HANNAH POLINA CHILD (ELMER) 1838-1897

[Ancestral Link: Lura Minnie Parker (Stagge), daughter of Minnie May Elmer (Parker), daughter of Mark Alfred Elmer, son of Hannah Polina Child (Elmer).]

William and Hannah Paulina Child and Mary Ann Gheen Elmer Tombstone, Ogden City Cemetery, Ogden, Weber County, Utah.

Burial: Ogden City Cemetery, Ogden, Weber County, Utah, USA - Plot: E-3-7-2E
Find A Grave Memorial# 26051563
found on findagrave.com

Hanna P. Elmer, died May 23, aged 69 years, two months and 29 days, at her home on the corner of Adams and Twenty-sixth street, No. 2612.  the funeral will take place at the Second ward meeting house at two o'clock today.

The Standard, Tuesday Morning, May 25, 1897.

HANNAH POLINA CHILD ELMER

Hannah Polina Child Elmer was born January 24, 1828, North Hammond St., Lawrence County, New York. Daughter of Alfred Bosworth Child and Polly Barber.

In 1838 at the age of ten she started west with her parents and family (ten in all) with clothing, bedding and provisions, in a wagon drawn by a span of horses – there being no railroads at this time. Their first stop was Kirtland, Ohio – to rest.

Here in Kirtland she saw the first Temple, her folks having joined the Latter Day Saint’s Church. They traveled on, having the best of luck as far as the Missouri River, where they were told that the Saint’s had been driven out of Jackson County into Caldwell. Moving on, they took up some land at Ambrosia but were ordered to leave in three weeks. They traveled to Adamondiahamon, Davis County, and stayed a few weeks, living in tents. Here a mob rode in and took her Father and Brother along with the other men prisoners. Marched them out a few miles, but released them after a few hours – all, that is, but the Heads of the Church, who were released later, unharmed. They stole everything they could – even one of their horses.

Her father traded his wagon for some ground and built a small log house and the family moved in – only to be told that they must leave the state – a distance of three hundred miles – in fifteen days. Her father had a little money and hired one of the settlers to move them, then let Mr. Sessions have his other horse to put with the one he had. They moved on, two and three families to a wagon – poorly clad, sleeping on the ground, many walking through snow and mud, and half starved. The suffering was awful, but they finally got across the Mississippi River. They stopped with several other families at Quiney and rented a farm and raised a good crop. In the fall they moved to Iowa and took up a farm on what was called “half breed land” – just eight miles from Nauvoo. They were very poor but managed to put up a log house which had no floor and they made a fire on the ground. Her father and brother went off to work for food.

In the spring of 1840 her father fenced in, and put in a crop, and planted fruit trees – finished the house and bought a cow, pig and some chickens. He taught school in the winter and farmed in the summer. All seemed to prosper for about four years, although there was much sickness and many hardships to endure. Hannah was sick for sixteen weeks with typhoid fever and had to learn to walk again.

She was sixteen years old when the Prophet Joseph was killed and more troubles started. Her brother Mark enlisted in the army this same year 1844, was sent to Mexico and was never heard from after. The year 1844 and 1845 found them still comfortable, as Mr. Child had been made Postmaster of String Prairie. The Saint’s were driven from Nauvoo late in winter of 1845 and 1846.

They camped at Sugar Creek about a mile from the Childs' home until the grass started to grow to feed their horses. They lived in wagons and tents and suffered untold hardships. They finally started for Council Bluffs. Their horses were poor and the mud was terrible. Her brother Myron was married at this camp and Hannah was married in March, the same spring to William Elmer.

The two couples rented a house and lived together and saved to continue on to the west. Mr. Child, with his family, and the rest of the Saint’s left for Council Bluffs. The parting was hard for her, as her little brother Asa tried to stay with her. She worked so hard and worried till she had brain fever and was sick again for two months. There was no help to be had, except a small boy to run errands. All were sick or afraid of the fever. They had to haul water three miles from the river and endured many hardships. William went to Keokuk, twelve miles to get medicine. He took sick on the way and had to be brought home. He lay beside her on the bed for three days burning with fever before help came. An over-dose of medicine nearly ended his life at this time. The year was a very trying one and they were not able to save enough to start west, but in September, John, Hannah’s brother, came back and she was so happy to see him. Her first baby was born in three weeks and was named John after him. There was no help to be had so John and a neighbor lady took care of her. She got along splendidly and in two weeks took in two boarders to cook for at one dollar per week apiece.

William was making fifty cents a day and they were able to save enough to buy a wagon and the things they needed to start west. In the spring of 1848 the two couples, each with a baby, started out. It was very stormy and muddy traveling and the Indians were hostile, but there was plenty of grass for the horses. It took three weeks to go from Des Moines to Council Bluffs, where the folks had stopped to recruit before starting for Salt Lake. A neighbor met them three miles out and said the folks were well, but little Asa had died. Both John and Hannah were heart-broken, for they had looked forward to this reunion. It took some time before she could be reconciled and enjoy herself. Little Johnnie was seven months old and the first grand child – so much was made over him. The following spring the two couples returned to Des Moines to please John Elmer to get the rest of his children, who had stayed behind. The trip was full of hardships and privations but they managed to persuade the rest of the brothers and sisters to go back with them. John (William’s father) was overjoyed.

They remained at the Bluffs until 1852, when they all started for Salt Lake – about three hundred families in all. When they got to the Platt River, cholera broke out. A great many died and many more were sick. Hannah did much to ease the suffering and help bury the dead. She finally contracted cholera herself and was unable to do anything until they reached the mountains. The high dry air seemed to revive her. When they got to Salt Lake the company was divided – part going south, and the others north. The Elmers and part of the Child family went north to where Ogden is now. There were just two houses, a patch of oak and wild cherry bushes. They took up a farm at Harrisville, lived in their wagons until houses could be built. Hannah’s father ran Brother Farr’s saw mill day and night to get lumber cut for their homes. During this time he contracted Brain fever from which he died.

They managed, someway, to get through that terrible winter, the cold and lack of food caused much sickness.

In the spring they put in a crop and things looked better for a while but soon the grasshoppers came and destroyed most of it. They saved just enough to see them through the fall and winter.

The Indians were so bad they had to build a twelve foot wall and made a Fort and all move in for protection.

In November 1854 William got Mountain fever and was sick for three months. In the spring of 1855, the grasshoppers again took most of their crops. Many had to kill their stock and dig roots to keep alive. That winter all the children had scarlet fever, five down at one time. All survived but in the spring they all had measles and the baby, thirteen months old, died. Poverty seemed nothing to this sorrow.

In the spring of 1856 they moved into Ogden where there were a few more people. They took up ground on the Bench, built a house and raised a fine garden, and William kept the farm in Harrisville.

That fall, William was called to go back to meet the Hand Cart Company. Instead of the trip taking a few days, William was gone two months. It was a terrible trip, all half frozen and starved, and many died.

Hannah and the little boys (the oldest eight years) gathered the crops and dug the potatoes. She tended what stock they had. It was bitter cold and the snow was deep.

Another baby was born December 6, just after William’s return. The house was not finished and wood supply was gone, but they gathered willows and dried them and managed to keep warm. There was no doctor or medicine to be had at this time.

The next spring they sold the farm and bought fifteen acres in Marriott close to Weber River. They cleared the land and planted ten acres of wheat, corn, potatoes, etc., and raised a good crop.

William married a second wife, Mary Ann Gheen and Hannah shared what she had with her, although it wasn’t much. They all lived together and managed to be happy even though these were trying times.

Hannah and small children went to the farm and helped with the vegetable garden and gleaned wheat. Just as the last of the crop was gathered, William was called to go meet Johnson’s army. This left the gathering and hauling of the winter wood to Hannah and her little boys. Mary Ann tended the smaller children and they managed very well – even to helping neighbors who were sick or ailing.

Hannah was the mother of twelve children, all born during this period of poverty and privation. She gave many hours of her time helping others, and being a midwife, brought hundreds of babies into the world.

She lived a good and faithful life, and was loved by all. She passed away May 23, 1897, and is buried in Ogden City Cemetary.

By Rhea B. Cazier The above was submitted to the Daughters of the Utah Pioneers 

Hannah Paulina Child was born in Hammond, St. Laurence Co. New York January 24, 1828. She joined the church when a small girl and moved to Missouri with her parents.

In the year 1846 she was married to William Elmer at Montrose, Lee Co. Iowa. Here three boys were born to them. They crossed the plains with Ox Teams and arrived in Ogden, Utah in the year 1852. Here nine more children were born; of which my grandmother Polly Ann Elmer was one. written by Polly Elizabeth Taylor (Roghaar) found on FamilySearch.org

A SHORT BIOGRAPHY OF A GRANDMOTHER, MOTHER, AND DAUGHTER.

