulders a little and give her a few drops of wine to start her pulse. We had some quite good friends among some of the outsiders and some were quite bitter. Time passed on. My brother-in-law got a chance to cut cordwood.
One morning, he started several times and came back. He said he did not know why it was but he never hated to go anywhere, so badly, as he did that morning. He went. He had cut down one tree and cut it up and cut down another and took a stick he had cut over to another tree and had been sitting on it. Some parties came by there that night and found him on the ground unconscious. He was hurt some way we did not know how. They brought him home. He never spoke.
In the spring of ‘47, we went back to what was called Winter Quarters. There the Bishop had a little land plowed for us. We put in corn and garden truck. Mother took care of two old people for which she got a little pay. One of them died. His name was Holmes. In the fall of ‘47, I went to live with a party in Missouri who had taken a liking to me. While we lived there, they were very bitter against the Mormons, especially the wife. There was a doctor boarding with them who was also very bitter. He was in trouble in Missouri.
He got shot in the wrist. There was a soldier camp below Winter Quarters, I do not know how far. My sister Mary got a chance to work for a family there the winter of ‘47. There were some Mormons who had the contract to furnish the fort with corn. They came to the place where I was staying and bought their corn. They had to stay all night there to load the corn. The doctor and the man’s wife were cross to think he would let Mormons stop on the place. The doctor said he would leave. The man said he had to sell his corn. After he had gone in the morning, the woman told me I could go. They did not want me any longer. When the man came home he did not like it. I was glad to get away.
I overtook the teams and went to the fort. I was twelve years old then. The first man I met was a brother of the woman my sister was working for. He picked me up in his arms and pointed where my sister was working. I went there and stayed two or three days, then went off to the fort. The man I first met there belonged to the band. They had a band mess (tent). I washed dishes for them the rest of the winter for my board. In the spring, I went to Winter Quarters.
I do not know the date my mother started for New York where my brother, Edmund, and sister, Eugenia stayed. When we came to Nauvoo, she thought she could get them to come to the Valley. About three days later, my sisters crossed back over the Missouri River, and I started to the Valley with strangers who used me rather badly. I was then in what was Brigham’s Company. When we got about half way to the Valley, we laid over, Heber’s Company, camping a mile or two from us. Brother William Empey, a friend of ours was in the tent that I was in. Seeing how I was used, he told me some of Presiding Bishop Whitney’s teamsters were going back from there.
He thought I could get to go through with him. I have thought since, that he had talked with him about it. He advised me to go and see. I did so. He said he could take me to the Valley but was not prepared to keep me when we got to the Valley. I told him I had a place to go when I got through. He said he would take me if the man was willing I should leave. I went back the next morning and asked him if I could leave. He said, “Yes,” but the next minute he said “No, you started to go to the Valley with me—you have to go with me.” I yoked the cattle, then told Brother Empey what he said. Brother Empey said, “You go. If you don’t, you are a fool and you ought to suffer.” So I started on the run for the other camp. I thought about what I should say when Bishop Whitney would ask me if the man were willing I should leave. He never asked me and I was glad of it. I thought I would say he told me I could go as he did, but he changed it very soon. Bishop Whitney and family were kind to me. Sister Emmeline B. Wells was his second wife then. She is now the president of all the Relief Societies in the church and she thinks a good deal of me. She remembers me when I was a boy. I was thirteen years old then.
My Uncle Hector Haight came for me the night we got in the Valley. That was September 15, 1848. The next day, September 16, 1848, we came up to where Farmington now is located. He had a place staked out. At that place we camped about two weeks, I think, in a tent. There was my uncle and aunt and William Haight who now lives in Farmington. There came one of those east winds which Farmington has. Sometimes, my uncle and aunt held the tent up as long as they could, then let it down over us. They told us to lie there until morning. They would go down below where Thomas Grover had built a cabin. It was not chinked and only had willows on the roof. The wind had blown the willows off the roof. It was as bad as out-of-doors. They came back, went in the brush and got breakfast. Then my uncle went about three miles northwest from Farmington where he had gone the fall before and built a cabin and brought the stock from the people that came in 1847. That put us where Kaysville is located.
