AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF
EMMA BECK EVANS COLEMAN
 |
| 1840-1913 |
I was born in Adams
County , Illinois January 12, 1840 . At that
time we lived in a log house using our wagon boxes to sleep in. My mother died while I was yet a babe. Father
married again soon afterward. My step-mother
was a very estimable and talented woman and I think my own mother could not
have been more kind, loving, and considerate of me.
At the time of my birth and from then on until we came
to Utah we were constantly harassed and driven by a lawless element, usually
headed by some minister who opposed to the tenets of the Latter Day saints, or
"Mormons"'. These men were cruel and heartless in the extreme, and
often drove women and children of our faith from their homes in the dead of
winter, leaving them with neither food nor shelter. Fortunate were the ones who
were given warning in time to get a few of their effects into their wagons and
journey forth to new places of abode and have a few oxen and cows and,
perchance a horse or a few poultry, with which to start again. Perhaps you ask
the question: "Why this so-called 'driving and persecution? Why the exodus
from Nauvoo and the crossing of the plains and settling of Utah
It seemed we were constantly on the move. Wherever we
stopped houses were built, land cleared, crops planted and such general and
permanent improvements were made that the casual observer would immediately get
the impression that the participants expected to remain indefinitely. So we did
expect to make our homes and surround ourselves with the comforts of life. But
after one harvest or perhaps two, we were moving again, driven by a ruthless
mob. (Read the history).
My earliest recollection of moving was one in which I
was old enough, --perhaps seven or eight--to share in and to really appreciate
the hardships the "Mormons" were going through was the winter we went
into Missouri. We had to leave comfortable homes and barns filled with feed for
our oxen and cows and make our way as best we could across an unsettled snow
covered country which lay between us and the nearest settlements in Missouri
We traveled along a high divide or water shed between
the Nodawa and one hundred and two (streams that drained the watershed). The
snow was deep, often dragging the axles of the wagons which made traveling very
difficult. Often the men would have to break a road through deep drifts or
across ravines into which the snow had drifted. Then they would be followed by
one or two or perhaps three yoke of cattle driven through two or three times
before the wagons could be brought up.
At that rate there were days when we would move probably not more than
three to five miles. It was bitter cold and we children had to keep in the
wagons in order to keep warm, or rather from freezing, for I do not call to
mind any time that we were really warm.
To be huddled all day in a slow moving, and
considerable of the time standing still, covered wagon, and "can't see
out" only through the front end over the backs of weary, starved pulling
oxen into a snow bound surrounding, was one of the most trying experiences of
my childhood days--half the men walking by the side of the oxen (two yoke, three
and sometimes four yoke of cattle to the wagon), geeing and hawing and often
cracking their long whips over and on the backs of the oxen, or sometimes
punching the wheel ox in the ribs just behind the shoulder to make him push
over to the right to keep the wagon from skidding into a tree or other
obstruction close to the road. Other
times the 'men slapped their hands on their shoulders in order to keep warm. A
wagon skids badly in snow and when going around a siding place or down a
hill. The rear end of the wagon has a
tendency to get around in front and causes it to travel sidewise. A wagon would
sometimes skid into a tree and then it took all hands to either skid it back
around or cut the tree down--if not too large. Sometimes such an accident resulted
in a broken reach. That would stop all further progress of at least part of the
company till a new reach could be made and put in again.
There
was the constant "doubling" up of teams to help each other along; all
these things took time and explain why our daily mileage was so little. At
night the wagons were parked as conveniently close to each other as conditions
would permit and a big fire made if there was wood. Sometimes on this divide we
had to camp where there was not even any wood. But we children were bare-footed
and otherwise scantily clothed and usually had to remain in the wagons. The men would drive the oxen down into some
brakes where there was timber and cut trees so the oxen could browse. That was
all the feed they had. Because of scarcity of forage, deep snow, and hard work,
our cattle, commenced to die. Every morning one or two or more oxen would be
dead. Some of the stronger oxen often "froze-down" when they lay down
at night and had to be loosened up before they could get onto their feet. Such
"freezing down" often took off bits of hide along the side and thigh
and at times rendered the ox almost useless. It was pitiable to see some of
those cattle as they came into camp and took their places in the teams. Their
sunken eyes and their flabby necks, their shoulder blades at every stop seeming
to almost stick through the hide; the joints of their back bones could be
easily counted, and their ribs seemed a long way apart; so much so that it
looked as if the wind could blow right through them; the points of their hips
stuck up so one could easily have hung a dish pan on them. Their flanks were
lank and their shoulders and thighs nothing but bone and sinew. The back of the
hard wooden yoke pressed cruelly against the raw grisled place on the top of
the neck and the bow buried itself almost out of sight in the cavity between
the joints of the shoulder and the neck. Lean and lank and hungry they
resignedly bowed their necks to the yoke, the frosted chains snap and clank and
rattle, the moving wagons squeak and creak as the iron tires come in contact
with hard tramped and frozen snow in the vicinity of the camp, and the day's
hard and relentless grind is on. When those weakened oxen stop to rest, their
flanks and shoulders are all atremble, their breath comes in short gasps and
the exhalation seems to pass no further than the frost that has accumulated on
their noses. When the driver hears an ox gritting and grinding his teeth in a
slow, uneven manner he well knows that that ox will soon have passed out of the
game.