January 30, 1930

Hannah Paulina Child (Elmer), Polly Ann Elmer (Taylor), Polly Elizabeth Taylor (Roghaar). Accompanying note: Dear Linda, This biography was written by my mother about her mother and grandmother. Love, Dad (A.P. Roghaar) Hannah Paulina Child was born in Hammond, St. Laurence Co. New York January 24, 1828. She joined the church when a small girl and moved to Missouri with her parents. In the year 1846 she was married to William Elmer at Montrose, Lee Co. Iowa. Here three boys were born to them. They crossed the plains with Ox Teams and arrived in Ogden, Utah in the year 1852. Here nine more children were born; of which my grandmother Polly Ann Elmer was one.
Polly Ann Elmer was born December 6, 1856 in Ogden, Utah. Just before that time her father William Elmer was called by President Brigham Young to go back as far as the Sweet River (beyond Evanston) and meet the Handcart Company. Because of the deep snow and severe cold weather, they had been delayed and were suffering from hunger and cold. This made it necessary for provisions and clothing to be taken to them before they could continue their journey into Salt Lake City.
Because he was called at this time, he (grandfather) had to leave his home that he was building before it was completed. It was in this home with no roof on the house that my grandmother was born. At the time there was three feet of snow on the ground and it was still snowing. Making it necessary to hold quilts over the bed to keep the snow off. 
In the spring of 1858 President Brigham Young ordered the Saints to move south for safety from Johnson’s Army. She (Polly Ann) lived in Payson, Utah with her parents until the fall of the same year when they moved back to Ogden. Here on the same acre of ground that he had build his home, William Elmer cleared away trees and brush, and planted vegetables such as potatoes, squash, etc. The wheat and other grains as a rule were raised on five acre farms at that time. 
It was impossible then for the children here to obtain much education, but Polly Ann attended school until she was forced to work at home on account of the continued illness of her mother. 
Her duties at home as well as that of her other sisters consisted of everything pertaining to home. She also carded wool, spun the yarn with the aid of the spinning wheel, and out of the material made her own clothes. 
In the year of 1868, her father worked on the railroad grade to bring the first railroad into Ogden. For this he received money for pay and was able to buy her for the first time a pair of shoes made out of leather. She was then twelve years old. 
Polly Ann was baptized in the Ogden River and confirmed a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints in the year 1869. In 1872 or 73 she was one of the first members enrolled in the Mutual Improvement Association. 
On December 27, 1875, she was married to John M. D. Taylor in the Endowment House in Salt Lake City. Their first four children were born in Ogden.
In September 1884, she moved with her family to Salt Lake City to live. From there they moved to Mona, Juab Co., Utah in November 1885. Here her fifth child, Thomas, was born. When the child was but a few weeks old, his parents received a testimony as to the power of the priesthood, which has always been a great inspiration and comport to them. The child was taken very ill with convulsions. After suffering this way for a short time the spirit left his body and he was pronounced dead by those caring for him. About three hours later Bishop Haus and some of the other Brethren of the ward came to the home and by the power of the priesthood the child was made to live again. He is still living and is now a grandfather.
She (Polly Ann) served as President of the Primary in Mona for about four years. During their stay there, they sheltered several of the persecuted polygamists. March 15, 1889 their sixth child was born, and three weeks later they returned to Ogden to live. Here four more children were born, making ten in all, my mother (Polly Elizabeth Taylor) being the oldest.
In May 1897 Polly Ann’s mother, Hannah Paulina Child Elmer died.
Polly Ann was set apart as President of the 4th Ward Relief Society of the Ogden Stake October 11, 1908. Here she served for eleven years. She then served on the Ogden Stake Relief Society Board for about three years. She is still working in the Relief Society, and has spent a great deal of time during her life helping the sick. She has a wonderful character, and is a loving devoted mother to her children. Her constant faith and courage has helped her to endure many hardships and sacrifices. She is still living at the age of seventy-three. There is an autobiography of Polly Elizabeth Taylor in this packet. (Typed into the computer July, 1999 by Linda Roghaar Clark from a handwritten record sent to me by my father, Andrew Paul Roghaar, son of Polly Elizabeth Taylor. )  
Found on FamilySearch.or (contributed by ClarkLindaR 29 October 2013)

CHURCH HISTORY CATALOG -- MORMON PIONEER OVERLAND TRAVEL

Uriah Curtis Company Hannah Paulina Child Elmer  

Individual Information Birth Date: 24 January 1828 Death Date: 22 May 1897 Gender: female 

wife of William   

Companies Uriah Curtis Company (1852)Age at departure: 24 Sources Journal History, Supp. to 1852, p. 101 

Found on FamilySearch.org (contributed by Georgia Elmer Nielsen 2 March 2014)

PERSONAL HISTORY OF HANNAH POLINA CHILD ELMER

A small but a true and correct statement of a few of the incidents of my life from ten years (1838) of age, which years my parents joined the Mormon Church, or rather the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, and soon moving west with one span of horses and wagon, and I, ten, in family, our beds and clothing all drawn by one span of horses from New York to state of Missouri.  There, with no railroads, we traveled as far as Kirtland, Ohio and there we laid over to rest and (recruit) about a week.  This was the first temple that I ever saw and I pondered about those fitted letters meant/on the front, "Holiness to the Lord."  I remember looking and pondering what the saints built that for and then go and leave it, but did not ask any questions.

Well, we traveled on (having) the best of luck all the way.  When we got to the Missouri River, we were told that the saints had been drove from Jackson and other counties into Caldwell and Davies Counties.  We went into Caldwell County, stopped in Farr West, stayed there a few days, and moved out a few miles in a little town called Ambrosia.  Father took him up a little piece of ground and thought of making a farm.  Three weeks passed and then we had orders to all leave there and go to Adam-on-Diahman, Davis County, a distance of 28 miles.  We reached there in safety.

We stayed there a few weeks, this being the winter or spring of 39.  We all lived in our tents.  In the latter part of winter, the mob rode in amongst the tents, five hundred in all, painted and cursing and swearing, like so many demons, took all the men prisoner, my father and oldest brother Mark with the rest, marched them out about half of a mile and kept them a few hours, and then let them come back to their families, excepting the heads of the Church.  Them they were going to kill, but through the mercies of God, there was none harmed.  There had been a great many killed previous to this, which you will learn by reading the History of the Church.  They stole everything they could lay their hands on.  They took one of my father's horses, leaving us without a team.

Father traded his wagon for a piece of ground and house, a small log house, and we moved in, but we had not been there long until we all had notice to leave the state, had to everyone be away in fifteen days or all be massacred and nothing to go with distance, I think of three hundred miles.  My father had a little money and he hired one of the settlers to move him and he let Mr. Sessions have his remaining horse to put with one he had to help him.  Two or three families to a wagon and some went afoot, poorly clad and barefoot through snow and mud, making their beds on the ground, build a campfire and dry their clothes.  It would take more than this book to give you the details of that one trip.

No one knows the suffering, only those that were there, but we all got to the Mississippi River and camped for two or three weeks until the ice stopped running in the river so that we could cross over into Quincy.  And then the saints went every direction where they could get quarters.  My father and several others stopped four miles from Quincy and rented a farm, raised a good crop, and in the fall, we moved to Iowa and he took him up a farm on what was called the Half-Breed land.  There were many of the saints settled 8 miles from there across the Mississippi.  Purchased some land and built the city of Nauvoo.  They were all poor alike, being driven away from all they had in Missouri.  They had to do the best they could.

Father put up the body of a log house and covered it with boards and Mother tacked sheets and pieces around the sides where the bed was.  We had no floor; build our fire on the ground, while my father and eldest brothers went off to work for something to eat.  In the spring of 40, Father fenced and put in a crop and planted, peach, apple, and cherry seeds, furnished his house, bought a cow and some chickens and a pig, and we went to living again, Father teaching school in the winter and improving his farm in the summer.

I will have to pass by a great many incidents that I would like to mention, but only give you a few to keep along with the times.  The saints built up the city of Nauvoo and built a temple.  All seemed to prosper for four years, although there was a great deal of sickness, fever, and fevers of most all kinds in the winter of 43.  I had the typhoid fever sixteen weeks.  I was not out of bed, only as I was lifted out when (thought) I could get up.  I had to go on crutches, as the fever settled in one of my limbs.  I walked on crutches about 6 weeks and gradually got so that I could walk.

I was just 16 the year of forty-four.  The prophet Joseph was killed in June the same year.  Then they were in trouble again, which you will learn by reading the History of the Church.

Well, Father had a nice comfortable home.  We began to have peaches from the seed he planted and a few cherries.  My brother enlisted in the army and went to Mexico.  None heard of him again.

That year of forty-four/forty-five still found us comfortable, as my father was put in postmaster in forty-two.  The place was called String Prairie.  And the winter of forty-five and the spring of forty-six, the saints were all driven out of Kansas, came over where we lived, camped on Sugar Creek a mile from where we lived.  Some lived in wagons, some in tents, some in (places) made of quilts and carpets and brush.  It was in February and snow on the ground.  They had to stay camped there until the grass started for their teams.  Then they started for Council Bluffs.  Their teams were poor, and mud most of the way up to the wagon hubs.  I was not in that company, but I had a sister that was -- Aunt Polly Richardson.  My brother Myron was married in that camp while they were on Sugar Creek and I was married in March, the same spring.  My father waited until May when they, with other families, started on with the rest, or after the rest.