I was ordained a priest by Bishop Kay. It was about two years later before there were any more settled about there. At the present time, William Haight and I are the oldest ones and the first who lived in Farmington or Kaysville. I lived with my uncle nearly six years and worked in haying and harvest. Several years later when I was sixteen years old, while living with him, I joined the Utah Militia. We would go together, one stand guard while the other would sleep, each stand half of the night. This was in 1852. In 1853, I went to Fort Herriman where I had two sisters living. That place is sixteen miles southwest from Salt Lake. There I joined Captain Hancock’s company which company served in what is known as the Walker War. That service is what I now am getting a pension for.
I came up to where or near where Hooperville is in the summer of ‘52 with stock of my uncle’s. My uncles and Thomas Grover came up where Captain Hooper later had a ranch and built a log cabin and brought their stock there. Captain Hooper wanted the range there and President Young wrote my uncle he thought he (Hooper) ought to have it. That ended anyone herding there except Captain Hooper until 1855. I will mention later while I lived with my Uncle my work was mostly riding the range. Sometimes I would not get home until ten or eleven o’clock at night. I lived at Fort Herriman until the spring of 1855 when I hired to H. L. Eldredge and Joseph W. Young to take care of stock west of Jordan at the narrows which divides Salt Lake County and Utah County. The range being poor at that place they were undecided whether to take them around the southwest side of Utah Lake or take them to the Hooper ranch. They decided on the latter place which I think was a good thing for me. If we had gone to the west side of the lake, we would have been with Brother Hunsaker. The Indians made a break on his stock. His son went to stop them. They took him. That was the last heard from him. If l had been there, no doubt I would have been with him.
In the fall of 1855, we went to the Hooper ranch. We had a very hard winter. It snowed all day Christmas. The next day I started over to the west mountains to gather a few stock we left there. It was a very cold week. I got back to Salt Lake City on New Years. The snow continued at times until it covered the grass so the people of Davis County turned out to gather their stock to drive them across the Weber River where there was some feed. They got them gathered about two miles from the river in a patch of sagebrush. They were hungry and it was slow work to drive them and it continued to snow. I think it would be about three o’clock. It snowed all night and all the next day. The snow was about two and a half feet deep. They let their stock go and they scattered all over the country. That would be about the middle of January, 1856. I put in the rest of the winter to gather the stock, footing it from one camp to another, my grub and bedding on my back. I drove a few to the west mountains near the Salt Lake west of Salt Lake City about forty-five miles, driving them on foot as I was to furnish my own horses, and feed was so scarce it was about all a horse could do to live without being ridden. The first day it thawed was the 20th of March.
In the spring of 1856, I located on a place about five miles below Ogden City between Mill Creek and Weber in what is called Slaterville. I helped to take out the first ditch north of Ogden River. Then I joined Captain Joseph Taylor’s company of cavalry. I worked here off and on for several years for my Uncle Hector Haight in haying and harvesting. In the fall of 1857, I was called out under Colonel West when Johnston’s Army was on the road. We camped in Ogden for some time drilling mornings, afternoons and evenings. Later, we went back to Ogden where we were allowed to work for different ones but not to get out of sight of the flag. The raising of it on the Liberty Pole was the sign to gather. One day it went up and all gathered. We then started for Echo Canyon where we were stationed. Well on in the winter, we had to stand guard many times in the snow. We did not have overshoes and not very good shoes. Many times my feet were so cold they did not get warm before morning.
In the winter after we returned, there were one hundred men called to be ready at short notice wherever they might be. They were to be fitted out by the wards where they lived with a riding horse, a pack horse, two revolvers and a rifle. They did not get the entire outfit. I joined Captain Horton D. Haight’s company. When the news came in from the Salmon River country of trouble, our company was called. The first day I had gone to work on my place near Ogden, our company was called. They sent a man for me and I was to fall in with the company that night. I did not go home. I furnished my own outfit. The next day was Sunday and we laid over at Brigham City. It snowed all day. The next day we camped in Malad Valley. It snowed hard that night. This was about the middle of March 1858. We arrived at Fort Lemhi. We stayed there several days. There were several companies there. We had orders to take ten days provisions. We ran out of flour. There was a little mill there where they ground or chopped wheat like horse feed. We had some wheat in the mill to be chopped for us to eat but did not get it chopped. We did not have a pound of flour in the mess. We had come nearly 400 miles. I went for our sacks and emptied the wheat out of the mill for the Indians. There were about twelve or more sacks piled up by the mill. An officer of our company asked me if I did not want a sack. I said, “Yes, we have not got a pound of flour in the mess.” He handed me a sack and I put it in the wagon. That night Thomas Smith, the president there, came around asking about it. I told him we had it. He said it was all right but he would like the sack when it was emptied. I think he got the sack. That was pretty good for chopped wheat. When that was gone, Thomas Ricks, who was captain of a ten, got some chopped which was quite musty. He divided with us. That was not so good. It was not very good at best, being tramped out with horses and cleaned by the wind. There was some chaff and maybe some dirt in it.
