Adelia Rider Carbine was born February 1, 1802, in Greenville, Greene County, New York, the only child of Nathaniel Rider and Julia Aner Horton.
In 1805, her father died. On her fifth birthday, her mother passed away. She then went to live with her grandmother and her Aunt Keturah Haight. She always called the latter Aunt Haight.
One of Adelia’s earliest memories was of her grandfather reading the Bible and saying how I wished I could live in these days – when those prophecies will be fulfilled – it all seemed so interesting to her.
As a child of five, Adelia attended Miss Brewster’s school, a place she was long to remember and for a very good reason. One day she and another girl were whispering together. The teacher told them to come up to her and put out their tongues. Then she took scissors and clipped off the tip of Adelia’s tongue. The other girl hurriedly tucked her tongue back in her mouth and so escaped punishment.
Before school was dismissed for the day, the pupils were ordered to go straight home and to tell no tales out of school. In spite of her sore tongue, little Adelia kept silent, but a friend told what had happened and she was withdrawn from this school. Adelia often repeated this incident to her grandchildren, and she always kept the obituary notice of Miss Brewster. In after years, it was jokingly said that she loved to talk so dearly because she had had her tongue clipped like a magpie.
There are two other incidents that reflect the harsh and cruel practices of school discipline in those days.
A boy who had seemingly misbehaved was sent out to gather chestnut burrs. These the teacher put down the back of his shirt. Then, she had a boy pound him on the back until blood ran.
The children used to play with corn silk, and one day Adelia put hers inside her dress so she would have it when school let out. But, a classmate got her into trouble saying, “Delia has corn silk in her bosom!”
“Have you?” demanded the teacher. “Yes ma’am,” Adelia replied, but spoke so low the teacher thought she said no. So, for “lying,” Adelia had to stand before class and eat the silk. “It wasn't bad though,” she recalled. “It was green and she was glad it wasn't brown.”
Adelia had beautiful dark brown hair, which hung below her waist. She often heard people say, “Look at that hair,” but it was not until she was older that she realized these remarks were not made because there was anything wrong with her hair, rather because of its beauty.
She was a sickly girl and every summer it was feared she would not live until fall. In later years, Adelia said she thought a great deal of this sickness was brought on by faulty diet. There were so many things she was not permitted to do or to eat. Tomatoes were only raised for decorative purposes. She was not even allowed to eat a raw apple. The closest she ever came to it was the hard part of a baked apple. Near the core, it seemed hard and almost raw.
When Adelia was a girl, she went with her cousin, Isaac Haight, to a revival. A clumsy, awkward man they knew, Henry Peck, got up and prayed and said, “Father, make something of me or nothing!” As they went home she said to Isaac, “How much do you think the Lord would have to change Hen’ Peck to make nothing of him?” But Hen’ Peck afterward embraced the Gospel and was a good church worker, so concludes Annie C. H. Carbine, the Lord made something of him.
On the fifteenth day, the month of February 1823, Adelia became the wife of Edmund Zebulon Carbine, a prosperous merchant of Cairo, New York, a particular man who liked everything just so, a man fond of jokes, a man with whom she was happy.
They were the parents of five children:
1. Mary Adelia Carbine, born March 1824, died November 13, 1906. She married 1) Amos Northrup, 2) Robert C. Petty, 3) George Grant, 4) William Warren Taylor
2. Edmund Zebulon Carbine, born January 22, 1827, died April 18, 1857
3. Elmira Dorcas Eugenia Carbine, born October 29, 1828, died June 17, 1851
4. Julia Aner Carbine, born November 23, 1830, died November 26, 1914. She married William Warren Taylor
5. William Van Orden Carbine, born February 17, 1835, died May 11, 1921. He married 1) Susan Hulda Miller, 2) Sarah Jane Miller
The birth of the first child, Mary Adelia, left the mother in very poor health. It was said her blood turned to milk. She and the baby were nursed by an old colored woman, Aunt Kate. The Carbine family had had slaves. They had been set free, but Aunt Kate continued to live with the family. She helped rear all the children. Baby Mary greatly preferred fat, comfortable Aunt Kate to her thin, bony mother.
