Mary Fielding Smith's Oxen are Administered To

Mary Fielding Smith was a woman of remarkable faith and testimony. She was the wife of Hyrum Smith; her oldest son, Joseph Fielding Smith, and her grandson of the same name, both became Presidents of the Church. When Mary crossed to Utah in 1848, her son Joseph was 9 years old.


Things went quite smoothly until they reached a point midway between the Platte and the Sweetwater rivers, when one of Mary's best oxen lay down in the yoke as if poisoned and all supposed he would die. All the teams in the rear stopped, and many gathered around to see what had happened. In a short time, the Captain perceived that something was wrong and came to the spot. The ox stiffened in the throes of death. The Captain blustered about and exclaimed: "'He is dead, there is no use working with him, we'll have to fix up some way to take the Widow along. I told her she would be a burden on the company.'" But in this, he was greatly mistaken.

Mary said nothing but went to her wagon and returned with a bottle of consecrated oil. She asked her brother Joseph and James Lawson to administer to her fallen ox, believing that the Lord would raise him. It was a solemn moment there under the open sky. A hush fell over the scene. The men removed their hats. All bowed their heads as Joseph Fielding, who had been promised by Heber C. Kimball that he would have power to raise the dead, knelt, laid his hands on the head of the prostrate ox, and prayed over it. The great beast lay stretched out and very still. Its glassy eyes looked nowhere. A moment after the administration the animal stirred. Its huge, hind legs commenced to gather under it. Its haunches started to rise. The forelegs strengthened. The ox stood and, without urging, started off as if nothing had happened. This amazing thing greatly astonished the onlookers.

They hadn't gone very far when another ox "Old Bully," lay down under exactly the same circumstances. This time it was one of her best oxen, the loss of which would have been very serious. Again, the holy ordinance was administered, with the same results.

How the family loved these dumb beasts of burden. So much depended on them. They had heroic association with the family. Sixty-nine years later, Joseph F. Smith at a 24th of July celebration affectionately mentioned the oxen that brought his mother and family to the Valley.

"...My team consisted of two pairs, or yokes, of oxen. My leaders' names were Thom and Joe -- we raised them from calves, and they were both white. My wheel team was named Broad and Berry. Broad was light brindle with a few white spots on his body, and he had long, broad, pointed horns, from which he got his name. Berry was red and bony and short horned. Thom was trim built, active, young, and more intelligent than many a man. Many times while traveling sandy or rough roads, long thirsty drives, my oxen, lowing with the heat and fatigue, I would put my arms around Thom's neck, and cry bitter tears. That was all I could do. Thom was my favorite and best and most willing and obedient servant and friend. He was choice!"


(From _Mary Fielding Smith_, by Don C. Corbett, pp. 236-238)

"Widow Smith" Arrives in the Salt Lake Valley

At the death of the patriarch [Hyrum Smith] the care of the family fell upon his widow, Mary [Fielding] Smith. Besides the children there were several helpless and infirm people, whom for various charitable reasons the patriarch had maintained; and these also she cared for, and brought through to the valley the major part of them, under unusually trying circumstances.
Passing over the incidents of her journey to winter quarters, after the expulsion from Nauvoo, we come at once to her heroic effort from winter quarters westward. In the spring of 1848 a tremendous effort was made by the saints to emigrate to the valley on a grand scale. No one was more anxious than Widow Smith; but to accomplish it seemed an impossibility, for although a portion of her household had emigrated in 1847, she still had a large and comparatively helpless family -- her sons John and Joseph, mere boys, being her only support. Without teams sufficient to draw the number of wagons necessary to haul provisions and outfit for the family, and without means to purchase, or friends who were in circumstances to assist, she determined to make the attempt, and trust in the Lord for the issue. Accordingly every nerve was strained, and every available object was brought into requisition. Cows and calves were yoked up, two wagons lashed together, and a team barely sufficient to draw one was hitched on to them, and in this manner they rolled out from winter quarters some time in May. After a series of the most amusing and trying circumstances, such as sticking in the mud, doubling teams up all the little hills, and crashing at ungovernable speed down the opposite sides, breaking wagon tongues and reaches, upsetting, and vainly endeavoring to control wild steers, heifers and unbroken cows, they finally succeeded in reaching the Elk Horn, where the companies were being organized for the plains.