On our return to the main part of the companies, we hurried back so they could be on hand for anything that might be wanted to meet Johnston’s Army. We left some to guard the settlers. On returning, there were ten men sent on ahead as an express. They fell in with some Indians on Bannock Creek and Bailey Lake was killed. I will state here the trouble was with the Indians. Andrew Quigley and Fountain Welch were out with the stock. Andrew was shot, his skull mashed with rocks and left for dead. Fountain was shot but could walk with help. There were ten men who went out on foot about three miles and found Fountain and helped him in the fort with about a hundred and fifty Indians following them and shooting at them. There was a settlement about three miles below the fort. They were moving up to the fort. The Indians made a rush on them and killed James Miller. George McBride was killed. He rode among the stock to hinder them from driving them off. They had to go a good way around to get where Andrew Quigley was. He lay all day in the snow about the first of March. When they found him, they took off their over-shirts and tied them to sticks and carried him to the fort.
When we got back to the settlements the people were nearly all on the move south. They did not know where they would go. Later, Johnston’s army came in and went to Cedar Valley and the people came home in the summer of 1858. I was ordained a seventy in Farmington.
I continued to work on my place below Ogden, sometimes working on the Hooper ranch until the spring of 1860. I was at my sister, Julia’s place on the Weber. William Haight and my sister Mary’s daughter came up on a visit on the 4th of April. While fording the Weber River their wagon tipped over and my niece was drowned and while I was trying to save her, I came near being drowned. I went under two or three times, gave up all hopes of getting out and went as the current took me but drifted on a sand bar. Soon after I hired to D. A. and H. W. Miller for the summer, they, being partners.
The next spring 1861, in February, I married Susan Hulda Miller. In April, my Uncle Hector Haight received a letter from George R. Grant in Carson City. It was sent by pony express telling him what cattle and wagons, also what butter, eggs, and salt were worth. He could contract these things at the said price if they would let him know. My uncle answered by pony express that he and J. L. Stoddard would fit out a team. Alma Miller, later a brother-in-law, and I fitted out a team loaded mostly with salt. I went as night herder and Alma drove the team. On the road, I was taken sick with mountain fever. Then I wished I were home. Our company was made up of freighters and families. There was one woman that knew me at Nauvoo and her mother-in-law and she came around and doctored me so I got well. This woman’s name was Gould and her maiden name was Woodland. Before we got to Carson City, Grant said he had just got a letter and everything was down in price. My cousin, Horton Haight, who had charge of the Haight and Stoddard outfit, sold his teams and salt and peddled the butter and eggs. We traded our team to George Grant -- we were to get sixteen good mares and colts for it. He concluded to buy them for us. He had not got them before the boys, all but us, started home, so we hired to him and the man that bought the Haight outfit, to drive the team. They were partners. After working about two months we were in the hills after stump blocks. They were logs eight feet long and six feet through. Our wagons were very high, had square timbers twelve inches square and twenty feet long to load them on. While unlocking a wheel that had been locked to go down a steep hill, the log rolled a little. The wagon tipped over. The square timber struck me knocking me down and hurting me so I was not able to work for a time. When I got better, I concluded to go to Stockton, California to see a friend who wanted me to come.
I went to Sacramento with a friend who was freighting, and then I went on foot a little over fifty miles in one day to Stockton where Grant was to send the money to pay my wages and buy the mares. He sent only about half my wages so I could not buy the horses. He then sent Alma Miller over to help drive them over. He sent him about half his wages also. We bought a horse and Alma went back to settle with him but did not get a settlement and hired for the winter. I worked in a lumber yard some. I got a letter from Grant. He wanted me to stay until spring and he would make it right about the horses. We did not get anything for our team. Alma worked where he kept the team. He lost nearly all the oxen and Alma threw the note away. I concluded to go home. I got passage one hundred miles free on a schooner to San Francisco, took a steamer four hundred miles to San Pedro, and then went with some freight teamsters twenty miles to Los Angeles. There I bought a horse and saddle and went to San Bernardino. There I stayed a few days with Phineas Bagley. His wife was Thomas Grover’s daughter. She lived at my uncle’s when I lived with him. There were parties owing him that he bought three head of horses from, and I bought them from him at what he paid. The highest price was $25 for one horse - the others were unbroken.