Brother Myron and your father, as I can say your father now, as I don't expect it will interest any except my children or grandchildren.  There may be a few items that they might profit by view the contrast between them and the recent time.  Your father and brother Myron rented a house together and we were left back until we could get means to go with.  When I see my parents and brothers and sisters start off, there would be no means to describe my feelings, for I could not.  My dear little brother Asa cried and went and hid behind a tree.  He did not want to leave me.  He wanted to stay with me.  That night was a lonely one and at (two weeks), before I could content myself, oh I was so homesick.  My dear little brother felt so bad.  I worked to help get means to go on with your father.  I was not anxious to go.  There was no saints left there, only your Aunt Martha's mother and her children.  All of his old friends were trying to keep him.  He never joined the church until he came west.  He was baptized when he was eight years old and had not been with the saints and he did not know much about them,.  But I was determined to never stop trying nor cease my efforts in getting means to come to the mountains where the biggest part of the saints had started for.

But I worked hard and worried to help along until I took the brain fever, lay two months.  Oh, my mother, I could think of nothing else but home and mother, the doctor thought I never would pull through.  I had fly blisters all over my neck and shoulders and on my chest.  My brother and wife were sick and we could not get any help.  There was so many sick and them that was not sick was afraid of the fever.  We hired a little boy 12 years old, was all the help we could get.

Your father had to haul all the water we used three miles in barrels in July.  Oh, how I did call for water, bring me water that stood in those barrels a week at a time.  Taste of the barrel and so warm, just imagine a person burning up with a fever in July and wanting water and have to drink river water, no mother, sister, or friend to come and make our beds or fix us something that we could eat.  How thankful we all ought to be when we are sick -- to have relatives and kind friends to help and speak words of comfort!  How much better we would feel!

Just as I was able to be bolstered up in bed, your father went to Keokuk, 12 miles to get medicine and groceries.  He went with one of the neighbors.  He took sick while he was in town.  They started home.  He could not 'Sit up.  He lay on some sacks and rode home.  He could not stand when they took him out of the wagon.  Two men brought him in, laid him on the bed beside me.  You can judge a little how I felt.  I could not do anything.  He lay there burning up with a fever.

The third day, my brother Myron was so that he could be up a little and be mixed some medicine that the doctor left him.  Instead of measuring on the point of a pen knife, he gave him a teaspoonful.  He turned deathly sick and groaned and sweated.  We were all frightened.  I told my brothers he had given too much, but in less than two minutes, he commenced to vomit and it kept it up two hours and then the doctor came.  He said if he had not throwed it up he would not have lived two hours.  But it broke the fever,  But it might have ended him.

Well, it was three months before I was able to work.  I had the chills and fever all the fall, but kept around.  We managed to get a little that winter, but enough to get us a team, a yoke of steers, so we could not go this year.  This was the spring of forty-seven.

One year passed and but little towards our journey.  I see plainly we could have to wait until another spring.  I felt very bad, but there was no use.  We would have to wait, but it was such a lonesome summer to me.  I worked hard and saved every cent that we could get.

Your father thought we had not better try to go.  I knew that it was his friends that tired to discourage him to keep him from going with the Mormons, rather Latter-Day Saints.  I was determined to keep him on my side and get him away from such and evil influences as soon as possible.

We both worked and saved enough to buy us a wagon and several things we needed.  In September the same year, my brother John come back.  I could not describe my feelings.  It would be impossible to try.  Never was a brother more welcomed, nor a sister any happier than I when I saw my dear brother and in a time when I appreciated him so much.

In three weeks after he came, my first child was born.  He was named John after my dear brother.

I could not get a girl to work, for there was so much fever and ague.  My brother, with the help of a neighboring lady, managed to do the work.  I got along splendid.,  In two weeks, I took two boarders to cook for one dollar a week apiece.  Your father made fifty cents a day, and I took in work, mostly knitting, for I could do that with my babe, for he was terrible cross.

We made enough to start in the spring of forty-eight to come on with the saints,  My brother Myron and his wife and one child come with us.  We got along, although it was very stormy and muddy traveling  There was no settlements between Des Moines and Council Bluffs so we had to travel alone, just the two wagons.  One had to stop early at night and let the horses eat so that we could tie them to the wagons at night, for the Indians were so bad.  There was plenty of grass.  We did not need any grain.  We were three weeks on the road from Des Moines to Council Bluffs where our folks stopped to (recruit) before they started for Salt Lake.  There was no post office there.  Consequently, we never heard from my father's folks after we left the Des Moines.

When we got within 3 miles of home or where my folks lived, we met one of their neighbors,  We were very anxious to hear from home.  He told us they were all well, but the youngest boy was dead.  I said, "Oh, is my baby brother dead?"  How much I had thought of meeting him.  He was just 8 years old.  We stopped our teams and got out on the ground and sit down.  My brother John as well as myself was almost broken-hearted.  I told them I could not meet the rest and not see him.  I would rather turn around and go back.  We stayed about an hour and then drove on.

When we got in sight of home and they all come out to meet us -- Father, Polly, Phebe, Warren, and Orville.  My brother could not come out.  And my dear little brother had been dead 5 weeks.  Of course, they had got pretty reconciled to their loss.  But it was hard for us.  He said while he wished I would come, but he told my mother he never would see me again.  I had waited too long.  Yes, I had waited too long, but could not help it.  I took a long time for me to get so that I could enjoy myself with the rest.  Johnie was just seven months old.  He was the first grandchild and he was handed around amongst them all.

Well, we stayed there until the next spring.  That winter, my second boy was born in December 2, 1848.  In the spring, your grandfather Elmer (I forgot to tell you that) he came in the same year that my father came.  He wanted your father to go back to Des Moines and try and get some of the rest of his children to come as your father was the only one that had come.  He said he would go back if I would go with him, I hated to go over the road again alone with my two little children.  But his father wanted me to go.  He says they never will come if you don't go.  Poor old man, I could not refuse him.  He loved his children and he was so good to me.

Well, I got my brother Myron and his wife to go back with us.  As she had only one child, she could go.  Well, we started; we left our folks again.  We did some crying the first day.  We will say nothing about the other days.  One of my children was sick when we started, but he got better.  We had a very good trip.  We all slept in the one wagon.  We just went with one team.  Ourselves, kids, and team -- we got along very well.  We had to keep our horses tied to the wagon every night on account of the Indians.  One night my brother's wife screamed.  Her babe was took out of her arms and out of the wagon.  My brother was out as quick as the babe was.  One of the horses had it by night dress, just laid him on the ground and pawed it, supposing it was a sack of grain.,  Brother hollered at him, scared the horse.  But the babe was all right.  The babe was, or now is, Bishop William's child of Hooper.  We had a good laugh when all was right,.

We found all of the relatives well but quite better and thought they should never leave their homes.  They thought they were too poor, but we had good success.  We stayed all winter and helped hem.  (Now I don't say that I did not get homesick.  No one knows.  You can't know what passed through that winter).  Finally succeeded in getting your Uncle Hiram and family, Uncle Ira and family, and your Aunt Martha and family, and Aunt Sally, all the children your Grandfather Elmer had.

The girls left their husbands.  They said if they did not come with us they never could come.  Their husbands were so bitter they furnished their families with a good outfit and told them to go with the g-- d-- Mormons if they wanted to,  But they both followed up in the fall but never joined the church.  One had a good many hardships on the road and some of them wished they never had started.  But we got home all right, and as your grandfather said we would, got them all.  If we would go back instead, we had to put up with a good deal of talk and slander about the Mormons.,  Your Aunt Eveline wished your father in some bad place before he had got there and persuaded your uncle to come with the Mormons. But poor woman; she joined the church and lived and died a good Latter-day Saint.  They have all got big families, children and grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and I think all belong to the church.  We never have been sorry that we went back, although it was a big undertaking.

That same fall, Warren was born Nov 22 1850.  We had to stay at the Bluffs another year to get means to come on to the valley.  Warren was sick the winter.  He was a year old.  We thought we could never raise him, but through the blessing of God, he was spared to us.

The year of 52, we all started for Salt Lake, about three hundred families.  When we got to the Platte River, cholera started in camp and there was a great many died, would not live, but after a few hours they were taken.  I went two or three rods to a wagon to help them, but I had not been there five minutes before I took it.  The man was just breathing his last and I thought/think it was too much for me.  I took brandy and No 6, was administered to, and the captain told your father to hitch up his team and take me out of the camp.  There were several of the company that started out with us.  The rest stayed to bring the dead.

I felt better the next day.  At night, the camp came up, but there was a good many sick and several died that night.  But we kept traveling -- just a few left back with those that were dying to bury them.  I never got so that I could do anything until we struck the mountain air and then I got better.

When we got to Salt Lake, they sent part of us south and part north, and my folks and part of his come in Ogden or where Ogden now is.  There was two horses and a patch of oak brush and wild cherry.  We went across Ogden and took up a farm.  We lived in our wagons until the men could get timber and build a place to live in.  We had a good farm in Harrisville and your father got his house built.

Your grandfather Child ran Brother Far's sawmill up towards the mouth of the canyon.  He sawed day and night to get timber to build the houses with  There was where he took his death -- cold in that canyon wind.  He took sick in November with lung fever.  Mother lived up there in one of Brother Far's rooms with a storm floor.