Adelia’s husband was a “well-to-do” merchant, but he lost his business in this manner:
On a buying trip to New York City, he met his brother, Francis, also on a buying trip. In those days, a person did not have to sign a note. His word was his bond. Upon being asked if he would give security for his brother for $5,000.00, Edmund agreed. Later on, Francis failed in business and Edmund’s business was taken from him, no notice at all being given him.
Now, the youngest child had been named after his brother, but his name was changed and he was known as William Van Orden. He was about five years old at this time.
Soon after this, Adelia, her husband, and three of her children joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.
Adelia and her family had belonged to the Baptist Church and she had been very prejudiced against the Mormons, she having read and heard many of the stories then current about them. She had just returned from a trip to Albany, when who should call on her but her favorite cousin, Isaac Haight, the son of her Aunt Keturah. He was a Mormon Missionary and the children had been reading the Book of Mormon. He said, “Shut the door on me if you wish,” and she said, “Oh, I wouldn’t do that to a relative.”
Adelia being such a good student of the Bible, she thought she would have no difficulty whatever in getting the better of him. Instead, she was converted and was baptized December 12, 1841. Her son William was only six at the time but he never forgot how frightened he was when they cut the ice and baptized her.
It was not long before all the family except Eugenia and Edmund joined the Church and prepared to join the other Mormons in their march for a home.
Grandfather Carbine’s autobiography says:
“My father was broken up in his business by giving security for his brother, Francis. Soon after this, he joined the Latter-Day Saints, coming to Nauvoo in 1842-3, my father going by water, and taking charge of some of the belongings of some of his relatives. The rest of us, with Mother, went to Buffalo by team belonging to Uncle William Van Orden. Then she and Cousin Isaac Haight went by water with his mother that was sick. The rest, my sisters Mary and Julia, went with Uncle William Van Orden by team to Kirtland where we went through the temple. After coming to Nauvoo, Father was sick and the Prophet came in and administered to him.”
Later, the family moved out about six miles from Nauvoo on a place belonging to Uncle William Van Orden. There, Father taught school at a place called Camp Creek. (Mrs. Osborne who lived across the street from us in Rexburg, Idaho, was one of his pupils at this place.) But the mob spirit was so bad they had to move back to Nauvoo.
The boy, William, was nine years old when the Prophet was martyred. Anti-Mormons were now very bitter; houses and grain fields were being burned all around Nauvoo.
William was in the meeting when the mantle of Joseph fell on Brigham Young. He said, “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 during the meeting. There are a good many that have heard my mother tell this.” His mother often related how he said to her, “See, it sounds like him, too.”
In the spring of ’46, Hector Haight furnished Adelia and Edmund a team so they could leave Nauvoo. It was stormy and the roads hardly more than trails. When they arrived at Council Bluffs, they saw the Mormon Battalion start out to march across the desert.
From Council Bluffs, they went to Hancock County, Missouri, for the winter so that Father and Mary’s husband, Amos Northrup, could find work and so buy provisions. Now tragedy struck. The husband and Father fell sick – cholera. After one week of suffering, he died. This was April 30, 1846. Mary, Julia, and Mary’s husband were very ill and all required special nursing, especially Julia. At times, her pulse seemed to stop. Then they very carefully raised her shoulders and poured some wine into her mouth.
When these three had recovered, Amos went out to cut some cordwood. He said he hated to go. He had a presentiment that something bad was about to happen. He never came back. They found him in the woods – dead. He had been struck on the head. It was generally believed that he was murdered by anti-Mormons.