There were parties that came from Utah for freight. They went to San Pedro and I was waiting for them to travel with. They came back and had one day’s start before I knew they had. Mr. Bagley came the first day with me to help me start. I had broken one of the horses to ride. I had one horse packed with grain to feed on the desert, one packed with grub and blankets, and a riding horse. I overtook them the second day, When we got down below the sink of the Mojave, we laid over one day. They called it one hundred miles. It was a drizzling rain. The next morning we had a flood. It came on us very suddenly. It carried two sacks of my grain down stream. I concluded to carry my things on a raise of ground where I left the first things. When I got back with the next, the first was floating down stream. Before I thought of my saddle it had gone down stream. I lost all the meat I had. I found my grain later. It had drifted where the current was not so deep. The water came up about an inch on the wagon boxes. It covered a flat about a mile wide or over. Most all the way it was three or four feet deep. There was one place that was not covered. That was about five or six rods wide and about forty rods long. It ran very swift. There was one family along. It was Fayette Shepherd’s of Beaver, Utah. They were the farthest out in the water. It began to wash near the wheels of the wagon. They were afraid the wagon would tip over so they tied ropes from one wagon to another then upstream to a riffle. One man walking carried a child, holding on to the rope, and another one followed, so if the first should stumble, he could catch the child. They did this until all were carried out, mother as well. It kept us there a week. The water swung north of us. We could not cross. Joseph Tanner had traveled the road sixteen times before and never was a drop of water running there before.
After losing my meat, I ate with the other men. In the mess, were Joseph Tanner, Sidney Tanner, Allan Tanner, Smith Tanner, and a man by the name of Rollins. They were very kind to me. Fayette Shepherd had his family with him. There were some more, I do not remember their names. The roads had been washed so badly, it was slow traveling. One of the men had a horse hobbled and it got drowned. I let him work one of mine and it crippled its shoulder so it was very lame, so it was hard for it to travel. It took so much longer to get to the settlements where they left flour for the first Mormon settlement. We ate two sacks of shorts Allan Tanner had brought along for feed on the road.
The Indians stole one of my horses when I got to Cedar. I left the crippled horses and the other one I had not broken. I never got either one so I arrived home with one horse and seventy-five cents in my pocket but I had had considerable experience. I was gone about ten months. The horse I brought home I paid $30.00 for. When he got fat I was offered $150.00 and would not take it and then he died -- so ended the fortune I thought I would make.
I got home in March 1862. I lived in Farmington until the spring of 1864 when I went to West Weber for the summer. I went back to Farmington in the fall. Then Andrew Quigley and I went to Promontory keeping stock for different ones. The people of Brigham City tried to drive us off but we did not drive very well. We wintered there several winters and summered at Point Look-Out and in the Malad Valley on the Bear River. The summer of 1866 Quigley and I had quit running stock together but I continued to keep stock.
The Indians had been very bad in the south in Sanpete and other parts. The last of September, I drove some stock to Farmington, went in town to tell some people to get their stock and met the Colonel. He told me he wanted me to start for Sanpete the next morning. I said, “All right, I will be on hand.” The next day found us on the road. The company was made as follows: the captain from Kaysville and twenty-one men, sixteen from Farmington, six from Centerville, twenty-two from Bountiful. Carlos Sessions and I were lieutenants. When we got to Sanpete they split us into three companies, the Captain with one, I had charge of the Farmington and Centerville boys, and Carlos Sessions had charge of the Bountiful boys. We served for two months.
The last of December 1866 my wife was taken sick with a tumor below the ear. She suffered very badly. I took her to the doctor. We did everything we could for her. The doctor said if it was taken out, it would come again. She passed away on the 26th of May, 1867.
I still continued to keep stock on Bear River and the Promontory and sometimes in Cache County east of Clarkston where Trenton now is. The latter part of the winter of ‘69 and the first part of the winter of 1870 Robert Kewley and I were on the Promontory, moving in to Cache Valley in May. On the 30th of May, 1870, Sarah Miller, daughter of Henry W. Miller and Almira Pond Miller, and I were married in the Salt Lake Endowment House.