I mention the animals and their discomforts first
because among the pioneers the success or failure of almost all their
undertaking depended entirely on their animals. When a man drove into camp his
first thought was of his stock; get them unhitched and to feed and water. His
waking moments during the night when listening for the bells, were of his
animals; when he arose in the morning, his first thought was of his animals.
Not that he thought less of his family and failed to render any necessary
assistance, but on his animals depended the future of his family. Therefore,
his constant thought and care was of his means of transportation. They supplied
his motive power and must be at all times in the best possible condition or
else he got nowhere.
We ourselves were faring very little better than our
cattle. Our meager supply of provisions was fast diminishing. We had nothing
many times but a bit of frozen corn bread and pork. Often have I put my bit of
frozen pone under my pillow in order to get it warm enough to be bitten. At
times no fire, no warmth of any kind except what we created by our own actions
and wrapping ourselves in our bedding. Babes in arms and other children of
varying ages and degrees of health and strength, old people and delicate
mothers. We children undernourished, cold, hungry, barefooted, no playthings,
no books, no entertainment, no diversion of any kind, just keep as quiet as
possible and as warm as conditions would permit. Do you wonder we children
thought it a trying time to be huddled all day in a covered wagon?--we from
comfort- able homes, and our cattle from well-filled barns.
Many times have I gone to bed at night so very hungry
that I could not sleep. That continual
gnawing in one's stomach---the cravings of hunger--and so cold. I often wished
that I might die. The men folks had hardly enough food to sustain life, yet
they were every day and night exposed to the inclemencies of the weather.
When an ox died at night he was cut up and apportioned
among the company. Those hungry starved oxen I have described in whose
emaciated carcass there was not a pound of wholesome flesh, graced our plates
at the morning meal. (Just a little incident to illustrate the condition).
A mother in the company died, leaving two little girls
and her husband. One of the girls was a little older and the other a little
younger than I. They sometimes rode in our wagon and if we laid over a day they
often came and played with me. (I was the only young child of our family in
this company).
One morning they came over to our fire just as we were
eating and mother said: "Well, dears, what did you have for breakfast this
morning?"
The little girls looked at each other and one of them
with a smile on her sweet little face and a mischievous twinkle in her pretty
blue eyes replied: "Oh, we had bread and brandy for breakfast this
morning.”
Mother threw up her hands in surprise and said:
"Bread and brandy! Child, where in
this wide world did you get any brandy? “
Still smiling she replied: "Brandy was the name
of our old ox that died last night, and we had a piece of him with our bread
for breakfast this morning.”
Conditions became so acute, that it was decided that
some of the men (My father was one) should take two or three of the best yoke
of oxen, one wagon and go on down to the settlements in Missouri Missouri
the
winter. Our men folks worked for those Missouri Missouri
I remember when the Prophet Joseph Smith was killed by
the mob. I was also at the Hauns Mill Massacre.
Then came the long overland trip across the plains to Utah
Just
beyond a ridge I wanted to see; or a little way up a creek; or the flowers
looked so much prettier down in the next little draw and perhaps I might find a
spring just a little further on till the first thing I knew I would be out of
sight of and behind the wagons. Then I would be frightened and resolve to never
again disobey orders. But I soon forgot and would wander off again. One time
when I found myself the wagons were a long way ahead of me and had passed
through an Indian village. How I got through without being seen, I don't know;
but none of the Indians seemed to notice me. I was certainly frightened and it
was some time before I wandered off again.
Another time I strayed off gathering flowers and soon
found myself out of sight of and behind the wagons. As I hurried along as fast
as I could to catch up I saw an object a short distance ahead that caused my
blood to run cold. There, right by the side of the road stood a large gray wolf
apparently waiting for me to come up. I walked right along the road and as I
passed by him so close I could see the moisture drip from his mouth as his
tongue lolled out and his white fangs glistened. I didn't run, and tried to act
as if not frightened at all, and that old wolf just sat there and looked like
he would like very much to eat me up. When I caught up with the wagons I didn't
stray off anymore, and I never for a long while told any one about the
incident.
We moved down to Lehi and my father, David Evans, was
Bishop of that ward for twenty-eight years. I was married in Lehi to Prime
Thornton Coleman, and we moved down on the Muddy and took part in the Indian
Mission. We finally went to Pinto, then out into Nevada Upper Kanab
in Utah Apache
County , Arizona Williams Valley
(Contributor's note: This autobiography was found among miscellaneous records I have accumulated over the years. My copy ends with, "(later called--". Richard N. Heywood.)
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