Here Widow Smith reported herself to President Kimball as having "started for the valley." Meantime, she had left no stone unturned or problem untried, which promised assistance in effecting the necessary preparations for the journey. She had done her utmost, and still the way looked dark and impossible.

She was assigned to the Captain's fifty. The Captain was present. Said he:
"Widow Smith, how many wagons have you?"
"Seven."
"How many yoke of oxen have you?"
"Four," and so many cows and calves.
"Well," said the captain, "it is folly for you to start in this manner; you never can make the journey, and if you try it you will be a burden upon the company the whole way. My advice to you is, to go back to winter quarters and wait till you can get help."
"Widow Smith calmly replied, "Father ------" (he was an aged man), "I will beat you to the valley, and will ask no help from you either!"
This seemed to nettle the old gentleman, and it doubtless influenced his conduct towards her during the journey.

While lying at Elk Horn she sent back and succeeded in buying on credit, and hiring for the journey, several yoke of oxen from brethren who were not able to emigrate that year, and when the companies were ready to start she and her family were somewhat better prepared for the journey, and rolled out with lighter hearts and better prospects than favored their egress from winter quarters.
As they journeyed on the captain lost no opportunity to vent his spleen on the widow and her family; but she prayerfully maintained her integrity of purpose, and pushed vigorously on, despite several discouraging circumstances.

[During this journey, the famous incident of raising one of her oxen from apparent death by a priesthood blessing took place. See: http://earlymormonsaints.blogspot.com/2016/05/mary-fielding-smiths-oxen-are.html

On the 22d of September the company crossed over "Big Mountain," when they had the first glimpse of Salt Lake Valley. Every heart rejoiced, and with lingering fondness they gazed upon the goal of their wearisome journey. The descent of the western side of "Big Mountain" was precipitous and abrupt, and they were obliged to rough-lock the hind wheels of the wagons, and, as they were not needed, the forward cattle were turned loose to be driven to camp, the "wheelers" only being retained on the wagons. Desirous of shortening the next day's journey as much as possible, they drove on till a late hour in the night, and finally camped near the eastern foot of the "Little Mountain." During the night's drive several of Widow Smith's cows, that had been turned loose from the teams, were lost in the brush. Early the next morning her son John returned to hunt for them, their service in the teams being necessary to proceed.

At an earlier hour than usual the captain gave orders for the company to start, knowing well the circumstances of the widow, and that she would be obliged to remain until John returned with the lost cattle. Accordingly the company rolled out, leaving her and her family alone. Hours passed by ere John returned with the lost cattle, and the company could be seen toiling along far up the mountain. And to human ken it seemed probable that the widow's prediction would ingloriously fail. But as the company were nearing the summit of the mountain a cloud burst over their heads, sending down the rain in torrents, and throwing them into utter confusion. The cattle refused to pull, and to save the wagons from crashing down the mountain side, they were obliged to unhitch, and block the wheels. While the teamsters sought shelter, the storm drove the cattle in every direction, so that when it subsided it was a day's work to find them and get them together. Meantime, as noted, John had returned with the stray cattle, and they were hitched up, and the widow and family rolled up the mountain, passing the company and continuing on to the valley, where she arrived fully twenty hours in advance of the captain. And thus was her prophesy fulfilled.

She kept her husband's family together after her arrival in the valley, and her prosperity was unparalleled. At her death, which occurred September 21st, 1852, she left them comfortably provided for, and in possession of every educational endowment that the facilities of the times would permit.

