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U T A H HISTORICAL QUARTERLY
Once in 1845 I was returning home from a business trip; while passing through Carthage a mob took me and put me in jail where the blood of Joseph and Hyrum Smith was to be seen, and kept me there till the sheriff, who was my friend, said he knew they could not hurt me by the law but only wanted to persecute me because I was a Mormon; "but they may bother you so you cannot get off to go W e s t this season." I had sent for Edmunds, a friendly lawyer who attended to the difficulties necessary to help us get off. The sheriff went to Nauvoo and filed a bond for my release, signed as security by Charles Price. John Vanbeck came with the sheriff from Nauvoo and bought me a horse to ride home on. W h e n we started from the jail the jailor and the sheriff said, "Don't you look back until you reach the timber or they might suspicion you." It was a task for me to keep my head straight but I did accomplish it; then we did not spare horse flesh much until we got home. I then had to wheel and cut to the best advantage to get away from my persecutors across the river. I had been working with William McCleary, brother-in-law to the Prophet, making each of us a wagon to cross the plains in. Mine was probably half done but I had to drop everything to get away and give a one-horse wagon for a two-horse wagon that looked like falling to pieces having no iron about it but the tire. I wedged and wet it with water, then put a light load in it. It was thought I might go twenty miles to a blacksmith shop. Supposed that twenty dollars' worth would fix it so I could get to the Bluffs with it, having to leave part of my family in Nauvoo, with my house and lot and all my furniture and stock and books, in fact everything that I had,—and never got anything for it. I gave my interest in the wagon shop for a barrel of flour at a certain price, the overplus coming to me. I left instructions to turn it over to the ferrymen to pay the ferry for some poor brother that had not the money to pay with. I crossed the river with my frail wagon and a pair of young bulls under the tongue. Their principal gift was in kicking which they could do without taking sight or a rest and could hit almost anything aimed at. If I had not an old pair of oxen in the lead that could not get away, or if they could they did not want to I could never have managed the bulls so well. I started for Sugar Creek. There was the first camping ground for the Saints. While crossing over a ridge seven miles from Nauvoo we looked back and took a last sight of the Temple we ever expected to see. W e were sad and sorrowful. The emotions of our mind at that time I cannot describe. The thoughts of it almost disqualify me for writing, although so many years have passed away since that time. W e got to Sugar Creek after night and found plenty of Saints there for they were scattered all along like sheep without a shepherd. This tried our faith, to start on a journey