Now, there were three women and a little boy of eleven. It was a cold house that winter. Water froze when it was taken off the fireplace. The latter was their only means of heating and cooking. William’s father had never permitted him to touch an ax. Now, he had to provide all the firewood. He cut down trees and the women helped roll them on the fireplace. They would cut a back log which they would dry, then keep rolling green logs in front of that.
When spring came, they returned to Winter Quarters. Here the Bishop had a plot of land plowed for them and they put in some corn and vegetables. Adelia cared for two old men for which service she received a small amount of pay. The Church paid her. It was difficult for her, the men being irritable and each doing all he could to rile the other. One of them, a Mr. Holmes, died.
Now, another winter was upon them and the children sought work. Mary worked for a family in Winter Quarters. William worked in Missouri part of the time and washed dishes in the army camp band mess below Winter Quarters for the remainder of the winter.
In the spring, Adelia left for New York, hoping to persuade her other children to join her in the trek to the Valley. Julia and Mary went back across the Missouri, after bidding her goodbye, William left for the Valley.
Adelia stayed in New York State for five years, but her children did not join the Church; nor did they agree to leave the old home state and go with her. While Adelia was there, she earned her living by braiding hats. It was a hard time for her. She, who had once been the richest among her relatives, was now the poor relation. Her “comedown” pleased some of her most envious kin. Then, there were other relatives who were bitterly antagonistic toward the Mormons. But, on the whole, she felt she was well treated.
During the visit, her daughter, Eugenia, died of cholera at the age of twenty-one. The Doctor had left pills of two colors for her to be given at certain times. A little girl had meddled with them, losing the ones she needed to save her life.
Adelia left New York and crossed the plains to Utah in 1855, arriving in Farmington where she was reunited with her children. She kept house for her son, William, and lived with him for the rest of her life, except six years spent with her daughters.
During this period of her life, Adelia received notification of the death of her older son, Edmund Zebulon. He died April 1857, in New York City, where he had gone to learn the cutlery trade. The steel filings poisoned him. He was buried in the Masonic Cemetery.
William married Susan Hulda Miller, February 25, 1861, and Adelia continued to live with them in Farmington. During these years, the women were often alone, William keeping stock at the Promontory, Brigham City, Point Lookout, Malad Valley and Bear River. Adelia was with Susan when her first born son died of diphtheria. They sometimes spent the summer in West Weber, and there Edmund Z was born September 15, 1864. After Susan died, May 26, 1867, Adelia took care of little Ed.
In 1870, William married Sarah Jane Miller, a double cousin of his first wife. They moved to Clarkston where they made their home for sixteen years. This must have been a happy time for Adelia. Her son had done well financially and she had the pleasure of seeing him take an active and important part in civic and church affairs. It must have seemed good to be prosperous once again. And her health had been good ever since she was fifty. Life did not stand still. Sarah Jane and William presented her with twelve grandchildren, three of whom died in infancy.
For six of these sixteen years, Adelia was away from Clarkston visiting her daughters, Mary and Julia, in southern Utah.
Uncle Will says in a letter:
“Our two Aunts, Mary Adelia and Julia Aner, were both married to William Taylor (Aunt Julia was first wife). They both lived at New Harmony, about forty miles from St. George. Grandma had been making her home with them but determined to go back with us. Both father and the girls tried to get her to stay where she was, trying to tell her it wasn’t safe for her to make that trip so late in the fall. But, she said she would go if she knew she would die on the way, and she got her way at that.”
He says this was in the fall of ’82 when William and his family had been visiting Sarah’s parents in St. George and his sisters in New Harmony.
It is said Adelia was a bit jealous of Grandma Miller, and since Susan, a babe of one year, took more to this grandma than she did to Adelia, she never quite forgave her. Susan says she was never a favorite of her Grandmother Carbine.
Adelia’s days of pioneering were not yet over. When she was 84, William moved his family to Parker, Idaho. Adelia did not go with them but left a little later, by train, and they went to Market Lake to meet her. I am thinking now she must have hated that cold country. And there she was to remain until her death 15 years later.
