Gertrude

 Gertrude

I thought maybe today I would share something about someone I actually knew.  I was 10 years old, almost 11 when my Grandmother, Gertrude (Jackman) Montague passed away...but I had developed a strong impression of and love for her in that mount of time...she had made a deep imprint on my soul.

In looking for something else (hw often is this the case) I ran across two separate remembrances of her by two individuals, each of which capture a different aspect of her multi-faceted life.  I will share parts of eac of them here.

The first is from a friend.  She writes:

Gertrude was a pleasant hard-working woman.  She always had a smile and a good sense of humor  and was very east to associate with...

She was always helping someone besides keeping their home and family together.  She also had a nice family and she worked hard for them and loved them very dearly.

My husband lived close by them and after I moved to Payson I met Lucille Kinder Johnson and she took me to visit Gertrude and her family.  That was when I first met her.  I really liked her.

Then WPA was introduced in Payson.  She became a nurse and helped many people.  She was paid by the WPA which was a work project.  

After Bus & I were married and it was our second son when  Curtis was born.  Gertrude came to our house morning and night to take care of me & the baby.  That was in 1937 and we really appreciated her and what she did for us.  And then in 1940 when our second daughter was born, we had Gertrude come again to care for me and the baby...She was a very good nurse.

We always felt better after visiting with her.  I remember her walking everywhere she went.  She was indeed a good mother, a good housewife and home maker and a good friend.  I am glad that we knew her.

And this from a nephew, William Dean:

She was kind and cheerful.  She had a happy personality.  She loved her family and worked hard to make a good home for them.

In hard times she would fill all of her bottles with fruit, then fill several honey cans with peaches, and as the bottles were empty in the winter she would put the peaches form the cans in the bottles.  She raised a garden...chickens, pigs, and kept a cow for milk.

She cared for women who were confined with baby’s, and worked for sick people.  She was a good worker and always brought a happy spirit into any home that she entered.

She loved her parents and was always ready too help them when they needed her.  She had many friends and the neighbor children loved her and she had a yard full of them a lot of the time.

I have many memories of her, but I will share just two.  She had what seemed to me a huge upholstered rocker, and it was a competition to climb on her lap, it seemed that there were always two or three of us there at any given time, and she would just laugh the most wonderful laugh...and she would read to us, or tell us amazing stories...and I always felt such love and security on her lap in that big rocker (as I type this, I can hardly see the page through my tears).

By the time I was old enough to remember, Grandma had married a fine older man, Leo Condor, and lived in a rural area outside Richfield, Utah.  My family loves to tell the story of when I, probably all of five years old, came running breathlessly into her kitchen, grabbing her by the hand, and taking her hurriedly outside to see the chickens that had invaded her yard.  I think that was probably the first time I had seen free-range chickens, outside a coop.  She very patiently accompanied me, and shared my sense of amazement at these feathered creatures that she had seen every day for many years.

I still love my Grandma...I hope now you do too.  

 TWO ENTRIES INTO THE VALLEY

As we approach Thanksgiving, I thought it appropriate to note two of our ancestors’ entries into the Salt Lake Valley...separated by over eight years...after long treks across the vast and often treacherous plains.

The first, more historic and still remembered, was celebrated with little fanfare; the second, no longer remembered by any but angels and descendants, was celebrated with great fanfare.

From Levi Jackman, my great great great grandfather, who entered the valley with Parley P. Pratt’s party July 22nd, 1847, two days ahead of Brigham young’s party:

“July 22- This morning a part of the camp that we had left came up with us and others had to stop because of sickness.  Our movement was slow for it took all the able-bodied men from one-half to three-fourths of the time to make the road so that we could possibly get along.  It took us till 4 p.m. to fix the road and go about four miles.  We had to pass through a canyon that was full of timber, mostly small maple and the bluffs came almost together at the bottom.  And when we finally got through, it seemed like bursting from the confines of prison walls into the beauties of a world of pleasure and freedom.

We now had entered the valley and our vision could extend far and wide.  We were filled with joy and rejoicing and thanksgiving.  We could see to the west, about 30 miles distance, the Sale Lake, stretching itself northwest to a distance unknown to us.  And the valley extending far to the north and south.  No timber was to be seen only in the mountains...

July 23- We went a short distance north to a small grove on a little stream and camped.  Brother P. Pratt called the camp together and dedicated this country to the Lord.  We then commenced plowing to put in a little early corn, buckwheat, potatoes, peas, beans, etc.

The soil was good and before night we had put in seed.  We felt to thank the Lord that we had been preserved on our journey; that no lives were lost, that we had found a good country of land where we thought our enemies could never find us and where we could worship God unmolested.  According to our measure, we are 1040 miles from Winter Quarters.

Saturday, July 24- 

About noon, Brigham Young and company arrived and we had a time of rejoicing without restraint.”

Humble beginnings...

From my great great grandmother Sophia Bush Stradling, whose wagon train arrived Tuesday, September 25th, 1855:

“After a slight frost during the night, the day was pleasant in Great Salt Lake City.  The 1st division of P.E. Company consisting of 46 wagons arrived in the evening...Met by Band.  Pres. Young met the company at the camp.