There is one thing I should have mentioned before. In the spring of 1869, I was called to go after emigrants to the terminal of the railroad which was at Laramie City. I drove the head team down and back, Horton D. Haight was the captain. I drove four hundred miles. In our wagons, we had about one thousand pounds of flour that was to be left at different places for the people that we were bringing to the Valley. We also drove beef cattle that were to be left along the road to be killed for the emigrants. When we got to the Green River we tried to swim our stock but we could not get them to cross. The wind was blowing very hard. We started to ferry them. We put a load of beef cattle on the boat. When we got in the middle of the stream the stock all rushed to the upper side of the boat. Another man and I went on the boat to keep them quiet. We tried to drive them back but we could not. The boat was nearly filled with water and about to sink. We got behind them and ran them out of the boat. They went back where we started from. The ferryman would not cross any more that day while the wind was so bad. At another ferry, that day a boat sank with cattle and two men were drowned. The next day we ferried and went on to North Platte where we laid over several weeks waiting for orders. When we got them, we were to go to Laramie City. While fording North Platte on a riffle, the next team to me, the bridle came off one of his leaders and they turned down stream, the wagon tipping over.
The next teamster was a little careless and his team turned down and his wagon tipped over, the flour in both floating downstream. The rest of us rushed in and floated the wagons and horses to shore, then went in and took the flour out. We then went on to Laramie where some more teams were sent to us, some from Sanpete, some from Springville and some from St. George.
We had a large train going back. Most of the wagons were loaded with things belonging to the emigrants. There were about twenty teams loaded with freight for Eldredge and Company. My team was one of them. We started back. Nothing unusual happened on the road, but one child died. This ends this part. When Sarah and I were married, her father had come up the day we were married. We started for St. George, traveled about three miles and camped. It rained that night. The next day we traveled a few miles and came to a place where Father Miller was acquainted. We laid over that day, May 31, 1870. It snowed all day. We then traveled on to St. George. Later we went about one hundred miles west where two of my wife’s brothers lived, then returned to St. George, later returned to Farmington. Then in the fall we went to Clarkston, Cache County, where we made our home for sixteen years. While living there I was field committeeman, member committee on irrigation, constable for two years, postmaster about twelve years, Justice of the Peace six years. After Bishop Jardine came there, I was a chairman of a committee on building a meetinghouse, also on a committee raising means for building the Temple. I was president, director and manager of the Clarkston Co-op for several years. I, in connection with other directors, brought it up from almost nothing until it stood about the best of any store in the Valley, so the manager of the Co-op told me.
I was Bishop’s counselor for nine years, assistant superintendent of Sunday School for nine years and trustee several years. I was ordained a High Priest in Clarkston May 22, 1877, and set apart as Bishop’s counselor the same day. In the spring of 1886, I went to Parker, Idaho, worked there through the summer, moved up in the fall and arriving there the first day of November. I took a nice bunch of stock there in the spring. While we were down to move up, they followed a herd down below Market Lake. Our winter set in very early. The 15th of November was a very bad day. We lost six cows that day drowned in the river.
Soon after we got to Parker, I was chosen for Bishop’s counselor by Bishop Parker, which place I filled for nine years until Bishop Parker resigned, when I was put in the High Council. I was also school trustee for several years. I was ordained a patriarch January 20, 1902, by Apostle John Henry Smith. About the middle of February, 1902, I had a sick spell. Before I got well, my wife was taken sick on the 22nd of March with sore throat and sore tongue, which proved to be cancer. My son, William, started to Salt Lake with her. Getting to Rexburg, they consulted a doctor who thought he could cure her. We doctored with him for about two months when he said she would have to go to Salt Lake City. He could do no more for her. I wrote to my brother-in-law, H. W. Miller, that I would start for Salt Lake the next day. I took her to the hospital on May 21 and she died on the 22nd, 1902. My brother-in-law came down and stayed with me the most of the time and his kindness I will never forget.
The next thing was to return to Parker, Idaho. A good many of the people met me at the train. I will say it was cancer of the tongue. They cut her tongue off and she was not strong enough to stand it. My son E. Z. who had moved to Oregon came to Parker. The telegram company did not deliver the message as they should have done so he did not get there in time for the funeral. After spending a few days there, my youngest daughter Clara, then eight years old, and I went home with him, staying in Oregon about one month. At that time, I did not think of moving to Oregon. Everything looked extra good. My son, William, came out later and everything looked so good he per¬suaded me to move. They all thought my health would be better in Oregon, so I wrote to Ed to buy the place at La Grande, which I think was a mistake. I continued to live in La Grande. We had a good deal of sickness in the family. I had several sick spells.