The first winter in Parker there was nothing to see but snow. One could look outdoors and no sign of human habitation except Ed’s house and the roof of another dwelling. Adelia was severely ill. Susan, not yet six, looked outside and then at her Grandmother, “Do you think you’ll die, Grandma?” Grandma said, “I don’t know.” Susan then said, “If you do, Grandma, do you think anyone will come to the funeral?”
I guess life wasn't dull for her, though. It can’t be in a big family. Three more grandchildren were born. Some of the boys married. She was great-grandmother to many children before she died. She saw boys go off to the Brigham Young University at Provo. How she must have enjoyed this, for she was a well educated woman for her day, as were all her children, except William, who was so young when they began their wanderings.
Adelia had her pets among the children. They were Lucy and Francis, especially Francis whom she named. She couldn’t sleep until he had kissed her good night. When he teased her, she blamed it on Julia.
The latter [Julia] says,
“An addition was built on the back of the house so she had a room next to the kitchen, so that it wouldn't be so hard for Mother to take care of her, as she was confined to her room for the last few years. “Before her room was built, she had a shelf over her bed where she used to keep some of her things.
Francis was her pride and joy. He was so full of mischief, but she thought he couldn't do a thing. Every day he would get on her bed and get into her things, every day I got a scolding for getting into her things. But she finally caught Francis in the act.
“I remember her going to Church in her Sunday bonnet. It was made of black satin and tied under the chin. For everyday occasions, she had a cap she wore in the daytime. This was made of black lace over black sateen and trimmed with black satin ribbon. She always wore a long black dress. When she went to Church, she wore a black cape over the black dress. She carried herself so straight and always looked so dressy.
“Until the time of her death, Grandma could talk religion and politics with anyone she could find to talk with. She liked to have the Bible read to her. Just before her death, I spent quite a lot of time in her room. Her grandson, Ed, and Alma, were married. Will had just returned from his mission. Dan, Susie, and Lucy were going to the Ricks Academy at Rexburg, and Mother was busy, and she wanted someone to read to her from her big Bible. I spent part of every day with her. I would read until she fell asleep, then I would slip out, trying not to awaken her. The Bible isn't very interesting reading for a child. I would read until I came to a word I couldn't pronounce, and then spell it for her to tell me what it was. I spent most of the time spelling. Just before Grandma passed away, she sang, “Oh, My Father,” from beginning to end. I never hear that song without thinking of her. She had been unconscious all day, hadn't recognized anyone. The house was so quiet. Then all of the sudden, she started that song in a weak voice. Then she passed away. That was one of the songs at her funeral.”
Once she picked up a hatchet to cut some kindling and cut her finger instead. It hung by the skin, and nobody was home to help her. So she bound it up, and it grew back on, only a little line showing where the cut had been.
She had a wonderful memory and loved to talk. She knew and liked to talk about United States History, the Bible, politics and religion.
My mother can remember seeing her in her room crocheting or knitting beautiful lace. She says she looked so smart.
Adelia used to write quite a few letters. Susan remembers her writing to a Mrs. Littlebrant and to her husband’s cousin, John Lennon, of Cairo, New York. His mother was a sister of Mary Crooker, her Husband’s mother.
I remember my father saying how well she liked her bear meat.
Mrs. Fred Richards (Caroline Laub) once told me of visiting the old Grandma Carbine in Parker. She said she was “an awful talker” and that she seemed bitter over pioneer life. Also, she showed some pretty things she had brought from her home in the east.
She liked to read Sarah’s magazines and then tell her what was in them. So, Dan was told to give the magazines to his Mother first. In that way, she could read them before she knew all about them. Then she would give them to Adelia.
When it came to politics, Adelia was an orthodox Democrat. She once told Brother Donaldson he ought to be cut off the Church for being a Republican.