Erastus Snow and lady, Sister Ballentine and others met the Company Sep 24th and stayed overnight with them.  Night spent in feasting, dancing, music, prayer and general rejoicing at the end of a perilous journey.  Next day, led by a band on horseback, with their flag born by two young men on horses marched into the city, corralled on Union Square and were addressed by Brigham Young and Heber C. Kimball.”

Quite the welcoming committee!

By that time the Perpetual Emigration Fund had been established. The Bushes were beneficiaries (The P.E. mentioned in the first paragraph)...they missed out, however, on the fund being extended to help immigrants from overseas to cross the oceans, which was not incorporated until 1857.

Window Into a Prophet’s Heart

 Love

It is hard t believe it has been three months since I last published on this page...for those who noticed, I beg your indulgence 😏.

For this one, I am branching into some other records to which I had access.  In my last year at BYU, I took a class for which our assignment was to write a paper using only primary documents.  I knew I was related to Julina Lambson (the second wife to Joseph F. Smith and mother to the prophet Jospeh F. Smith Jr.), though at the time, I was a little confused as to how directly.  This gave me access to some of her journals and writings, kept in the archives of the Church History Library in SLC.

I learned there that the Prophet had lost his eldest daughter at a very young age.  Joseph F. Smith had a tender heart, especially as a parent, and it is exposed in parts of letters Julina shared in her writings.  I will share here the snippets I recorded:

From copy of a letter dated June 12, 1870:

Dear Mother and Edna,

I scarcely dare trust myself to write ...even now my heart aches and my mind is all chaos.  If I should murmur, may God forgive me, my sole has been and is tried with poignant grief, my heart is wrenched almost asunder..  I am desolate and my home seems desolate.

The morning before she died, after being up with her all night (for I watched her every night) I said to her, “My little pet did not sleep all night.”  She shook her head and replied “I’ll sleep today, papa.”

And a little later, this:

Lose her? My priceless treasure Jewel!  Whose angel form lighted the darkness of this world...lose my first born, my “Dodo”?  No! No! She is mine, the gift of God, too pure, too lovely to live on earth.  <She> has gone...to <her> glorious home with God.  Lose <her>?  Not while the bright stars of innocence, purity, and love shine for me to guide my erring footsteps back to their bright home.

Oh, I will come, my Dodo, for thou art still the soul of Joy and happiness to me.

Julina summed it up this way:

I have had Eleven Children.  He has loved them all with as great a love as a human could have, but he never got where he could talk of his Dodo without tears in his eyes. 

Coming Home At Last

On October 7th, ‘65 I got my discharge and started for home.  Had to go down to Hannibal, Mo., then across by rail to St. Joe then up the Missouri River by steamboat to Iowa, so I got a chance to see more of the southern aristocracy and the more I saw of them the more I hated them.  They were making desperate efforts to get pay for liberated slaves.  Before I got home the other soldier boys were all discharged and at home working hard to repair the damage of the war and get ready for winter.  So there were none to greet me, only my mother, sisters and a few friends.  Now I must paddle my own canoe.  The little $8 pension was payable in paper currency worth forty cents on the dollar and I must go to work.

My brother-in-law, Cutler, had sold his farm and was ready to start for Missouri, and I decided to go with him.  So we went with wagons and teams down to Clay County, Mo., where we found an old saw mill for sale cheap, and as I was a good saw mill man and knew nothing about soft jobs, we bought the old mill.  Although my legs were badly disabled I had the finest pair of lily white hands  that ever ’crossed the pike’, so I lit into hard work, never counted the blisters, but they were plenty at first.  We run the old mill for all it was worth and were making some money, but our troubles were not all ended yet.

One night after we had finished a hard day’s work in the mill and going home to rest, there came three bandits who shoved their pistols in our faces and took our pocketbooks.  They got about $20 from me and probably twice as much from Cutler, then went to Cutler’s house and ransacked it from end to end, threatening all the family if they did not dig up more money.  I told my sister not to get scared and she held her nerve very well, and there was over $500 secreted in the house which they didn’t find.  There was a tin can sitting on a shelf nearly full of silver coin with a few old screws and nuts on top and they looked in it and left it.  Then they took a few suits of the best clothes in the house and left.

They caught us totally unarmed and unprepared for such an emergency so had it all their own way.  I presume two of them were Jesse and Frank James and I have no idea who the third man was.  After this little experience we got arms for every man and boy of us, but they never tried it again.  If they had there would have been a shooting match.

Soon after this I had another mishap while working at the mill.  My wooden leg suddenly slipped on some ice and forced my knee joint to bend tearing some ligaments loose where they had adhered to the bone.  It hurt worse than when it was first shot.  The blood which had no outlet turned black.  The doctor was called in and by faithful application of poultices for a few days the inflammation was subdued and in two weeks I was able to go back to work, and from this time on the knee would bend further which was a great help and just what was needed.  From this time on I was able to do good work and made a good living for myself and my good mother and she lived a happy and contented life to the good old age of 90 years.  My hair came back to it’s original color and remained so for thirty years.