We got into our house the first of December.  Father did not get any better and I had not seen him for 8 or 10 days and I thought I must go and see him.  Your father did  not want me to go, but I thought I must go and your father hitched up his team and took me.  It was rough and cold and snow on the ground.  It was a terrible night and four miles to go,.  I left Johnie and Mark to their aunt's about a mile from us.  I took Warren with me.  He was just 2 years old.  We got there about 9 o'clock at night, found my father a little better so that he could talk a little to me.

I had been there about 2 hours and I took sick.  Your father went out and hitched up the team and we started for home.  My father had gone to sleep and we left him in care of my brother and sister and took Mother home with us.  We put a quilt in the bottom of the wagon and I rode on that instead of sitting in a chair as I did when I went over.  Your father drove his horses on a run four miles.  When we got home, the door had blown open and the snow had blown in and there was two or three cows gone in out of the storm.  Your father got them out and built a fire and in twenty minutes Cyntha was born.  The bed was cold and damp.  Your father went and got a neighbor woman to come and stay until morning, a perfect stranger.  She lived about half a mile away.  That was our nearest neighbor.

Your father took your grandmother right back.  It was just an hour from the time we left my father until Grandmother was on his load back as fast as she come.  My father was so (com) she did not want to leave him.  But he did not rouse up while she was gone so he had not called her as he did if he wanted to turn or want a drink.

Well, that was a horrible night for me.  I chilled and vomited the rest of the night.  The woman that was there was frightened.  She thought I was dying.  I was so cold and deathly sick she did not know what to do.  She was young and I was too sick to tell her.  As soon as I could, I told her to make me some hot drink and put some hot irons around me.  Well, we got through till morning and your father went and got Aunt Ann Richardson.  She stayed with me two days.  She would not stay any longer.  She thought I would die.  She went and got Luman Shirtliff to come and administer to me and I got better.  But I never see my dear father any more.  He died when Cynthia was a week old.

Well, we got through until spring and then your father put in a good crop, but the grasshoppers came and eat all but just enough to do us that fall and winter,.  But the Indians was so bad we were all compelled to fort up.  We all moved together and build a rock wall twelve foot high.

That was in the fall of 54 and in November that same fall, your father took the mountain fever and was sick three months, could not raise himself in bed, had to be lifted.  I never left him although the watchers would try to get me to go and lay down.  All the sleep I got was leaning on his bed.  He just got so he could sit up and walk around a little when my second girl was born 13 February 55, your sister Polina.  I got through with that all right, or the best I could under the circumstances.  It rained and our house leaked and our bed and clothing were wet the most of the time, but through the blessings of God, we all were spared.

In the spring of 55, your father put in another crop.  Spring of 55 we raised a good crop.  The grasshoppers took a part of it, but left us enough for our bread.  That year there was a great many that did not raise enough to eat.  The grasshoppers eat the grass and leaves all off from the corn so there was nothing for the stock.  A great many starved to death and there was a great many killed for the people to eat when they got so poor they could not get up alone.  It was a hard time for the saints that year.  They had to dig roots and live the best they could until they raised another crop.  That winter, my children all had the scarlet fever, five down to once, but all lived through it.  In the spring, the measles come in to the fort and my children had those and I lost my youngest girl 13 months old.  Then I begin to have trouble.  (That summer was a lonely summer for me.)  Poverty was nothing that spring of 56.

Well, we all left Bingham's Fort and came in to Ogden or the most of them.  There were but few houses.  I think there were three on the bench.  We took a lot on the bench.  Of course, we had our choice, for we did not have to pay for land then.  We build a house and fenced the lot and raised a splendid garden.  Your father tended his farm in Harrisville and that fall, the first of October, your father, with others, was called to go back with his team after the handcart company back on Sweetwater.  His crops were not gathered nor his potatoes due.

He went, did not expect to be gone only a few days.  Well, I helped the little boys to take care of the garden stuff and pit the potatoes and I boarded a young man and made him a suit of clothes and him and your Grandfather Elmer hauled the corn.  The wheat was hauled.  But your father had to go back so far to meet them that he was gone two months.  The snow was so deep that it took them a long time to get through the mountains.  There was a great many of them with their hands and feet froze, and some of them died with cold and hunger.  The snow was two foot deep.

Here in Ogden, I had to tend what little stock we had -- two cows and calves and sheep.  My oldest boy was only eight years old and not healthy, and I did not send him out int he storm.  We did not have any wood and I hired a man to get some.  But the snow was so high that he could not get anything but green willows.  We would dry them in the oven and managed to keep warm and cook our food.  We got along all right because we kept well.

Your father got home the 3rd of November and Polly was born on the 6th, three days after your father got home.  The house was not finished and it stormed.  When Polly was three days old, it blowed in through the night on the bed so that your father shoved off two or three baskets full before he could shake the quilts.  I did not take cold.  It was not right that I should, for there was not a doctor in the country, nor a drop of whiskey, so we came out all right, God being our helper.

In the spring, your father sold his Harrisville farm and bought 15 acres down on Weber River.  He had to cut down the willows and clean it all off before he could put in a crop.  He got in 10 acres, raised a good crop of wheat, corn, potatoes, beans and carrots.  This was the spring and summer of 56.

Your father took a second wife.  I did not have a great deal in my house, but I divided my home with her.  We lived together,  We got along very well.  Of course, there were times when I felt blue and put up with a great deal, but tried to be happy with my little family and make home pleasant for all.  Done all I could, don't think I could have done more I might.

I can see a great many things and places in my past life that if I had to live over again that I could better.  But in that one thing, polygamy, I don't think I could.  I am afraid I could not do as well now.

Well, I used to take my babe and little children that was big enough to glean wheat and go with your father every day to the field while he was cutting wheat and glean wheat all day.  Polly was six months old.  I could lay her on a quilt in the shade of a wheat stock.  Warren was too small to work much and he would stay with her so to call me when she cried.  Cynthia stayed at home with Mary Ann.  Johnie and Mark helped their father bind wheat.  He cut it with a cradle.

We go along first rate that summer, but just as he was hauling his last load that he had to haul from the farm, word came that he must take his company with all the rest and go to meet Johnson's Army.  He was captain of one company, but they all had to go that was able to carry a gun.  They had to start next day.  I had to work that night to get things ready. Warren was very sick with a fever when he went, but he had to go.  They went north first, as they thought they were coming in that way.  They had not been gone but a few days before they were called back to go to Echo Canyon as they were coming that way.  There were men out watching their movements.

When they got back to Ogden, your father got leave to come up home an hour to see how Warren was, as there was no way of hearing a word from home.  Warren was a great deal worse, did not know as he would live through another night,.  Your father had to go.  His time was up.  I told him to take care of himself and we would do the best we could.  We could not tell whether any of the men would get back to their families again, so few going out to meet such an army as that.  If they could not have stopped them without fighting, they would have done it for they thought if they got in here, that would put an end to everything, for they came with the intention to put an end to Mormonism, kill the men, and take the women.

Well, Warren grew worse,  That night there seemed but little hope.  I told Mary Ann to hold the babe and watch him and I would get someone to come.  I went about two blocks where there was an Italian family lived and near.  The old lady was a good Latter-day Saint, but she could not speak a word of English.  Her daughter could and I ask her to come with me to administer to my little boy.  I was afraid he would die.  She came with me and she prayed and administered to him in her own tongue.  I know she ask the Lord to have mercy on us for we were alone.  When she got through, she came to me and talked to me although I could not understand a word.  I felt as though she said, "Cheer up, your boy will get well."  She went back to him and rubbed his little head and talked to him.  We could not understand a word, but we could tell or felt that she said he should live.  He continued to get better right away.  The next week I had a chance to send word to his father that he could sit up and walk a little, although he was very weak.

Just as soon as I could leave him, I took the team and my babe and Johnie and Mark and commenced hauling wood for Weber River.  There was a great many dry willows and flood wood all over the bottom land.  Then I would take a quilt along and sit the babe on it and help the little boys pick up wood, load our wagons, and ride home on the load.  Mark was in his seventh year and Johnie is his ninth year.  Well, we hauled our own wood and hauled a load or two for a poor family.  The woman went along and helped pick it up.  I say poor family; there was none but poor.  We hauled some for a shoemaker that was not able to go out to Echo and he made my children some shoes out of some boot legs that I had saved for that purpose.

Speaking of boot legs reminds me of the year or winter of fifty-two.  Lewis Shurtliff's father, Luman Shurliff, was at our house one day.  He said his children were all barefoot and your father gave him a pair of boot legs to make Lewis a pair.  He was about 13 years old and is now our president.

Well, I could tell of a great many things that transpired those days that people would hardly credit now but my own is enough and only a small sketch of that.  Your father had to stay in the mountains until December and when they got home after settling the family for the winter in Hamm's Fork, they all went to work to get ready to move south in the spring.  The Saints buried a great many things underground they knew they could not take with them, for they calculated to leave a few men back to burn every house and leave nothing for the army to live on if they came in.

Well, we were all ready to start in April as soon as grass was big enough for our stock to live on.  Before this, in March, Father put in 8 acres of ween on our farm.  He thought if they did not have to destroy it, he would have something to come back to in the fall.