Adelia’s old family Bible was burned in the fire which destroyed the home which had belonged to her son, William, at La Grande. She would sit in her chair and read and snore, then read some more. A few leaves would turn, so she would think she had read three chapters, whereas she had probably read only three verses. But, she could always tell what was in the verses if anyone tried to “trip her up.”
Grandmother Adelia walked with a bamboo cane and it could be heard tapping as she walked through the house. A dress was not considered complete until it had been torn and mended by Grandmother. Her stitches were perfect.
For years, she had said she thought she would choke to death. In the spring, she always said she knew she would die when the leaves fell.
When she did pass away, it was December 5, 1899. What a cold ride it was to the cemetery, as at that time the horses had to walk in a funeral procession. There was a large crowd at her funeral.
Her life spanned nearly a century, and how we wish we knew more about her than the incidents herein recorded. What one would give for just one of her letters! And are there no pictures of her?
The above incidents were written by Aulene Carbine Romney.
OTHER MEMORIES ABOUT ADELIA RIDER by Aulene Carbine Romney compiled with notes with various discussions, Contributed By keyre · 2013-07-15
Our mother sang the songs to us that Grandmother Adelia sang. It is said she was a good singer. Some were religious songs of the Savior and some were probably sung at revivals (as she told mother of going to revivals). There’s one to soothe a crying baby and some for amusement. I don’t suppose we will ever know them all.
Mother said she was a “chatterbox” and liked to talk and was very knowledgeable on politics. She was a Democrat as was her son. She once said to our father, “Eddie, don’t you ever let me hear of a Carbine being anything but a Democrat!” I think Papa was a ticket scratcher like me and voted for the man he thought the best regardless of party.
About the last time mother visited me at the Horse Shoe Ranch as we were sitting together one evening I was crocheting some lace and mother asked to look at it. I passed it over and she said, “It’s pretty. I would like to have a slip with some of this lace for burial.” I said, “I sure will make it for you. Would you like a white taffeta dress to go with it?” As she looked at the lace she said, “Yes. I have always regretted that I didn’t make one for Grandma Carbine. Grandmother Adelia said to me, “Annie, I know I won’t have a new petticoat for burial and I wish you would run yarn through the hem of mine. Then after you wash and iron it, pull the yarn out and that will make it look like it is new.” Mother said, “I did do that, but I have always wished that I had made her a new one.”
Sometime back, I wrote each of the girls and asked them to write anything they remembered mother telling them about Grandmother Adelia. Myrtle was sick at the time and Ida wrote what she remembered mother saying about her. Both Myrtle and Katie said they remembered her as being a tiny little person and always very kind. Katie said, “She had a tiny little room where she spent most of her time. Her eyesight was almost gone and she could only tell each child by size.” “She had a nice feather bed and would make her bed very pretty and neat, and when her back was turned, Francis would jump in the middle of it and Julia would get the blame.” She would always greet us sweetly and say, as she put her hand on our heads, “How are you, dear, let’s see, are you Francis or Clara.” Her mind seemed real bright and her voice was low and kind.
Myrtle remembered she always wore a black dress and a little white ruffled cap. She didn’t know whether she wore the cap because it was stylish or to keep her head warm or just to take care of her hair. She had her own little room with a bed and rocker and a little table with her big Bible that she read a lot, and a heater. Her eyesight was quite poor and she wore glasses to help her read. When the kids came into the room, she could usually tell them by their size. She would say, “Is it Myrtle? Come give Grandmother a kiss.” And she also remembers her as being so kind and patient. She seemed to love the grandchildren very much.
Thelma remembers mother telling her in speaking of her marriage, Grandmother Adelia said, “We were married in the springtime when the birds took their mates.” And she remembers too, of her telling Papa Edmund never “let me hear of a Carbine being a Republican!” Then Thelma remarked, “She must have been a very alert, wise and wonderful person, lots of character, and a great personality.” One thing I remember mother telling of Grandmother Adelia observing our Grandmother Susan Hulda. She wore hoop skirts and Grandmother saw such a clean, pretty petticoat with dainty handmade crocheted lace.