This is the end of James Farley Lambson’s story, except for a summary paragraph which I posted about this time last year, and a poem of which I posted a few stanzas.  You can read these there, or in the Our Lambson Family pp230-231.  The whole history which I have been posting in segments for the past several weeks can be read at pp225-231.

  

Kentucky, Keokuk, and More Leg Procedures

In the fall we were moved to Louisville, Ky., where we were placed in large wooden buildings.  While there my hair all came out and left me bald, then it grew in very slowly and was gray.  My amputated leg was healed up but the right leg was still very sore and lame.  I tried hard to walk, but could not.

Here the health of the men was far better than it was at Nashville, and there were but few deaths.  Late in the fall the Iowa men were sent to Keokuk, Iowa where we were placed in the medical college.  In January, 1865, Dr. M. K. Taylor in presence of his class of medical students placed me upon the operating table and removed a fragment of bone four inches long which should have been removed long before.  Several smaller pieces had been removed from time to time, but this largest one was left to the last; then the leg got better so I could walk on crutches, but was still very lame.

Then in March’65 gangrene  started in the wound and reached to the bone and about an inch in diameter..  I was laid up for the repair and couldn’t eat while the gangrene burned out with nitric acid.  This was very painful.  I had to lie on my right side to keep the acid in the wound and when I got so tired I could not endure it any longer I turned on my back and the acid run out and burned to skin about two inches around the wound.  After a few days the dead flesh came out and the wound began to heal up once more but it wouldn’t heal up entirely, a small matter showing that there was still some obstruction in it.

In June the men with amputated legs were sent to Chicago to have wooden legs fitted.  In August Dr. Merriman opened my leg to try and remove the obstruction and succeeded in removing about one-half of a large bullet one side of which showed creases of the gun; the other side split off and gone.  This showed that the bullet had split in two  on the bone, one half going on through the other half lodged in the bone.  While the doctor was digging out that bullet I sat in a chair watching the operation.  The pain was nothing compared with what I had to endure many times before.  After this the wound healed slowly.  We got our wooden legs and were sent to Davenport, Iowa.  While at Davenport my health and strength improved and I did considerable work, cooking, washing, cleaning house, etc. But my hair was still gray and the knee would bend but little, so I could not step over anything more than four inches high.

Next Week: Coming Home at Last

Further to the Rear:

Dangers of Recovery in Pre-Disinfectant Times

Of corse it was terribly tiresome to have to lie in one position day and night for two or three weeks.  I had to lie on the flat of my back the first two weeks.  The only change I could make  was to sit up a few minutes as often as I could.  And when my back began to get sore they gave me an old worn-out linen table cloth which the ladies of the Christian Commission had given.  I tore off a piece which placed next to the skin was far pleasanter than the sweaty cotton shirt and sheet, and prevented the bed sore on my back, thus perhaps saving my life.  After two weeks I could turn and lie on my side a short time.  About the middle of June we were loaded into a hospital train and shipped to Nashville, Tennessee.  The stretchers upon which we rode were hung upon rubber bands, a simple yet effective way of giving us a smooth, pleasant ride.  At Nashville, we were placed in a large hospital tent, about twenty cots to a tent.  All bad cases were placed in the same tent together, so we had several deaths, but not as bad as we had in Resaca.  To try to describe these cases would make a long story.  One bright young man with a thigh amputation was a hemorrhagic (bleeder).  The femoral artery had sloughed off and been retied a little further up until the last tie was in his body and it could not be tied any further.  Then when it sloughed off again and commenced to bleed, the nurse placed his thumb upon it and held it while the young man dictated his last letter home to his parents, then the thumb was reluctantly removed and the man went to sleep.

Another whose father had come to see him wanted to live and wouldn’t believe he must die, but while his father was on his knees beside him he passed away.  I don’t know how many died in this tent.  There was some erysipelas, gangrene and some camp diarrhea and contagion which would be sure death if I caught it.  At this critical time, God, or good fortune gave me a good friend who no doubt saved my life.  Old Man Jones was a Tennessee Union man.  The rebels drove him from his home and he volunteered for the Union, being rather old for field service they put him in the hospital to help care for the wounded.  He could neither read nor write but his wife could write a little in the old grammar.  He tried several men to read and answer her letters for him but none of them would do it right.  We had captured bushels of old rebel letters and I had read hundreds of them, not knowing I was learning a valuable lesson.

Then when Old Man Jones called on me to read and answer his letters I did it so well and easy that he jumped at the conclusion that I was the smartest and best man on the job, and was ready and willing to do all he could for me.  I explained to him the dangers of contagion, and he went up town and got me a wash dish and towels, etc., so I didn’t have to use anything that had been used by others, and so I managed to live through the hot summer with men dying every day all around me.  I believe the careful assistance of this good old man saved my life and I have never been able to pay him for his kindness.

Next: Kentucky and More Leg Procedures     

Life of the Wounded in the Rear: The Field Hospital

That night the rebels were retreating and had to cross the creek which they intended to do in the dark, but our men built bonfires on the side of the hills and showered them with shot and shell while they were crossing the bridge.  The roar of those guns seemed to ease the pain and I got a few minutes rest.