About the 20th of December, 1918, I returned to Utah, spent six months in Ogden and Salt Lake City, with my daughters Clara and Julia in Ogden, and Alma in Salt Lake City. I was sick at Clara’s about ten weeks. I was in bed and she took the best care of me. On the 27th of June, 1918, I attended an Old Folks’ entertainment at Ogden where I met a good many old friends. On the 28th, I went to Salt Lake and on the 30th went to Ogden. On the 4th of July, I attended the celebration. They had a big parade nearly all the neutral nations were represented. On July 13, I left Ogden and went to Trenton. My niece, Adelia Homer, at Trenton, was very sick with rheumatism or dropsy and had been in bed six months. She lived about another month, suffered very much and passed away on the 14th.
I went to Clarkston and was received there with the greatest respect. Most of the older people had passed away but there were a good many younger people who remembered me. A good many women that had worked for us when they were girls had the greatest respect for my wife. I went to meeting and afterwards, they came to shake hands. It almost made the tears run for joy to receive such a welcome. On the 20th, I went back to Trenton, got a letter there telling me that my son, Francis, would leave on the 23rd for Camp Lewis. If I wished to see him I would have to hurry home, so I started home arriving on the 22nd; but on account of his having a crooked toe which made his shoes hurt, they took the toe off, and so he did not go until the 27th of August. Francis went to Fort McDowell but was transferred in a few days to the Presidio near San Francisco, California.
On the 22nd of August, 1918, I went to Pendleton to see my son, Everett, who was in the hospital there. He was feeling quite badly and was very anxious to come home; but not being prepared, I could not take him as I had no one at home to take care of him. This finishes my sketch up to September 27, 1918. I may write more, later. There are a good many things I expect that I have not written in this sketch, writing from memory covering quite a long time and it may not be very well written and may be hard to read if anyone tries to read it.
December 6, 1918, I started from La Grande for Portland, staying there and giving a good many blessings. Leaving there on the 27th of July, 1919, I started for Canada, my daughter Lucy going with me. I went to Stavely where my son, W. H., lived. I stayed there about three months. I was sick about two weeks while there. We attended conference at Cardston, meeting a good many old friends. I also went through the temple which was near completion. I will state here I have been in the following temples: The Kirtland and Nauvoo when a boy, the St. George, Logan, Salt Lake and Cardston. We left Canada going to Freewater, Oregon, attending Sunday School and meeting at Walla, Walla, Washington. Then we went to La Grande until December, then to Ogden, Utah, staying there for the winter and Salt Lake and Farmington a little while.
On June 29, 1920, I attended the Weber County Old Folks entertainment at the Lorin Farr Park, meeting a good many old friends. In July, I took a trip around Cache, spending about one month visiting friends and relatives, went to Hyrum, Logan, Providence, River Heights, Smithfield, Lewiston, Trenton and Clarkston. My nephew, William Homer, took me to the last three places by auto and also took me to Fremont near Point Lookout to see a particular friend, Joshua Homer. I camped at Point Lookout all summer fifty-five years ago this summer, 1920. I was taking care of stock. I met many friends and relatives in these places, met many friends in Clarkston where I lived sixteen years as you will see previously in the sketch. While I lived here one of my friends said in meeting, there never was anything for the good of the ward while I lived there I did not help in. Many of the older people had passed away.
I returned to Ogden soon after getting word that my son, Everett, had passed away. My daughter, Lucy, and I started for La Grande. He died July 31, 1920. I stayed at La Grande until the middle of October, and then I came to Portland staying with my daughter, Susie. When I came to Portland, my daughter, Lucy, stayed in for some time. Here her health had been very poor for a good while. She had been building up her system for some time for an operation. The doctor said her system would have to be built up before she had an operation. She went to Ogden where she had an operation on the 27th of November. My daughter, Clara, was with her a good deal of the time. The report was that she was getting along fine. She had passed the critical time which is the third day. We had received such news. My daughter, Clara, was with her on the 3rd of December, 1920, until 7:30. Lucy told her to go home. She felt fine and would have a good night’s rest. At nine-thirty she got a phone call that Lucy was worse. She hurried to the hospital. She was in convulsions when she got there. She came out of them, knew she would go, but wanted to live until another day. She suffered very bad and passed away at eleven-fifteen. My health had been quite poor for a time so I was not able to go to the funeral. It nearly upset me as I thought she was getting along so well and I had thought she would get well.