She admired Susan Hulda so much and wanted her for her daughter-in-law. And being a wise mother and knowing her son, she plotted, using reverse psychology. William then came to the girl’s defense picking out her good qualities, while all along mother’s tactic had the desired effect and inside she was smiling to herself.
I don’t remember much about this Grandmother, but I remember her room and how her bed was located and of standing by the window so that she could see how tall I was. I remember staying overnight at Grandfather’s home and of Clara carrying a candle as we went to bed, and of how she blew out the candle just before we got into bed. Katie said she liked to stay overnight at their home too. She and Francis were great friends.
The heart’s deep anguish
Only those can tell
Who’ve bid the dearest
And the best farewell
LETTER TO ELMIRA D. E. CARBINE FROM ADELIA RIDER CARBINE
Elmira D. E. Carbine
To the Care of William Pearson
Catskill, Greene County, New York
June 3, 1846
I take my pen to write to you with feelings that cannot be described. You no doubt think me negligent in writing and have expected a letter before this time but I have put it off on account of our being undecided about what we should do this spring and poor health. We are none of us very well but are better than we have been. I have been almost helpless for nine months and not able to do anything of any account. I cannot sew for my sight is almost gone so that I cannot thread a needle and I (fear) you will never have many more letters written with this hand.
I wrote a number last winter and fall to you that you never got but I know they were directed right. I wrote to Mrs. Rose, likewise your father wrote some in Nauvoo and I think he directed them wrong. We did not receive your January letter until April and you may imagine our anxiety. Austin Newcomb wrote that he thought you were indifferent about coming. But I thought it was his opinion only, but if you had written your mind about coming here before your Uncle William wrote I should not have troubled you with my opinion, which you called desperation. Yet the only difficulty that I can see would be in going from Philadelphia to Pittsburg, and the credit of those that engage to see you safe there.
It would seem that you thought that your Mother did not know the danger that young girls were in when traveling, and the character of steamboat captains, but insults to a young lady on the Ohio would not be tolerated and on the Mississippi there would be no danger for there are always people enough that would protect in so short a journey. I should not be willing to have you come by the lakes for there is a great difference in the manners of the eastern and southern gentlemen. I believe, and I could tell you the whys and wherefores if I could see you. I believed you had the courage to do it, for I judged from what you were when a child appears from what you and Austin write that you are not willing to come with a company of strangers, that is the way that I have always expected you to come (if you came without Edmund) since (E. Fuller ?) came here, but when your letter was received, we were at a stand what we should do.
We were unwilling to leave you if there was a prospect of your coming to us. Edmund could come better without you to where we are going than he could if you were with him, and if you had treated Austin differently. I presume that Edmund and you might both have come up with a company if you chose to, but after a severe struggle I made up my mind that if we stayed near here you would never come, and I must give you up and never expect to see you again and I thought I had become reconciled to it but when the New York brethren came in and we heard some that we were acquainted with expressing their pleasure at meeting them we felt that when some rejoice others mourn, but I have become calm again.
I know that if I am faithful, although I should never see you again in this world we shall meet in the morning of the resurrection. I grieve to hear your conduct toward Austin. I expected something of that kind had taken place by what he wrote, but what it was I did not know, until you wrote – now my beloved child do not think that I would willingly hurt your feelings and unless I thought it for your good I would say nothing about it –
Austin’s wife writes that you came up to visit your friends after Austin came home and did not visit them. I should have thought that you would have wanted to hear from us and talk with him after his staying with us. We would any of us have gone ten miles on foot if we were well to have seen a Pearson that had stayed a day or two with you, but you slighted him and his children which you will touch his feelings the most of anything. Was it not an unkind act? Had he injured you or yours in any way that you should treat his family thus? There was a time when you complained that you were neglected by friends in Greene County that they neither wrote nor visited you. Mary F. would pass you without stopping. But Austin called when he had an opportunity.