Then on the fourth day the rebels were gone and we were hauled four miles over a rough mountain road to a field hospital on the creek.  The tents were pitched with eight cots in each tent but no mattresses.  The rebel cavalry had dashed in behind us and burned a railroad bridge so our train bringing the mattresses had not arrived.

When the old driver saw this, he said: ‘Now I can pay you for helping me care for my horses last winter.’  Then he took the mattress from the ambulance and placed it on my cot so I had a good bed.  There were eight of us, all badly wounded, in that tent.  Just one of the eight was presumed to be worse hurt than I was.  George was placed in the cot beside me and this bad case on the other side.  He soon died.  On the sixth day after I was wounded, May 19th, I sat up and wrote a few lines to mother.  George looked at me and said he ‘couldn’t see how I could do it.’  That evening some of the boys got a copy of the Iowa State Register which gave a list of the killed and wounded in which I was listed as mortally wounded and George was severely wounded.  Poor George had lost so much blood that he could not rally. He wanted to live.  He had everything to live for.  Parents, brothers, sisters, and his fiancé was a good girl, well educated, and I thought George was the best boy I ever saw.  I would have gladly died to save him.  There was nothing for me to live for with both legs gone.  I might be better dead.  These were the thoughts in mind that night as George breathed his last.  As fast as men died others were placed upon the same cot, and of the first eight five died, and in the first twenty-eight days nine men died in this tent.  The doctor examined my right leg but didn’t express any opinion about it until about two weeks after the battle, then he said he believed it would get well; and then the inspector passed through one day looking carefully at everyone.  They spoke pleasantly to me and looked me over carefully, and as they walked on I heard the doctor say, ‘That is the toughest and spunkiest man I ever saw, I thought he was as good as a dead man, but he is going to get well.’  Then I took courage and concluded I wanted to live.

To give some idea of the job of caring for 4,000 wounded men: Most of the wounds were dressed twice daily, the bandages were throw out behind the tents and left all day to attract the flies.  Then a man loaded them with a pitchfork, hauled them up the creek and threw them in the creek.  They floated down to a screen where they were pitched out and washed, a wagon load daily, this got away with the swarm of flies by sending their eggs down the creek.

Next week: Further to the Rear: Dangers of Recovery in Pre-Disinfectant Times

Life of the Wounded in the War Zone

...In a short time the drummer boys came with a stretcher and carried me back over the hill where we met the hospital steward, Whitfield, who cut the boots from my feet, cut off my pant legs at the knees, and wrapped them with bandages.  I saw by the serious look on his face that he considered my case bad.  Then they carried me back to where doctors were working and placed me on the operating table made of an old door set upon stakes driven in the ground.  While they were examining my wounds I heard the young Doctor say: “We will have to amputate both legs, won’t we?”  I spoke up and said: “Doctor, I would rather die than lose both legs.”  Just then the ambulance drove up and the driver called out, “Doctor, here is a man bleeding to death, you must attend to him at once or he is gone.”  I heard him speak and I knew it was George.  I said “George are you badly hurt?”  “Yes, my leg is all shot to pieces.”  “Well,” said I, “My legs are both shot to pieces.”  Then they laid me down on some forest leaves and amputated George’s leg.  Then other wounded men were brought and the doctors worked nearly all night.  The newspaper reporters were on the job, and they knew what it meant when the doctors laid a man aside to die without doing anything for him.  So they telegraphed to the home papers that I was mortally wounded and George was severely wounded.  At night we were carried into an old log house filled with wounded men.  The floor was covered with canvass which did more harm than good as it held the blood and water which dripped, dripped, from the wounds and where I lay on the floor it was the lowest so it was a pool of blood and water.  The only attention we got that night was a drip of water from a sponge on our wounds occasionally.

The roar of our cannon ceased and the swelling of the lacerated flesh made the pain worse.  I thought of those who had been instantly killed and wished that I could have been as fortunate as they, but wishing for death didn’t bring it.  Then I thought of my pocket knife and reached into my pocket to get it but it was gone, and I would be compelled to suffer perhaps several days before death would relieve me.  With those thoughts in mind the long hours of night passed and as soon as daylight came the roar of our cannon shook the old house and made the plaster rattle down from the walls.  This seemed to ease the pain slightly, and I wished they would keep it up constantly.  This the second day of battle passed and when the second night came I went crazy and can remember nothing of that night, but the men told me afterward that it took two men to hold me from rolling over the floor and hurting the other wounded men.  Then on the third day the doctors caught up with their work so they put me on the table and amputated the left leg and I heard Dr. Greenleaf say, “If we must amputate the right leg we can do it later when we have more time.”  Then the boys made a frame two feet by seven feet filled it with forest leaves, spread a blanket over it for a bed, my old bloody clothes were torn off and replaced with a clean shirt and with a liberal dose of morphine, I got a little sleep, the first in three days.