When we were ready to start, they had to pick out the men to leave back to burn everything if they had to.  There was one man, one of our neighbors, said he would stay, for one, if he had anyone to drive his team and take care of his family.  He had a wife and two little children and his wife had had a paralytic stroke and could not use one side of her.  Of course, the members would have to drive the teams so that some of the men could stay.  They did not want to leave all young men, for fear they might make some rash move and get into trouble.  I told him I would drive his team and take care of his family and he could stay.  Your father said I could if I thought I could stand it, as I was not in condition to take such a responsibility.  But I did not want your father to stay and they knew that I could drive a team, for I had done it the fall before.

Your father and Mary Ann and my 4 children rode in our wagon and I took Polly.  She was 15 months old and I took charge of the man's (his name was Matt Fifield) team and the poor afflicted woman and helpless little ones that was soon to be left motherless and kept in the rear as the horses I drove was young and spirited and wanted to run the first few days.  But soon got sobered down, for they were heavy loaded.  Everyone that had any room had to take all they dram, for there was a great many that did not have any teams.  But all fared alike, all poor; some did not have enough to keep them warm, women and men.  Some of them were without stockings all winter and lots of them without shoes.  Children did not think of having any shoes and clothes were a thing of the past, something to eat was the main thing.  My oldest boy, Johnie, had to help drive the stock.  We had 2 cows and some sheep and he had to take his turn with the rest of the little boys.  Some days it was frosty and cold and he, like the rest, was barefooted.  He took cold and never got over the cough.  We were about four days getting to Salt Lake, for the teams had to eat grass and that was not very plentiful.

When we got to Salt Lake, we had to send our team back to get another family and left us all in Salt Lake City.,  I used to go with my little boys across Jordan to help herd the stock.  I was afraid to let them go with other boys, for fear something would happen to them.  I would leave my children with Mary Ann and go in the morning and help drive the stock back at night.  My mother stopped close to us and she helped to watch my little children -- Warren, Cynthia, and Polly.  We took her come with us.  We got along first rate, although walking two miles and herding cattle all day, I would be terrible tired at night.  Sometimes I would lay my shawl down an the ground and lie down, would drop to sleep, and the little boys would watch the cattle and sheep and let me sleep a few minutes.  Then we would gather up our cattle and go home.

As soon as your father got back, we all started south.  i took my charge as usual.  I harnessed my team in the morning and unharnessed at night.  The little boys had to watch the stock and your father tended his team and gathered wood for to cook supper with.  It was pretty cold nights and mornings, especially for little babes and children, poorly clad and barefoot, saying nothing about the grown folks.  Well, some went one way, and some another after we got south.  Our folks all went to Payson, lived in wagons, tents, dugouts, wickiups, anywhere they could get.  They got a little room, ten by fourteen of your father's brother's that we lived in.

They let the army in after the Saints had all gone south, but they were peaceable.  The men did not have to burn anything.  Your father rented a little piece of ground about a mile from where we lived and put in some garden and corn and a little piece of flax to make thread of.  There was no thread.  People out ravel out cloth and take the ravelings and twist them together for thread to mend their clothes with.  Women, or some of them, would sew old carpet together for skirts.  Some used old coarse sacks for clothes.  I could not begin to tell you  how poor some people were,  We was not quite so bad off, for I made a little piece of cloth out of flax and wool that come off from our 3 sheep made your father a pair of pants and a shirt that served him for a coat.  I ripped up a woolen quilt that I had and made my little boys some pants and waists.  It was pieced to strips and pretty good stuff and I thought I was rich.  I made some cloth tops for shoes for Mary Ann and me and got a man to sale them with rawhide and we were provided with shoes.  But I had on my last dress and that was getting the worse for wear and there was no stores here.  If we had been covered with gold, we could not get anything.

My brother Warren made some kind of a trade with the soldiers sold them some lumber and stuff.  They were stationed at a place they called Camp Floyd, and they bought lumber to build their fort with, and he took some goods from them and he brought me 6 yards of cloth to make me a dress of.  Well, I was proved for, for the next 3 years, new shoes and dress that was all I particularly needed for myself.

Your father got a job to haul some lumber at Camp Floyd and he had hauled a few days, enough to come to about thirty dollars.  As he was coming down the canyon, he had to cross a bridge over a deep stream in Spanish Fork Canyon and one of his horses fell off from the bridge and to keep her from pulling the other off and the load, he had to cut her loose and let her go.  The stream was so deep and swift she could swim out.  He had to hold her colt to keep it from jumping in after its mother.  He rode the other horse home and the little colt followed.  When he told me he had drowned its mother, I told him I wished he had let the little colt go with her.  I hated to hear it squeal for its mother.  The little boys cried and their mother was no better.  Well, of course we would have to raise it.  It was some comfort for the little boys to feed it.

This was in June and we had word from home -- Ogden -- that Weber was so high and still rising, that it was taking our farm -- wheat and all.  They said the wheat was doing splendid well.  It took our farm, all but 3 acres, so that was some more hard work gone.  In July, the Indians stole our other horse and we had no team and away from home and your father was almost discouraged and took sick, and Johnie was sick and I had to bear up and doctor him.  Johnie was so he could go around, but he had a terrible cough.

Your father begin to get better in a few days so we walked down to the place we rented to see how our garden was and got some radishes and peas.  We had to pass a garden where there was a large stream and berry patch.  It was quite a ways from their house and the berries were ripe -- great big, nice berries.  We did not know who lived there.  I told your father I was going through the fence.  It was a pole fence and I could slip through and they could not see me.  He would not let me.  I told him there was one so near the fence I could reach it without getting through, but he would not let me.  He told me if I wanted a few to go and buy them.  I told him we hadn't a cent on earth to buy with.  We went on home, but I kept thinking of the strawberries.  That night I wondered what I had that I could let the women have to get a few berries.  I hunted all through my trunk and found about half a yard of jackonet.  Those days it was a dollar a yard and you could not get it for that.  Well, I expected soon to need it but I thought I needed berries more.  Next day I went down, it was a good half mile.  I went in and ask the woman if she would let me have a few berries for the price of cambric as I did not have any money,  She said she wanted to pick her (tittering) berries in the morning.  She kept on about her work and I went out, bidding her good night, as it was almost sundown.  I had to hurry back home.  I think I cried a good share of the way home.  I felt so disappointed.  I was tired and sick.  At least if I had got the berries, I would have been all right.  I don't think that woman's guardian angel let her sleep that night a great deal, for next morning she sent her boy to see if he could find me.  He saw me when I went for the berries, but did not know my name or where I lived, but he found me before breakfast.  He asked me if I was the woman that was down to Mrs. Curtis's for berries yesterday.  I went to get some, but did not get them.  He said his mother wanted me to come down.  She wanted to see me as soon as I got my breakfast.  I went down.  She came to the door, handed me a basket.  She said go into the patch and pick this basket full for me and you can stay until you eat all you want and bring me the basket full.  I thanked her and I went down to the patch.  I picked as fast as I could.  I did not stop to (whole) them, but I eat berries and all when they did not come off easy.  It was hard to tell how many I eat, but my mouth was not empty while I picked five quarts for her.  I took them to the house to her.,  She asked me if I had eat all I wanted.  I said I had and thanked her very much. She told me to hold my apron and she turned the basket full into my apron to take home with me.  Well now, don't you think that woman felt better and slept better that night than she did the night before.  I am quite sure that I did.  I took my berries home and my little children had some and your father and Mary Ann before supper.  I mention this one little incident amongst hundreds of others to show you how we all ought to be kind to the poor and the stranger.  If she had not found me, she never would have forgot that one little incident of her life.

Well, we raised enough to live on in the line of garden stuff.  We took flour enough to live on a year by careful management.  The next thing was Mary Ann and I were soon going to need things for extra company that we soon expected.  We had not a garment of any kind towards it only a little suite that I had from the first.  I had some flax and I was a good thread spinner and you could get anything that anybody had for thread.  I had a little wheel and I soon had a nice lot of thread spun.  So I started out one day.  Way up in the upper part of Payson, there were some folks camped there that just came to Utah the year before and they had not been here long enough to me or out what they brought.  I went in to one place, for I can't say house, for they did not have any.  I ask the woman if she didn't want some thread.  She said she did, but did not have any money.  I told here I did not want money.  I would take anything in the line of clothing.  She went to her trunk and took out quite a few things.  She was an English lady, been married about 3 years, had not children, only wished she could have.  I told her that I had some medicine that would be good for her and I would bring her some.  She gave me a beautiful thick lawn dress.  I guess there must of been 6 widths in it.  The sleeves were a little worn.  She gave me quite a large bundle of things to make other things of.  She took about half of my thread.  There was another woman, said she would give me a strand of curtains for the rest of my thread.  I traded with her.  She had been trying to ravel them out to make her children's clothes.  They were cross-barred muslin and she could not ravel it good.

Well, I went home and told Mary Ann I had enough to make us both quite comfortable.  Your father hewed me out quite a nice little bedstead out of some timber he had and put some sticks in the top of the ports, made a frame to put my curtains over.  How nice they looked.  I was ready for the event.  Mary Ann done the work and I made up my bundle for us both, one just the same as the other.  I sold thread and got quite a few things for my children.  I had 5 and September the 19 Phebe was born and when she was 12 days old Levi was born.  I gave Mary Ann my bed and I made me one on the wheat bin.  My children lay on the floor.  I done the work for us both.