He offered to fetch you with his family, but you wrote that Mrs. Pearson thought you could not go on deck. You might have known that he would not put his family in anyplace that would be very uncomfortable, and you say he was not very urgent for you to come. Of course, he would not urge you to accept of his offer.
You tell me that you did not know him so well as you do now, that it is having such men in the church that there is so many stories told. So, was it for that, that your mother had so many falsehoods told about her by the Baptists in Goshen, wretched by the good, fine Methodists and Presbyterians, infidels and drunkards in the peaceable town of Windham among those lofty people where everyone enjoyed the blessings of a free government equally, have you forgotten those things? My dear child, if you know Austin N. as well as some of his friends knows him; you would admire him as much as you now condemn him. But, the time is coming when the secrets of men’s hearts and their secret actions will be revealed, and they will be judged in righteousness, and then perhaps A & L Newcomb will stand approved before the throne of Jehovah while some that are called moral and pious will receive the reward that they have escaped here. I am sorry that you have forgotten what you once knew, and by your writing you would not enjoy yourself with us, but the Mormons as they are called are my people, their God is my God, where they live, I live (If I can) where they die, I die, and there will I be buried.
You see that I cannot come back. As to the hypocritical cant that there are evil men, bad men, the innocent have to suffer with the guilty, and such like expressions I have seen and heard so much of it that I am sick of it, and you would be too if you were here, it is the cant of those that would shoot us down like wild beasts, and it grieves me to see that my beloved child is partaking of that same spirit though she does not know it. Do others suffer for the guilty? Do not other churches have bad men in them?
If Elder Martin is in Windham or at Austin’s you can go there, you can hear all about us, and if you should ever want a friend, and Austin lives there, he will be a friend, and he would protect you. I shall write to them to overlook your indifferences to them.
I must now tell you where we are. We are on the west side of the Mississippi at what is called Jack Grove in Iowa. I commenced this letter on the banks of the river this morning. There were many tents and wagons around us but they were all strangers. It rained hard and I commenced writing to you. It has partly cleared and we have come up to our friends. Our habitation is a wagon covered over with bed ticks, wired and grooved, so as to keep out the rain. By our side are Hector and his family. Next to them is Isaac. Uncle is back of us. I heard him and our new aunt is talking just now. He has got a smart wife and a go ahead. She is Moses Martin’s mother. Isaac was sick and could not go in the winter. We were in East Fullerton, but he went away five weeks since I was confined to my bed most of the time at that time. Amos and Mary went with him. Mary was not well when she went.
We have been staying here three days on account of losing cattle. They have found all but our cow. We shall go tomorrow without her in the morning. She was the best in the camp. We are a family of brethren, if one loses all suffer. But, we enjoy ourselves very much. We have excellent singing. We have those to lead us and laws by which we are governed. We are driven from an independent state which is stained by the prophet’s blood.
The best house that I was in, in Nauvoo was Moses Martin’s. He has been sent back from the camp to go to England. He will go to Windham and if he can find you, he will call. He has to go and leave his family in trying times. But, he never refuses to go when sent. His wife is an excellent woman. She says nothing against his going though the tears start when she speaks about it. I do not know certain whether we shall go through to the Pacific this summer or not but I think we shall. At any rate, we shall go beyond the settlements. We shall suffer for water, and the heat will be very oppressive, and I am not able to sit up near all the time when in a house, but if my bones fall in the wilderness it will make little difference.
Do not lament for me, death has no terrors to me. I am willing to be released as I am willing to suffer as long as appointed. There will no elders be sent out to preach, nor has there been any only to call in the branches since Joseph and Hyrum Smith’s death. The gospel is about being sent from the Gentiles and the reason that I left as I have was on that account. I wrote to you, the particulars last fall but you did not get it. Your father has not had time to write, but will write to your Uncle W. soon. Julia wishes to see you, but she appears more reconciled than she was. She has it very hard to take care of us.