Next week: Life of the Wounded in the Rear: The Field Hospital

James Farley Lambson...Youngest Child 

Of Boaz and Polly Lambson

Much of James’ history is cast against his participation (much too weak a term) in the Civil War (what an oxymoron that term is).  This is the entry, beginning on p.225 of Our Lambson Family:

James Farley Lambson - last child of BOAZ and Polly, born in 1838, entered the Civil War and was engaged in many severe battles in the South, one in which a bullet cut a four inches long crease in his head.  We first learned that James was wounded through a clipping from a Missouri Newspaper, the Liberty Tribune, dated Feb. 22, 1884, which read “By order of the Secretary of the Interior, James F. Lambson, amputated left leg above the knee-$24.00.”  Local papers were ordered to publish the names of pensioners and the amount of government pensions being paid.

We received a written account of James’ Civil War experience from one of his great-granddaughters, Delores Hofferber of Lexington, Nebraska in 1988.  It is written by James and has no date; however he closes saying ‘that he is 80 years old.’  This would date the piece at 1918-the year of his death in Lexington, Nebraska.  He states that his unit was Co.A, Fourth Iowa Infantry.  Following is the article:

“I have read histories of many wars.  They give graphic accounts of the camp, the march, the skirmish, the battles, the prison, etc., but nothing about the experience of the wounded men.

Now I have seen these except the prison, and it is my purpose to give a brief account of some of the wounded in our war of ‘61 to ‘65.  It was in the evening of May 13th, ‘64, near Resaca, Georgia, our division was in front, and being the first to hit the rebels we had a very hard fight until night.  The rebel were all behind trees.  I saw a large tree and made a swift run for it, but it was too close to the rebels and while the ones in the front could not get me, one away to the let got a flank shot which smashed both legs near the knees.

I have often been asked how it feels to be shot.  The answer is, it all depends upon the nature of the wound.  When a bullet cut a crease four inches long on the side of my head it felt like the sudden blow of a club.  When a bullet grazes the skin it feels like the sting of a whip.  When a large shell exploded so close to my head that it scorched my hair, it knocked me down and I felt like my head was bursted for a time but my hearing came back and I was all right in three or four days; and when the bullet smashed both my knees it paralyzed them for a few minutes, and when the feeling came back I was faint and thirsty and grabbed the canteen nearly full of water and drank it all, so I didn’t suffer from thirst as wounded often do.

Next week: Life of the Wounded in the War Zone      

Alfred Boaz ( conclusion)

Westward At Last!

There was great preparation for the Pioneer trip which was to locate the spot for the remaining saints to follow and settle, and they were determined to take me with them and leave my wife helpless in bed.  I would not consider it and got excused, but Melissa being improved I made ready and started with the first company which followed.  I, however, helped fit out President Brigham Young’s company, which set out, and we then fell to preparing those to follow.  There were a number of blacksmiths, and all were busy.  After completing or fitting 665 wagons, all were ready and we moved out as far as the Elk Horn, which was a deep, ugly river, and dangerous to ferry.  Here Elder Weatherby and I were detailed to go back with a demented woman and leave her at Winter Quarters...

We began our journey and had travelled half way when suddenly there stepped before us three Indians armed with rifles, and directly in our path.  I immediately  would have made friendly signs and reasoned with them, but Elder Weatherby lost his head, and jumping out of the wagon, grappled with an Indian.  I, of course, followed on the other side, grappling with the second, taking his gun away.  The third fired at my companion, and he fell, mortally wounded.  I grappled with the slayer of Weatherby, taking hold of his side, and taking a piece out with my hand, for he was naked.  He yelled with pain, and the sick woman seeing her chance, waved her shawl to frighten the wild steers, and away they dashed, wagon, steers, woman and all.  I was left with Elder Weatherby, and the Indians took to their heels...I overtook Bishop Whitney, who returned to the spot and lifted Elder Weatherby into his carriage and then struck out rapidly in search of the woman.  I looked in all directions and finally found the wagon run into a willow thicket, but the woman was not to be seen...finally I saw the top of her bonnet peeping in the tall grass, and then it vanished.  I came to where she was, but she stubbornly refused to get into the wagon.  I picked her up and sat her, a little ungently perhaps, in the wagon.  Finding travelers going toward Winter Quarters, I relinquished the woman, steers and wagon to them with my commission to deliver her safely, if possible, at Winter Quarters.  I then turned single-handed And alone, to retrace my footsteps toward my family and the camp on the Elk Horn...

We now took up our journey to the Salt Lake Valley, receiving a message or two from the pioneers before we reached our destination.

I was the only blacksmith in the company which had sixty five wagons, and I kept them in repair the entire trip, and I never received nor charged a cent for the work.  Besides repairing the wagons, etc., I had the lame cows and oxen to look after, and they gave me little time for sleep...

Alfred finished his story and leaned back in his old armchair, which had been made by his own hands in the early days in the valley.  He seemed lost in thought; his white hair bleached by many winters, lay soft and beautiful about his strong head.  His once sinewy arm rested on the handle of his rocker.  What a world of thought in that glance backward upon a lifetime of work and adventure!  Yes, a lifetime, for the sands were all but run.  Shortly afterward he was called to meet his Maker, and render his account to the Most High for the stewardship he had held.