My health has been quite poor this winter but I am some better than I was. This is the 24th of February, 1921. I just passed my 86th birthday on the 17th. This ends this sketch for the present and I will write a few sketches that I have not mentioned. One is James Miller that was killed at Salmon River. He was my wife, Susan’s brother. George McBride’s wife was a sister of my wife, Sarah….also Andrew Quigley’s wife was a sister of my wife, Sarah. He was very badly injured several years before but he got over it. His right arm was always weak.
Going back to 1860, when I was working for D. A. and H. W. Miller, they had made a boat and were taking sheep to Fremont Island in the Salt Lake, called Fremont, afterward called Miller Island. These were about twelve feet wide. On the top of the sides of the boat called the running board we had slim poles. We would walk to the front end, put the pole down and push and let the boat pass along. That was where the water was not too deep. Where it was too deep we would sail if there was a favorable wind. We would hoist sail and sail. We did not have a very good anchor so some¬times there would come a head wind and take us back faster than we had come. Later we got a better anchor and we would wait for a wind. They got righted so they could tack if the wind was not so favorable. Sometimes when the water was not too deep we would get in the water and hold the boat and try to drive a stake but the bottom was so hard we could not drive a stake. We called it thirty miles to the island.
One time when we had made a trip to the island, the Bishop wanted me to go to Big Cottonwood Canyon for the celebration of the 24th or July. I had asked Susan to go with me. Morgan and Henry Hinman had arranged to go together, also Emeline Potter and their sisters. We got back near Farmington on the 22nd, and then we had a head wind which kept us out in the morning. We sailed in and when we got to Farmington they were hitched up and ready to start. If I did not get in they wanted Susan to go and let me follow on horseback but she said, “No.” They told me to hurry and get ready so we could go with those that were going so I did.
After I came back from California in 1862, I did a good deal of boating with them. I had a few sheep on the island. About the middle of June 1862, they had made a new boat with a center board. It was made about the center of the boat plank on edge about two feet high, plank on both sides with an opening in the middle so a two inch plank would fit in so they could push it down to stop the drift when sailing. It would hold against the sails. There were some with us and we were going to take them to Promontory to burn coal. They gave that up. The boat had not been made strong enough.
At the center board it sprung a leak. The boat nearly filled with water. D.A. Miller said “overboard with the sheep.” We had to, so we could bail. We threw over 48 head. We kept bailing with anything we could get hold of, some getting grub buckets, dumped the grub in the water. We got it bailed so we could get it caulked. We got to the island where we repaired the boat.
At another time, Joseph Miller and I made a trip to Promontory. There had been a heavy wind. The waves were high. We tried to keep the boat from the bank. The bottom was so hard our anchor would not hold so we had to let it go. The boat looked like a wreck. I was keeping stock on the west side of Promontory. We went to camp, got a team, pulled the boat out and repaired it. When we started back between Promontory and Miller Island we had a very heavy wind. We were glad to get to land.
In 18--- Daniel Miller, Jacob Miller and I started to boil salt on the south end of the Miller Island near our cabin. We had the boilers near the lake so we could pump water in them. Afterward we got in the ice. It would commence to freeze as the fresh water would rise to the top and we would have to stand on the point of the boat when there was a wind so we could sail. When we were running with the current we would throw anchor and break it and let it pass. We had to do this to prevent being driven on the shore or having the boat cut in two by the ice. When the current did not run or there was not any wind we would lie down and sleep, some of us. One time, we were frozen in the ice three days before we got out.
That winter, I had taken stock to the Promontory, turned them out without anyone with them. We thought of getting out some cedar posts on the Promontory. We took some corn to feed but gave that up so we had the corn on the island. The boat had gone to Farmington expecting to be gone about eight days--they were gone sixteen days. Hyrum Rice and I stayed to boil salt. We got out of flour. We ate mutton and parched corn for eight days. We had plenty of mutton as there were lots of sheep on the island. They did not have anyone stay with the sheep. There were not any wild animals on the island.
Another time, Daniel Miller, William Miller and I had gone for some mutton sheep. We loaded and started out about a mile from the island, then waited for the wind so we could sail as we had quit rowing.
Meredith, an old sailor, had made a very good boat. He laid about a mile from us. About sunset we saw his sails fill so we got ready to sail when the wind struck us. It nearly picked us up, Daniel Miller lost his hat, we let the sails down part way. William and I held them so if we needed to we could let them down. Daniel was at the steering oar. It was so dark you could not see anything. We set straight for Farmington.