We got along all right.  If Johnie had been well, I would have felt better.  Most all of the folks went back to their homes to Ogden that fall, but we had no team and your father wanted to stay until spring.  Well, we had the 30 dollars that he hauled lumber for in the summer.  We never had used a cent of it.  He went and bought a yoke of steers big enough to do quite a little work.  He hauled some house logs and put up a room 14 feet square for us through the winter, plenty big enough for the women and seven children and our Grandmother Child.  Your father did not take much room, but poor little Johnie was sick most of the time through the winter.  We had to burn sagebrush most of the time.  Mark and Warren would get the most of it.  Your father built in a big patch of sagebrush and he could not do much that winter for he was sick so much (I can see now that he was discouraged). I spun and made ten yards of cloth that winter out of flax and wool, colored it with sagebrush for your father and the little boys.  In March, Johnie seemed to fail and we did not have much to go on.  Your father was miserable.  He would say sometimes he did not know what he was going to do.  I told him we would get along some way.

One day Johnie was a little better and I thought I would see what I could do.  Mr. Kempton had come in from California with a load of goods and groceries.  I went to my box and took out my hat that I bought of Mrs. Kingsford the summer before we went south.  It was a light, beautiful hat and I laid it on the bedside of Johnie and told him I would go and sell it if I could.  He says, "Yes, mother, sell it if you won't need it."  He took it in his hands and looked at it.  I told him I would hurry back.  I left them children with your father and Mary Ann.  I did not tell them what I was going to do.  I sold my hat for 3 dollars up to Mrs. Grosse, but took it in groceries and a little money to get little things for Johnie.  I went to Mrs. Kempton's and got a little medicine, a piece of ham, and some syrup.  I went home.  Johnie was so pleased he had to sit up.  He had a pretty good appetite if he had anything comfortable to eat.

Next day, I went to the weavers to see if my little piece of cloth was wove and see how I was going to pay for weaving as we had no money.  I told her I would let her have my looking glass, one that I had before I was married and a chopping board and a pair of scissors.  Paid for the weaving.  I took my cloth home.

Johnie still felt a little better.  He was so anxious to get back to Ogden.  He said if he could ride a horse back if the little colt was big enough to ride.  How my heart would ache when he would want to go home.  As soon as the grass was big enough for the cattle to eat, we would go.  I could see he was failing.  My brother John came once from Springville and he was so glad to see him.  John had just sold a nice mare to the soldiers and had 75 dollars in gold in his purse.  He told Johnie he could have some of it or he might keep it all and he would come out again and see him the next week.  Johnie would count his money over two or three times a day.  As he lay in bed, I could see the next day that he was not getting any better although he could sing and was in no pain seemingly.  But I could not see him any better.  He eat a little breakfast next morning and said he would like to get up.  I helped him up.  He said that would do.  I laid him back.  I could see he was going.  I told your father to come to the bed while I went to the door.  I was just choking to death trying to keep my feelings, for he was just as sensible as he ever was.  He did not live three minutes after I went to the door.  I was just outside of the door.  Your father come to the door and told me he was dead.  Then I broke down.  Oh dear, oh dear, it was awful.  He wanted to live so bad, to go back to Ogden.

I begin to get discouraged.  The neighbors come in and done all they could to comfort us and help, but it seemed as though there never would be any more comfort for me.  I wanted him brought to Ogden, but your father thought it would be impossible. Oh, I did hate the thoughts of burying him there when he wanted to go home so bad.  But I had to submit to the rest.  I had no way of doing any different.  But I never forgot it and forget the trials that I went through.  He was buried there.  I had to leave my dear little boy.  But God gave me strength to endure all that was put upon me.  I never murmured, although sometimes I would think I could not stand much more.  Your father was so busy discouraged.  I could not talk to him much.  He was sick all the time, just could walk around.

He went out one day to open out a potato hole to see if the potatoes was gone,  They was right by a little yard where we kept one cow and a little colt close to the house.  He stopped digging and leaned on the fence.  I told Mary Ann there was something the matter of him.  I laid my babe down and went out to him and spoke to him.  He did not answer.  I thought he was in a fit.  I called for help to get him into the house.  He was blue and cold.  I had no. 6 and camphor that had been sent to Johnie.  We rubbed him and I poured the clear camphor on his head.  I shook I was so frightened.  I spit some in his face and some got in his eyes and he came to.  I think the same disease was working on him that he has now, although that was in 49.

Your father soon was around and fixing to start home.  He sold his little house for a mare.  It was not very big, but he thought he could hitch her ahead of the cattle and help bring us home.  But it was with a heavy heart that I had helped to get ready to come away and leave my dear little boy that wanted to go home so bad.  But we had to go.

We started the 10th of April.  We had to leave part of the things and Mary Ann with Uncle Hiram's folks.  Our team was small.  We could not overload.  Mark walked all the way and drove two cows and five sheep.  Poor little fellow, he used to get cold and tired.  Warren would sometimes help him when he was going through settlements.  He was only seven years old and Mark nine.  But Warren had always been sickly and he could not stand much hardship.  We camped every night out by the side of the road, cooked our supper and breakfast by a sagebrush fire.  The night we camped on Provo Bench it snowed 3 inches deep.  Your father scraped the snow off, built a fire, and we got our breakfast and drove on.  It was pretty cold for the little children that day.  We were ten days on the road.  When we got near our home, I could see so many things that brought my dear little boy to my mind so fresh I could hardly bear to go to the house.  How I did feel, no one can tell, only those that have passed through the same.

As soon as we could, we commenced cleaning our house.  We had no place to shut our cows up.  One of them was so weak she could hardly get up along, sometimes had to be helped.  The best one got into a man's hay and he chopped her with an ax and he see that he had hurt her worse than he suspected.  It was at night and he run her off half a mile and she dropped dead.  Of course, we could not tell away very well who did it.  The hay belonged to an Italian that had a good many boys, but it was not the boys done it.  Your father sent Mark and Warren to drive the other cow off where she could get some grass,.  He told them to take her slow.  She was so weak he was afraid she could fall down.  They got her part way and she fell right there in a few minutes.  The boys come back crying that Old Red was dead.

Your father got ready and brought Mary Ann home, turned his oxen out over Ogden where the grass was nice and good,  Thought he would let them stay there a week or two until they would pick up so he could go to work and plow the garden,  We had two acres fenced for a garden.  When he went to get his cattle, he could not find them.  He hunted and inquired.  Finally, he see a man that come from Box Elder, said he saw them in a herd going through to California.  He said he noticed the brand on them and they both looked just alike.  Your father came home satisfied that he would never see them again,  His mare was sick so he could not go anything with her...Things looked a little blue to us.

That spring, he changed works and got his garden plowed.  He planted nearly an acre of corn and raised a splendid garden.  We had two acres right where Mr. Chip's garden is.  Your father and Mark worked, for different ones got along splendid.  We did not have much to eat that was very nice.  There was plenty of pigweed and sourdock we could get for a change.  I took in work that summer of Nathaniel Lewis's folks.  They were lucky enough to get some goods from a man come from California.  I got your father and the boys some clothes first.  Then I would get different things for to eat.  I treated women in sickness; got a great deal that way.  Bought two good size pigs for meat the next winter and in the fall your father made 3 barrels of molasses, had bought a cow and two heifers that would come in the next spring and from the wool off our sheep I made about twenty yards of cloth.  I raised lots of chickens.  We lived very well through that winter.

In the spring, we traded for that farm that we have got now.  We got a gold watch in past payment for the Harrisville farm after we came back.  I think that was all we ever did get.  We sold the farm to Mr. Saunders and he was not able to pay any more.  We bought this farm of Mr. Butler, let him have the gold watch, a little money, and one hundred dollars worth of molasses.  We got a good farm at last.

The first year we raised five hundred baskets of wheat and one hundred and fifty bushels of carrots and corn, potatoes, beets, onions, and cabbage, enough for ourselves and some to sell.  I made quite a little for there was no doctor here and I would let men help your father clear the farm and take my pay in poles or cedar posts, lumber, or anything to help along,

In November 16th, 1861, Rosabell and Esther were born.  We got along that winter without very much sickness.  Our little colt was 3 years old and we had a pretty good team,  Your father hauled a good deal of wood and poles from the canyon.  Mark and Warren would tend to the stock.  We sold grain and got young stock.  We had plenty to keep them on.  We got through that year all right.

The next summer we turned our stock on the range and someone drove the two large heifers off and killed them.  We never found them, but we got along all right.  We had plenty to eat.  That was the main thing.  We had pretty good luck through the year 62, some ups and downs, but nothing serious.

Mary Ann and I still lived together, seven little children.  It was not always pleasant, although we never quarreled.  Sometimes I felt blue, but kept it all to myself.  Your father was a good man, although no hand to sympathize with anybody,  But we got along all right and the spring of 63 Josephine was born.  We raised a good crop that year and in the fall, in September, we sold our little home on the bench for enough to buy this place that we are living on.  There was two acres and an adobe house here when we came.