(Edward Tullidge, _The Women of Mormondom_, 1877, pp. 344-49)

Compiled and written by David Kenison, Orem, Utah, dkenison@xmission.com)

B.H. Roberts, Indians, and River Crossings

Brigham Henry Roberts, later a member of the First Council of Seventy, crossed the plains as a 10-year-old boy. One day, he and another boy about his age became distracted by some currants they found growing along the banks of the stream.
Forgetting the warnings of their wagon leader to always stay close to the company because of Indian danger, they lingered behind, filling their hats with the fruit. Then they ran to catch up, but as they came to the top of a hill, they were terrified to see three Indians on horses in the road ahead of them.

Now they remembered the warnings that had come from the camp leaders - stories of captives taken by Indians and either held for ransom, or else never heard of again.

Roberts later recorded that "with magnificent terror" the two boys approached the Indians, whose solemn and expressionless faces only brought more fear to the boys. As they reached the horses, one of the Indians let out a "piercing wild yell", and the boys dropped their hats with the precious fruit and ran for their lives. Henry remembered hearing peals of laughter from the Indians behind them, but the run continued until they were safely back with the camp. He later remarked wryly, "They say Indians never laugh, but I learned differently."

Not long afterwards, the La Platte river was crossed. Since the river was relatively shallow, the pioneers were instructed that all should wade across to lessen the load of the wagons. Part of the way across the river, Henry noticed a teenage girl climbing into a supply wagon to ride across; he decided to join her.

However, they soon became concerned when the wagon not only got stuck in the sand midstream, but then the team was unhitched and taken to assist other wagons that were in greater danger. As their hiding place was still unnoticed, they waited; hours passed, and still the wagon was left in the stream. Then it began to get dark, and the two stowaways realized they would have to spend the night in the wagon.

Roberts recorded that through the night, the wagon vibrated and shook as it gradually sank into the sand. The water level rose, soaking the provisions and likely frightening the children. When hunger set in, Henry took his pocket knife and slit open a sugar bag, then cut off pieces of ham or bacon.

However, in the process, he dropped the precious knife, which he had purchased in England and planned to give to his mother when he reached Utah. It fell into the river and was gone.
During the long night, Henry's older sister Polly, who was sixteen, prayed for his safety. She knew Henry was not on the east side of the river, and worried about him being left behind on the west side; when he was not found there either early the next morning, she was terrified. When he finally appeared in the supply wagon, she gave him a scolding that may have made her feel better but probably didn't do much to change the energetic young boy.

(Madsen, _B. H. Roberts, Defender of the Faith_, pp. 37-39; _Our Pioneer Heritage_, 2:280; Bergera, ed., _The Autobiography of B. H. Roberts_, pp. 26-29)

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Compiled and written by David Kenison, Orem, Utah, dkenison@xmission.com

Motherhood During the Pioneer Exodus

The great Mormon pioneer exodus began early in 1846, during winter conditions that caused considerable suffering for the Saints. Eliza R. Snow was among the number who departed during that time. One of the most-quoted statements from Sister Snow reflects on this period:


"We had been preceded [from Nauvoo] by thousands, and I was informed that on the first night of the encampment, nine children were born into the world, and from that time, as we journeyed onward, mothers gave birth to offspring under almost every variety of circumstances imaginable, except those to which they had been accustomed; some in tents, others in wagons -- in rainstorms and in snowstorms. I heard of one birth which occurred under the rude shelter of a hut, the sides of which were formed of blankets fastened to poles stuck in the ground, with a bark roof through which the rain was dripping. Kind sisters stood holding dishes to catch the water as it fell, thus protecting the newcomer and its mother from a showerbath as the little innocent first entered on the stage of human life; and through faith in the Great Ruler of events, no harm resulted to either.

"Let it be remembered that the mothers of these wilderness-born babies were not savages, accustomed to roam the forest and brave the storm and tempest -- those who had never known the comforts and delicacies of civilization and refinement. They were not those who, in the wilds of nature, nursed their offspring amid reeds and rushes, or in the recesses of rocky caverns; most of them were born and educated in the eastern states -- had there embraced the gospel as taught by Jesus and his apostles, and, for the sake of their religion, had gathered with the saints, and under trying circumstances had assisted, by their faith, patience and energies, in making Nauvoo what its name indicates, 'the Beautiful.' There they had lovely homes, decorated with flowers and enriched with choice fruit trees, just beginning to yield plentifully.