—-From Our Lambson Family: Barnabas to Boaz, pp.206-210

Next Week: The Youngest Brother...James Farley Lambson, last child of Boaz and Polly

Alfred Boaz (continued)

Marriage and the Trek to Winter Quarters

She attended singing school; I, too became interested in music, and begged the privilege of attending her to the music class.  I visited her very often at Sister Bathsheba’s home...It was not until the following year, 25 October 1845, that Melissa and I were married.  She had been very sick with the ague and arose from her bed to be married to me...

It was not until June, after the battle began, that my wife and I left Nauvoo.  After crossing the Mississippi, I set my tools up under an oak tree on the bluff and ironed three more wagons.  Then we took our course over the road used by the saints who preceded us.

When we reached Winter Quarters the first thing to do was to put up hay.  Most of the men went to work at that immediately.  I would not strike a lick at haying until I had built a shelter for Melissa, for she was in a delicate condition.  I dug a cave in the side of a hill and pegged down a large ox hide to answer on the floor as a carpet.  The hair on the hide was long and warm and soft to the foot.  A bedstead I made iron bass wood poles with cane brake slats; upon this was a hay bed, then a feather bed, poles over the top with sod to keep out the wet and cold; in one end a fire place and a door at the other, and I had the coziest place you ever saw.  In this nest of a home, on the 13th of November, our first child, Melissa Jane, was born, and she was but ten months old when we landed in Salt Lake Valley...but to go back to the haying at Winter Quarters: I attended to the tools, sharpening the scythes, and doing the blacksmith work.  I had a good set of blacksmith tools, garden tools and pitchfork, pick, ax, etc. 

There was a great deal of suffering in Winter’s Quarters, due largely to the lack of flour in our camp.  Many of the young men had been enlisted in the Mormon Battalion under the United States government, to march to Mexico.  They had been gathering volunteers all the way from the Missouri River to Winter Quarter’s, taking our teamsters, house builders, and hunters and leaving mostly old men and helpless, except in a few cases.  Through this many were forced to live in their wagon beds, and through the winter the exposure resulted disastrously.  There were many graves made in Winter Quarters.

My wife was ill, and I had to lift her as if she were a babe.  Her sister Bathsheba was distressingly sick and my wife’s mother, Susanna Ogden Bigler, who lived with us, and was afflicted with consumption, died.  Neither Melissa nor Bathsheba were able to attend the funeral.  I kept a hired girl and part of the time had two to help. I was well fixed, better than most of them at that time.  At one time I was able to give Parley P. Pratt’s family two barrels of biscuits to keep them from starving.

Next : Preparations and the Trek West

Alfred Boaz (continued) :

Alfred Stays in Nauvoo, Joins the Church, and Begins to Fall in Love

“I fell sick with the ague and did not recover in time to go with the fur company, but continued in Nauvoo with an increasing interest in Joseph Smith and what he had to say.  I heard him preach many times and I have not forgotten today (28 November 1904) the things he preached.  He went further in explaining matters and made them clearer to me than any other man.  He spoke with thrilling and marvelous power for good which I shall never forget to my dying day.

The Prophet was a large man, broad-shouldered and heavy-set.  There are no pictures that do justice to him.

I was slow to acknowledge my conversion to ‘Mormonism’ , but I finally felt to accept baptism, and received that ordinance in the Mississippi River, under the hands of  Elder Truman Gillett.

In May following I was sent on a mission to to Virginia.  We were only there a month when we got news of the Prophet’s martyrdom and were ordered home.

On my return I was with my old uncle, who lived diagonally across from old Father John Smith, George A., and Bathsheba.  I was looking toward the house of the latter couple when I saw a lovely young lady come out of the door and walk down the street.  I said, ‘There Goes my wife.’  My cousin said, ‘I guess not; some one else has his eye on her.’  I remarked that we would see about that very soon, and I sought an introduction on the spot and began thereupon a vigorous suit for Melissa Bigler’s hand.  I cut out her many admirers, and I lost no opportunity of showing my devotion.”

Next: Alfred marries, leaves Nauvoo, and travels west to Winter Quarters...

Alfred Boaz (Continued)...Alfred Meets The Prophet

Something kept drawing me west, farther and farther west.  With St. Louis as my objective point, I went to Nauvoo to visit my uncle.  I put up at the Mansion House, curious to see the Prophet and was sitting watching for him to enter.  Presently he came in and sat down.  Lorin Walker put a towel about the Prophet’s shoulders and dressed his hair for him, after which he got up and came over to me, lifting me bodily out of the chair, and asked : “Young man, where are you from, and where are you going?”  I told him where I hailed from, and that I was bound for St. Louis to join a fur company going to Oregon, to which he said : “When you join a fur company at St. Louis to go to Oregon, I will  take Nauvoo on my back and carry it across the Mississippi, and set it down in Iowa” adding, “I have use for you.”

The Prophet made a deep impression on me; I felt he was superior to any man I had ever seen.  In fact, if any other man had asked me those questions I should have very soon told him it was none of his business—-but what use the Prophet could have for me, I could not see.

Next Time: Alfred Boaz gets stuck in Nauvoo.

Alfred Boaz

OK, I know it has been three months...my bad.