The same fall, I took the lung fever.  My babe and Rosabell had it.  We were very sick for about 3 weeks, did not know whether we would pull through,  We did not have any doctors and my dear mother, but through the mercies of our Heavenly Father, we were spared that winter.

In February, there was so much snow and rain that it washed the sand and clay mortar out of the rocks.  The basement was built of rocks and Mary Ann lived in the lower story and I in the next one above.  She put her children into bed one night, laid her babe in the cradle, and thought she would come up and set with me as your father had gone a teaching.  I had got some of my children to bed and was just laying my babe on the bed and the east side of the basement story fell in and the east side of our room crashed right down on the door so it was fast and so were we.  Mary Ann went down to her children.  There was stairs inside the rocks that would have weighed two hundred.  They were shattered all around the cradle and a bed.  Fortunately, they were on the west.  If they had been on the east side, they could have been crushed to death.  There was a door on the west side of the house 6 feet from the ground.  We kept it nailed up.  We were going to build a porch in the spring.  The little boys pried it off and pulled the sleigh up and throwed quilts down and handed the little children down and they wrapped them with Mary Ann in the sleigh and then ran for their father.  There was bout two foot of the east wall along next to the floor that you could look right out door in the room that I was in.  I thought it would all fall before I got all the children out.  We was not 3 minutes getting them all out and I jumped out after them.  I had seven and Mary Ann three.  I worked so fast and was weak, just got over the fever.  When we were all out of danger, I could not walk.  They put me in the sleigh and two or three men pulled and your father and the little boys pushed and took us to my mother's about half block.  We had a good laugh.  We did not sit down and cry.  We were thankful to our Heavenly Father that we were not crashed.  We were without a house or home, but we were used to that.

Your father went to the canyon and got logs and built a house that we could live in until he could build another,  Mary Ann and I lived in 14 foot rooms and nine children, plenty of room.  He hauled rock and cleared away the old adobe house and put up a good rock house in lime mortar.  That year he raised a good crop, about seven hundred bushels of wheat.  I took in work and went out in sickness.  I got considerable towards building.,  We did not get it furnished that fall, got the basement story done and Mary Ann moved into that, for there were so many children in the little log house that winter (65).

Electa was born January 28th, 1865 and when she was 3 days old, my children took the diphtheria.  Josephine was two years old.  She was the worst.  She was took down all in a minute, turned spotted all over.  I took her in bed with me.  She got worse and I never took no thought of myself.  That was up and down from that on.  She lay for 3 weeks.  We did not know whether she would live or not.  I kept her alive by feeding her breast milk.  She could not swallow the least mouthful of food.  She was two months before she could walk.  The rest of the children got along without much trouble.

We finished our house that summer of 66 and got things fixed up comfortable.  The spring of sixty-seven, after your father got his crop in, he took a job on the railroad, took a piece of road to make.  He took his team and Mark and Warren they worked all the fall and winter plowing and scraping.  He hired hands and paid them out of his own means and never got his pay for his winter work.  Did not get enough to pay his hired men.  It was a big loss for him.  The next year he got in a good crop, was taken sick in 1st June with lung fever and was not able to work any until the last of July.  In August, little Charlie was born, my eleventh child.  I had taken a little babe the winter or spring before, little Johnie Stevens,  His mother died when he was 3 weeks old.  Cyntha was married the same month, August, that little Charlie was born, and in October following, Mark was married.

The next spring, your father and Warren got their crop in.  The smallpox broke out in June.  My family all had the measles and the 3rd of July, little Charlie died with them.  We had to move away from Ogden, the small pox all around us.  We went down on our farm, lived in a tent.  My first grandchild was born down there, Mark's little boy.  As soon as she was able to come home they moved back home and took the small pox, Mark, Minnie, and the babe and they lost their babe.  Mark did not have it bad, but Minnie did.

We did not move back until fall.  We raised a pretty good crop.  We lost some young stock and a mare in the herd that year.  The herders never could find them.  In December that year, Cyntha's first child was born, Johnie.  The December 4, 1870, your little brother Hiram was born.  In July the same year, Mark's May was born.  Your father got out timber, built him a barn that year.  In the fall the same year, he was called on a mission.  My babe was sick, had been ever since he was born.  Your father did not have any money to go with.  He did not see how he could go. I told him I would hire the money and go. It was to go back to Vermont, his native home, to get his genealogy.  I would rather work and pay the interest on the money than to have him no to go.  He hired the money of Mr. Peery.  He and his brother Warren went back to New York and Vermont.  My son Warren had to get the wood and tend to everything.  We had a good team and he got a good many little jobs that brought money.  We had plenty of hay and corn fodder and he bought up quite a lot of calves.  He could get them for four and five dollars apiece, and having plenty of feed, he kept them in good order.  Mark was married and had a family, but he helped us to get along.

It was a terrible, cold winter.  Mary Ann and her children stayed with me the most of the time.  It was so hard to get wood.  My babe was sick all winter.  In the spring, the boys got in their wheat and had most of the ground plowed for corn when your father came home.  He got though with his work and came back --March 12, 1872.  They sold the young stock for one hundred dollars, payed the money he hired, and the interest so we were out of debt again.

Little Hiram did not get any better, kept getting worse and died the 21st day of May.  We did everything we could for him, but never could do him any good.,  It is hard to lose your little ones.  Some of you already know, but we have to (   ) to the hand of death.

The 6th of December seventy-three, Warren and Phebe were married.  The September 74 following, Phebe's first child was born, little Mark.  The next December 74, Polly was married.  January 9th, Warren's first child was born.

In the spring of seventy-seven, in April, Cyntha's children took the diphtheria.  She lived in Salt Lake.  I was called there.  Her 2 children were very bad.  I stayed with her a few days and Warren's little girl took very sick and I was called back home.  I was back and forth for three weeks, worked with them night and day, never had a night's rest.  At the end of 3 weeks, Warren's little girl got better, but Cyntha's children were 6 weeks before they could sit up, could not walk.  When their mother was confined, the 27 of June, I stayed with her a week and her children got better.  Warren took the typhoid fever and I had to come home.  He was very bad and Cyntha down there with her sick children and her babe so young.  But I could not leave Warren.  When Cyntha's babe was eleven days old, she took her children and came up home.  I was up with Warren (July 1877).  He was sick two weeks, got so he could walk around.

Polly took the fever. Her babe was ten months old.  She lived down on Fifth Street.  I went down and brought her home.  Cyntha's children were better and she went back home.  Polly was very bad.

We weaned her babe.  No one thought she could live.  She had not been sick but a few days before Phebe's little Markie took the fever.  He kept crying to come to Grandma's.  I left Polly a few minutes and went down and seen him.  He wanted to come home with me.  I hold her to wrap him up and bring him up with me.  He seemed to be so satisfied.  He did not get any better.  He lived a week and died.  His mother was almost hurt with grief.  Polly did not get any better.  She lay almost like one dead.  Warren could not sit up all day and then Rosabell took the fever; I was worn out, the long siege that I had had.  But there was no rest for me.

I worked day and night to save my poor children,  I would go out and pray and cry and go in with renewed energy to do something to ease their pain, but oh, my efforts were in vain.  Death was determined to take one. I thought I could not stand much more.  Rosabell kept getting worse.  It seemed as though I should go wild.  No human could tell what I suffered unless they went through the same ordeal.  I would go from one to the other, did not know what to do.  We all tried to save them, but my poor dear Rosabell died.  I though, "Oh, my Father, can I stand this?  What have I done that I should suffer this?"  I was completely overcome, could not eat or sleep.  It seemed as though I could stand no more.  My life seemed nothing to me.  There lay my other poor girl between life and death and Phebe, poor girl, had lost all of hers.  But she tried to comfort her poor mother by saying, "Don't cry Mother, you have children left to comfort you, but I have none left."  It was a trying time, but God gave me strength to bear with my affliction and loss.

Warren took worse, overcome with the loss of his sister.  While he was yet week, it was three weeks before he was able to be around again,  Polly got better in the course of a few weeks although it took her a long time to get her strength,  We got along the best we could the next two months and in October, the same fall, Josephine, poor, took the fever, sick three weeks before she was able to sit up.  But with the blessings or through the mercies of God, she was spared to us again  It was the third time in fifteen years that her life had been despaired of.  She had not finished her work.  She was just fifteen years old the spring before in April.