"To these homes, without lease or sale, they had just bade a final adieu, and with what little of their substance could be packed into one, two, and in some instances, three wagons, had started out, desert-ward, for -- where? To this question the only response at that time was, God knows." (See Tullidge, _The Women of Mormondom_, p. 307)

Carol Lynn Pearson, well-known LDS poetess, wrote an article in _BYU Studies_ (21:4) about the episode and tells of finding a statement of a midwife, Jane Johnston, who personally delivered nine babies on the first night in September when the so-called "poor camp" was camping across from Nauvoo. Conditions during this exodus were much different than the one seven months earlier. The Saints who had remained in Nauvoo during 1846 were mostly those who could not afford to outfit themselves for the exodus (hence the name "poor camp"), or those whose health or other conditions prevented them from traveling. But when the mobs came to Nauvoo in September 1846, they cruelly drove all the Saints from their homes regardless of condition. The account of Jane Johnston, describing conditions across the Mississippi from Nauvoo, reads:


"Had nothing to eat only half a bushel of meal and half a dozen cucumbers that were given to me by Martin Littlewood. There were a great many sick among the Saints and nothing to comfort them, and nourish them, but corn meal, until the Lord sent quails amongst us, which supplied our wants.
"I then got a tent from Brother Johnston and had women that were being delivered of child put in it. I was the mid-wife, and delivered nine babies that night. We had nothing to sweeten anything until the Lord sent honey dew, which we gathered from the bushes until we got all the sweets we wanted. I also boiled maple juice and got cakes of maple sugar." (From the diary of Joseph Smith Black, BYU Special Collections; quotes in Pearson, op. cit.)

It seems much more likely that the events Eliza described occurred during this time, and the midwife's account supports this idea. Eliza mentions that she "was informed" that the nine births occurred on that first night, but she (or her informant) probably confused the date.

However, the poignancy and tenderness of Eliza Snow's description still touches the heart. The suffering of these mothers is beyond our conception, and is a tribute both to their faith in God and to their patient commitment to what they viewed to be a divine cause.

Compiled and Written by Dave Kenison

Eliza R. Snow Spends a Crowded Winter Night in Exile

"We were two days on our way to Far West and stopped overnight at what was called the Halfway House, a log building perhaps twenty feet square, with the chinkings between the logs minus [missing] -- they probably having been burned for firewood -- the owner of the house, Brother Littlefield, having left with his family to escape being robbed; and the north wind had free ingress through the openings wide enough for cats to crawl through. This had been the lodging place of the hundreds who had preceded us, and on the present occasion proved the almost shelterless shelter of seventy- five or eighty souls. To say lodging would be a hoax, although places were allotted to a few aged or feeble, to lie down, while the rest of us either sat or stood or both, all night. My sister and I managed so that Mother lay down, and we sat by (on the floor, of course), to prevent her being trampled on, for the crowd was such that people were hardly responsible for their movements.

"It was past the middle of December, and the cold was so intense that, in spite of well packing, our food was frozen, hard, bread and all, and although a blazing fire was burning on one side of the room, we could not get to it to thaw our suppers, and had to resort to the next expediency, which was this: The boys milked, and while one strained the milk, another held the pan (for there was no chance of putting anything down); then, while one held a bowl of warm milk, another would, as expeditiously as possible, thinly slice the frozen bread into it, and thus we managed for supper. In the morning, we were less crowded, as some started very early, and we toasted our bread and thawed our meat before the fire.

"But, withal, that was a very merry night. None but saints can be happy under every circumstance. About twenty feet from the house was a shed, in the center of which the brethren built a roaring fire, around which some of them stood and sang songs and hymns all night, while others parched corn and roasted frosted potatoes, etc. Not a complaint was heard -- all were cheerful, and, judging from appearances, strangers would have taken us to be pleasure excursionists rather than a band of gubernatorial exiles.

(Tullidge, _The Women of Mormondom_, pp. 145-6)