The next several weeks I am going to report in detail on the lives of two of the children of Boaz Lambson, Alfred Boaz and James Farley.  They are brothers to Arba Lorenzo, who, for my children, was your great-great-great-great grandfather.  Both are from their own accounts.  I will start with Alfred Boaz, who, by the way, was the father of Julina, the wife of Joseph F Smith, and mother of Joseph Fielding Smith.  You can read this in your Lambson Family Histories beginning at page 206.

“The following items were related by him in a conversation at his home, shortly before his death, 26 February, 1905.

When I was five years of age my father went on the Fulton, the first boat propelled by steam.  It took the Lambson family up Lake Erie to Detroit where father bought a team and a wagon and moved into the interior of Michigan to the forest.  We settled where the city of Saline now stands; moving again, farther west, in 1832 and settled in the town of Kinderhook, Branch County, Michigan.

I had bought the land the old log schoolhouse was on and while framing a blacksmith shop in which to ply my trade, for I was a blacksmith as my father was before me, who should appear but two Mormon Elders, Joseph Kind and Elder Pendleton.  They first told me who they were and then asked to be directed to some family that would take them in.  I referred them to my mother.  They wanted a place to preach in.  I said I happened to own that school house and they could preach there.  My mother took care of them and I got them an audience.  All my neighbors came.  The Baptist Deacon

 carried his rocking chair as he always did...

Next Week...Alfred meets the Prophet Joseph Smith,

FAREWELL TO EUGENE,

HELLO TO OTHER OFFSPRING OF ARBA LORENZO

Eugene was one of the sons of Apollos Boaz, who was a son of Arba Lorenzo.  I will be branching into other offspring of Arba Lorenzo as soon as I finished with Eugene...but a couple more stories.

 "Eugene was offered a good job by Mr. Clawson, so he and Tenney Clawson moved to Wingate for the winter...

Tenney Clawson was quite a man.  He could eat a dishpan full of oatmeal and never seemed to get tired of working.  They decided one day to go have a piece of pie at the Army Canteen.  When they went through the back door they saw a Chinese cook making the pies.  He would fill his mouth full of water and spit the water intoi the pan as he mixed the pie dough.  As you may well imagine, they declined the pie."

What about Sarah and Eugene?  "In Sarah's courting days, her folks thought Eugene was a little too lively and perferred his brother Frank for dating Sarah.  <So> Frank would take her to a dance and Eugene would take her away for the evening...they were married on 14 February 1911... Eugene and Sarah went to get their marriage license and John Simpson, the County Clerk, told them the license had been paid for sisx months.  Dad Clawson had paid it for them".

Last one: "Eugene tells of going to visit Sarah one night and after dinner they stacked all of the dishes in a dish pan.  They were in the kitchen alone sparking and happened to sit on one side of the table, tipping it over and breaking most of the dishes including a beautiful tall cake plate, a family heirloom."  No wonder her folks preferred Frank!

Last week I mentioned another of Arba Lorenzo's daughters, Annie, a true pioneer.  This week I  have a brief story of one of the daughters-in-law of Apollos Lorenzo Lambson, one of his sons.  Her name was Lillie Elizabeth Langford Lambson, married to Gus Lambson.

She was born in Coyote Utah 15 December 1900, and was only 2.5 lbs.  She was told she was so small she could fit in a quart cup.  At 9 months she weighed 9 lbs.

"...In August of 1901, the family was visiting relatives down at the ranch...there were quite a few children there and they were playing in the white-top buggy in the buggy shed.  Little Jenny, <Lillie's older sister> only two years old, came into the house where the ladies were.  The day was very hot and dry, but there were thunder clouds over nearby hills. Suddenly a flash flood roared out of the ravine behind the homes, threatening to wash away the houses.  The ladies tried to get out of the house, Annie with the babie Lillie in her arms and Jenny holding the hand of Aunt Lizzie.  When they stepped on the wood porch it was torn away  by the water and they were thrown into the flood.  Jenny lost hold of Auntie's hand and was drowned.  Annie, sith Lillie in her arms, waded as far as she could see her little girl but could never catch her.  The cellar split the stream of water, and the children in the buggy shed were unhurt."

Wow...aren't we glad for our weathermen of today!

 .                                        

MORE EUGENE...

AND A LITTLE ANNA😀

You thought you were done with Eugene?  You thought wrong!

"Riding burros <Eugene and Frank>, the boys drove a herd of goats to the Gila, passing the Salt Crater.  He remembers the antelope were so numerous, they had to stop and let them go by.  One day Eugene and Frank watched a strange dance by four big buck antelope.  The antelopes would go in a circle and then facing each other rise on their hind legs and come crashing to the ground.  After about ten minutes of this, they suddenly stopped  and walked away.  Out of curiosity, Eugene and Frank walked over to where this had taken been taking place.  There in the middle of the circle was a large rattlesnake chopped into pieces."  Mom (Jeanne) says "Hurrah!" and "Good riddance!"

"The Lambsons bought a hay baler, and in the spring, Bill and Tom O'Fallon, Eugene, and Giles went up into the Zuni Mountains and baled hay for the ranchers, most of whom were foreigners, generally of Slavic origin....On one ranch an old Dutchman told them he had a special dinner prepared, so they sat down to eat, and he brought each of them a pickled prairie dog.  They soon lost what appetite they had gone to the table with."