Found on FamilySearch.org (contributed by sheilakayfranklin1 28 February 2017)

HIStORIES OF THE ANCESTORS OF JOSEPH PARKER AND MILLIE MAE ELMER PARKER
HANNAH POLINA CHILD ELMER

Hannah Polina Child Elmer was born January 24, 1828. North Hammond, St. Lawrence, New York. She was the daughter of Alfred Bosworth Child and Polly Barber.
In 1838 at the age of ten she started west with her parents and family (ten in all) with clothing, bedding and provisions, in a wagon drawn by a span of horses-—there being no railroads at this time. Their first stop was Kirtland, Ohio---to rest.
Here in Kirtland she saw the first Temple, her folks having joined the Latter day Saint’s Church. They traveled on, having the best of luck as far as the Missouri River, where they were told that the Saints had been driven out of Jackson count into Caidwell. Moving on, they took up some land at Ambrosia but were ordered to leave in three weeks. They traveled to Adamondiahmon, Davis County, and stayed a few weeks, living in tents. Here a mob rode in and took her father and brother along with the other men prisoners. Marched them out a few miles, but released them after a few hours—all, that is, but the Heads of the Church, who were released later, unharmed. They stole everything they could—even one of their horses.
Her father traded his wagon for some ground and built a small log house and the family moved in—only to be told that they must leave the state—a distance of three hundred miles—in fifteen days. Her father had a little money and hired one of the settlers to move them, then let Mr. Sessions have his other horse to put with the one he had. They moved on, two and three families to a wagon—poorly clad, sleeping on the ground, many walking through snow and mud, and half starved. The suffering was awful, but they finally got across the Mississippi River. They stopped with several other families at Quincy and rented a farm and raised a good crop. In the fall they moved to Iowa and took up a farm on what was called “half breed land” —just eight miles from Nauvoo. They were very poor but managed to put up a log house which had no floor and they made a fire on the ground. Here father and brother went off to work for food.
In the spring of 1840 her father fenced in, and put in a crop, and planted fruit
trees—finished the house and bought a cow, pig and some chickens. He taught school in the winter and farmed in the summer. All seemed to prosper for about four years, although there was much sickness and many hardships to endure. Hannah was sick for sixteen weeks with typhoid fever and had to learn to walk again.  

She was sixteen years old when the Prophet Joseph was killed and more troubles started. Her brother Mark enlisted in the army this same year 1844, and was sent to Mexico and was never heard from after. The year 1844 and 1845 found them still comfortable, as her father had been made Postmaster of String Prairie. The Saint’s were driven from Nauvoo late in the winter of 1845-46.
They camped at Sugar Creek about a mile from the Child’s home until the grass started to grow to feed their horses. They lived in wagons and tents and suffered untold hardships. They finally started for Council Bluffs. Their horses were poor and the mud was terrible. Her brother Myron was married at this camp and Hannah was married in March, the same spring to William Elmer.
The two couples rented a house and lived together and saved to continue on to the west. Her Father, with his family, and the rest of the Saint’s left for Council Bluffs. The parting was hard for her, as her little brother Asa tried to stay with her. Hannah worked so hard and worried till she had brain fever and was sick again for two months. There was no help to be had, except a small boy to run errands. All were sick or afraid of the fever. They had to haul water three miles from the river and endured many hardships. William went to Keokuk, twelve miles to get medicine. He took sick on the way and had to be brought home. He lay beside her on the bed for three days burning with fever before help came. An over-dose of medicine nearly ended his life at this time. The year was a very trying one and they were not able to save enough to start west, but in September, John, Hannah’s brother, came back and she was so happy to see him. Her first baby was born in three weeks and was named John after him. There was no help to be had so John and a neighbor lady took care of her. She got along splendidly and in two weeks took in two boarders to cook for at one dollar per week apiece.
William was making fifty cents a day and they were able to save enough to buy a wagon and the things they needed to start west. In the spring of 1848 the two couples, each with a baby, started out. It was very stormy and muddy traveling and the Indians were hostile, but there was plenty of grass for the horses. It took three weeks to go from Des Moines to Council Bluffs, where the folks had stopped to recoup before starting for Salt Lake.  A neighbor met them three miles out and said the folks were well, but little Asa had died. Brother John and Hannah were heart-broken, for they had looked forward to this reunion. It took some time before she could be reconciled and enjoy herself. Little Johnnie was seven months old and the first grandchild—so much was made over him. The following spring the two couples returned to Des Moines to please John Elmer, to get the rest of his children, who had stayed behind. The trip was full of hardships and privations but they managed to persuade the rest of the brothers and sisters to go back with them. John (William’s father) was overjoyed.
They remained at the bluffs until 1852, when they all started for Salt Lake—about three hundred families in all. When they got to the Platt River, cholera broke out.  A great many died and many more were sick. Hannah did much to ease the suffering and help bury the dead. She finally contracted cholera herself and was unable to do anything until they reached the mountains. The high dry air seemed to revive her. When they got to Salt Lake the company was divided—part going south, and the others north. The Elmer’s and part of the Child family went north to where Ogden is now. There were just two houses, a patch of oak and wild cherry bushes. They took up a farm at Harrisville, lived in their wagons until houses could be built. Hannah’s father ran Brother Farr’s saw mill day and night to get lumber cut for their homes. During this time he contracted Brain Fever from which he died.
They managed, someway, to get through that terrible winter, the cold and lack of food caused much sickness.
In the spring they put in a crop and things looked better for a while but soon the grasshoppers came and destroyed most of it. They saved just enough to see them through the fall and winter.
The Indians were so bad they had to build a twelve foot wall and made a Fort and all move in for protection. (This was Bingham’s Fort at Wall Avenue and 2nd Street in Ogden, Utah)
In November 1854 William got Mountain fever and was sick for three months. In the spring of 1855, the grasshoppers again took most of their crops. Many had to kill their livestock and dig roots to keep alive. That winter all the children had scarlet fever, five down at one time. All survived but in the spring they all had measles and the baby, thirteen months old, died. Poverty seemed nothing to this sorrow.
In the spring of 1856 they moved into Ogden where there were a few more people. They took up ground on the Bench, built a house and raised a fine garden, and William kept the farm in Harrisville.
That fall, William was called to go back to meet the hand Cart Companies.  Instead of the trip taking a few days, William was gone two months. It was a terrible trip, all half frozen and starved, and many died.
Hannah and the little boys (the oldest eight years) gathered the crops and dug the potatoes. She tended what stock they had. It was bitter cold and the snow was deep.
Another baby was born December 6, just after William’s return. The house was not finished and the wood supply was gone, but they gathered willows and dried them and managed to keep warm. There was no doctor or medicine to be had at this time. 

The next spring they sold the farm and bought fifteen acres in Marriott close to the Weber River. They cleared the land and planted ten acres of wheat, corn, potatoes, etc., and raised a good crop.
William married a second wife, Mary Ann Gheen and Hannah shared what she had with her, although it wasn’t much. They all lived together and managed to be happy even through these trying times.
Hannah and her small children went to the farm and helped with the vegetable garden and gleaned wheat. Just as the last of the crop was about to be gathered, William was called to go meet Johnson’s Army. This left the gathering and hauling of the winter wood to Hannah and her little boys. Mary Ann tended the smaller children and they managed very well—even to helping neighbors who were sick or ailing.
Hannah was the mother of twelve children, all born during this period of poverty and privation. She gave many hours of her time helping others, and being a midwife, and she brought hundreds of babies into the world.
She lived a good and faithful life, and was loved by all. She passed away 23 May 1897, and is buried in the Ogden City Cemetery.
Children of William Warren Elmer and Hannah Paulina Child: 1. John Samuel Elmer, born 13 October 1847, in Lee, Iowa. Died February 1857 in the Utah Territory. 2. Mark Alfred Elmer, born 16 December 1848, in Council Bluffs, Pottawatomie, Iowa. Died 31 May 1895 in Ogden, Weber, Utah. Buried 1 June 1895 in the Ogden, Weber, Utah Cemetery. He is the father of Minnie Mae Elmer, great-grandfather of Dorothy Toone Cook. 3. William Warren Elmer, born 22 November 1850, in Council Bluffs, Pottawatomie, Iowa. Died 23 January 1919 in Ogden, Weber, Utah, buried 26 January 1919. 4. Cynthia Tryphenia Elmer, born 16 December 1852, in Ogden, Weber, Utah. Died 7 December 1934. 5. Hannah Paulina Elmer, born 13 February 1854, in Ogden, Weber, Utah. Died 13 March 1855. 6. Polly Ann Elmer, born 6 December 1856, in Ogden, Weber, Utah. Died 7 November 1939 in Ogden, Weber, Utah, buried in Ogden, Weber, Utah. 7. Phebe Wooster Elmer, born 19 September 1858, in Payson, Utah, Utah. Died 21 December 1938, in Garland, Box Elder, Utah, buried 23 December 1938, in Garland, Box Elder, Utah. 8. Sally Rosabella Elmer, born 16 November 1861, in Payson, Utah, Utah. Died 9 August 1878. 9. Sarah Josephine Elmer, born 16 April 1863, in Ogden, Weber, Utah. Died 9 April 1890, in Ogden, Weber, Utah, buried in Ogden, Weber, Utah. 10. Electa Ann Elmer, born 28 January 1865, in Ogden, Weber, Utah. Died 29 April 1945, in Ogden, Weber, Utah, buried in Ogden, Weber, Utah. 11. Charles Asa Elmer, born 17 August 1869, in Ogden, Weber, Utah, died 3 July 1870, in Ogden, Utah Territory. 12. Hiram Barney Elmer, born 11 February 1871, in Norwich, Windsor, Vermont. Died 14 December 1894, in Ogden, Weber, Utah. 

This History was taken from a history turned into the Daughters of Utah Pioneers History Department, Salt Lake City, Utah, by Rhea B. Cazier. Children data from the Paf program of Dorothy Toone Cook, IGI file from Family History Library, Ogden, Utah.