We had a firebox made of plank with sand in it where we had a fire. We had a little compass so we could see where to go and the wind was behind us so we could tell pretty well our course. When we got where we thought we could anchor we laid there until morning. We were about three miles be-low Farmington and the water had gone back so we were nearly on the ground but the ground was slippery so we got out and pushed the boat until we could sail. We had a skiff towing but it was so rough it broke the rope and was lost. Meredith made for shallow water. He also lost a skiff. He told me later he did not expect to see any of us again.
The fuel we boiled salt with was dry sage. There was lots of it on the south point. Some of it was four or five feet high. We made our corrals of sage brush. One time when coming in with a load of salt there was no one to meet us. My boots were ripped some. We could not get to the shore so in getting out I got some salt water in my boots. The snow was quite deep and no trail, so I got snow in my boots. I would run as long as I could, I thought my feet would freeze. Finally I sat down and washed my feet in snow and went on.
These sketches are rambling, going back some years at times. Going back to 1855, the grasshoppers were so bad they destroyed a good deal of the crops which made provisions very scarce, many hardly having enough to eat, some eating bran. 1856 was the hardest year. I had located below Ogden about five miles; we were in what is now Slaterville. I think one man that I knew worked a week with a shovel and handling scrapers with nothing to eat but greens. The way our scrapers were made was a slab, on edge with two handles running back, two men riding the scraper, one handling the team. My cousin, Horton D. Haight, in 1856 had a good crop of volunteer barley. It ripened early, it was a few acres, he cut it and threshed it and loaned it to the people to live on. I got some of it. Have seen grasshoppers so thick you could hardly see the sun. I have seen them light on a patch of corn, a few acres, there would not be a leaf left by night. Sometimes, lighting on a patch of oats, they would cut the straw below the head and the heads would all drop on the ground.
One time as I was cutting oats I tried to see who would get the most oats as the hoppers always had their course to follow. They would wait for a wind or the air to take them in the course they were to follow; they would generally go south or southwest. I have seen them on Church Island where they washed off out of the lake eight or ten inches deep for a good way about the road wide. The crickets were bad in places for a number of years. There was a big black cricket about one and one half inches any other way. One time, I was at my brother-in-law, Andrew Quigley’s, in Clarkston. The crickets came and he wanted to save a nice patch of potatoes. We fought them two days, we could not drive them back, so we got back of them and drove them on through. If they came to a crick, if there were willows leaning over, they would get on them or some of them, the others would jump in and swim over. It was surprising where they came from, for sometimes there had not been any for years, and then they would come by the millions.
One time at St. Anthony and Parker, they had not been seen for years. They came from the mountains, the ditch was forty feet wide, but the crickets were coming to the crops. They fenced against them, put machines in the ditch that would run by the current and mash them. I expect this is enough about crickets and hoppers, but I have had my grain eaten as bare as the road where the hoppers were hatched. Near the grain, we would dig ditches and drive them in and bury them when they were small. Sometimes, we would throw straw around, they would get under it at night and we would burn it in the morning.
Going to Idaho, we worked $150 in the Egin ditch and $1,050 in the St. Anthony ditch, also six of us worked on what is called the last chance ditch, making a ditch about twelve feet wide for several miles. I do not remember how far it was to the land owned above St. Anthony. My son, Edmund Z, a brother-in-law, H. W. Miller, and a man and two sons were the others. We got the water to the land we owned above St. Anthony. I had two hundred acres there. Then, we sold to a company who was to deliver five hundred inches of water at my place for what I or we had done. I understand they are now taking water in that ditch north of Parker or north east, running the water in the winter and filling a big hollow to sub-irrigate the land. I raised the first grain by sub-irrigation on the Egin bench. We had two hundred acres above St. Anthony and two hundred acres at Marysville, all fenced. This finishes this sketch for the present, March 7, 1921. When I came here, I thought I would leave in December, but circumstances have been so I am still here, March 23, 1921. My health has been quite poor for some time.
He was a very stately old man, always walked straight; he was 5 feet 10 1/2 inches tall with brown eyes that never lost their sparkle. His word was his bond. He was on a note with several signers. He said to the president of the bank, “You don’t need my name on the note, I think I will withdraw.” and the banker quickly replied, “Your signature is better than all the rest.”

William Van Orden Carbine passed away May 11, 1921, at Portland, Oregon, and was buried in La Grande, Oregon.

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