"For the year of 1909 Eugene and Frank ran a cafe in Thoreau.  Eugene didn't know the Clawsons except an incident at a dance...he thought two girls, Tamar Lewis and Sarah Clawson, were making fun of him.  When he returned to the mountains, he told Tom how much he disliked that Clawson girl.  When Henry Clawson and his family moved to the mountains, Gene and Tom visited the family; within a few months, he and Sarah were sweethearts."  (more on this later, or you can read about it on p.164)

Now Anna...Sister to Apollas Boaz, Aunt to Frank and Eugene (and Arba):

"...In 1857 I was married to William Ennes.  In 1860, Novemeber 21st, Orson  Pratt baptized me into the church and blessed my two little girls, Cecelia and Altheda.

"In 1861...my husband enlisted in the Federal Army, going immediately into service, and I never saw him again...

When I married again we moved to Old Chicken Creek near Juab, a small settlement.  We were all poor but happy with each other; we made our own cloth, soap, brooms, and everything we could...

We had our meetings, Sunday School and entertainments.  At our dances all went, old and young, the women in their flannel dresses, and the  men in their homespun trousers and shirt sleeves,  but we all shared alike and had good times...Soap was scarce so we used to soak our clothes in buttermilk to loosen the dirt, then wash them, and we were always proud of them when they were hung out for they were very white.

We were (later) called to settle Levan.  I moved into a house without doors or windows and so did lots of my neighbors.  Then my husband, father, and baby all died (within a year).  God blessed me through all my troubles."

Can you imagine a simpler statement of faith?  "God blessed me through all my troubles"   

Next time: still more Eugene...and maybe a little of the next generation

GREAT GREAT GREAT  UNCLE EUGENE

We're talking about Ormus Arba (Arb's) brother here...two years younger than Frank...and wow!  If you want a good read, go in your "Our Lambson Family" book to pp. 159-169...its a treat.  But forthwith are a few brief samples.

First, there are several mentions of Arba:

"Arba Lambson, Eugene's oldest brother, who had been involved in the sheep and cattle war on the Tonto Rim and the Tewksberry feud, moved with the family to Mitchell.  Arba and Rose had two children at the time.

Gene remembers as a boy that his brother, Arba, always wore two guns. One day Arba came in and threw the guns on the bed.  While Gene and Frank were playing with the bullets in the scabbard, one exploded, sticking in the ceiling."

and

"Eugene remembered an experience involving a friend of his older brother, Arba.  The man's name was Doug Perry, a known outlaw.  He had stolen fifteen head of horses from a grading company that worked for the railroad at Grants and had driven the horses to a valley above the Mazon ranch right next to their fence line and camped there.  The next day a posse with a U.S. Marshal came and subpoenaed Arba to help track the horses.  Being a friend of Perry's, he didn't want to go but was deputized.  They trailed Doug Perry to some place around Atarque where Perry abandoned the horses, and all were recovered...he was never heard of again."

"That summer a man named Nass Gallagher who owned the Six Mile ranch in the Zuni Mountains came upon a group of outlaws camping just above the Lambson place.  They asked Nass who lived there and he said Apollos Lambson.  They said they knew him and would be welcome at his home.  So they packed up and went down to the house.  After taking care of their horses, they visited and played music late into the night.  Several of them were musically talented and Nass Gallagher was a fine banjo picker.  Arba played the fiddle, Frank sang, and some of the sisters played harmonicas.  It was a great time."

"One night twelve head of horses were stolen by some men named Freeman.  Arba strapped on his six-shooter and caught one of them on on horseback, telling him if those horses weren't back by the next day he would kill him.  The horses were back in the corral the next morning!  Eugene said his brother Arba was  not afraid of anyone."

That's a load right there, but I feel obliged to share a couple of uniquely Eugene stories.  There are many.

"Eugene told about a Jersey cow they owned that came home dry of milk for several days in a row.  His father told him and his brother Frank to follow the cow and watch it closely the next morning.  They did.  The cow stopped in some brush and stood there as if in a trance.  They sneaked up to see what was going on and were surprised to see a five foot snake wound around her leg and hooked to her udder.  They couldn't believe their eyes.  They killed the snake and dragged it home to tell their dad."

"Eugene, Frank, and their father took a herd of goats into the Zuni mountains for the summer pasture, when Eugene was nine.  Frank and his father went to work on the Boone sheep ranch...and left Eugene to take care of the goats.  His dad had given Eugene a new knife for his birthday, and while whittling on a green aspen he cut the end of a finger almost off.  Even though there were no Indians known to be in the mountains, Eugene looked up to find an old Indian man walking up to him.  The old man asked what was the wrong.  When Eugene told him, the old Indian walked a few steps away and pulled up a plant.  He chewed the roots and put them on Eugene's finger and wrapped a red bandana around it.  He told him in three days to remove it and his finger would be healed.  The Indian simply vanished before Eugene could even thank him.  Eugene always felt this was one of the three Nephites.  This is believable since in his later life he served a number of Lamanite missions.  He could have easily bled to death as a young boy."

Well, that's it for today, but fear not...there's plenty more where those came from;-)!