What sufferings must have been endured by these brave, faithful, single-hearted, pioneer "Mormon" women. Pen and tongue are weak to express the struggles and trials of these heroines of modern times.

Lydia was still in her little den into which she had moved when coming to the place one year ago; flooded when it rained, intensely cold in Winter, hot and stifling in the Summer, and always damp, low, unhealthy and impossible to make, or keep clean. Lydia was too neat and thrifty to tamely submit to such a state of things any longer than possible. She felt weak in her own spirit when alone with her sad thoughts, but when the occasion presented itself for action, she was prepared for it.

In June, she heard that the Widow Ensign was about to move to the valley, and wished to sell her cabin and a few acres of farming land. Accordingly she set out to see if she could purchase it. She had been washing and sewing for those of the Saints who could pay for such things, and had saved thereby a few dollars.

She offered the widow what money she had together with some clothing and household effects which she could ill spare, for her cabin and land. The offer was readily accepted, as it was not very easy to sell property, so many were constantly leaving for the valley.

Then, here was Lydia, without a dime and but very few personal effects, settling down for another year, with no prospect of reaching the Mecca of all her hopes, the valley, for at least another year. However, she had a tolerably decent log cabin, which possessed the merit of keeping out the rain, and which could be made a clean dwelling place for herself and little ones. She moved into her new home on the 23rd of June, and her devout spirit breathed a fervent prayer of gratitude to God, as she entered its portals, that she and her children were still alive and well, and that their surroundings were so much improved.

The children were now sent to school, and Lydia took in washing and other work to keep herself and family.

On the 30th of June she writes:

"Have been doing some washing for miners that I may get some money to buy meal. To-day I went with my son to the mill to get something to make bread for my family. Just as I was leaving, a gentleman, learning my situation, told the miller to put up twenty pounds of flour for me, at his expense. May the Lord reward him bountifully."

How many times in the history of this people have unknown friends aided them when in distress! Surely angels must have carefully watched over them in their manifold sufferings.

During harvest, the brethren "took hold" and harvested Lydia's wheat.

The Winter of '49-'50 was spent very peacefully by this patient woman. Her children, whom she had always taught at home previously, were now at school. Busy with her needle and wash-tub, to earn enough to feed and clothe her little ones, the time flew quickly by, and as Spring came on Lydia felt an almost irrepressible desire to make a start to emigrate to the valley.

"James," she said one day to her oldest son, "can't we make an effort to get to the valley this season?"

"Why, mother, what will you go with? President Young took our two teams and wagons and you know we only got back one team and part of the two wagons. What was the reason, mother, that the wagons were so broken up and almost fit for nothing?"

"Well, my son, I have heard it rumored that the teamsters in crossing the plains, returning here, as they did not have proper restraint and care over them, were a little foolish and perhaps cut up the more cumbersome parts of some wagons for firewood."

"How would they drive them?"

"They did not drive the broken wagons, my boy, but would load the more valuable part of several wagons, such as wheels, axle-trees, etc., yoke up long strings of oxen on this wagon, and thus save hunting up wood, or going without, where wood was scarce. But let us say nothing about it; we will be very thankful to have what is here. I have given the pieces of one wagon to get the other one repaired, so that we may have one good wagon. Bishop Hunter was here the other day; he has come on to bring a company of the poorer of the Saints, and will help them with the Emigration Fund, where they are unable to come any other way. Now, the kind Bishop tells me that President Young has given him especial charge to bring us out this season; and he offers me the use of two yoke of oxen. He says I can pay for their use when I get to the valley and earn enough to do so. This, of course, I will do as soon as I possibly can."

"Well, but mother, ain't we poor?"

"Yes, James, but God will always help those to be independent who earnestly desire to be so. We will be blessed in the future as we have been in the past."

It was thus decided to get ready to move westward with Bishop Hunter's company, and Lydia very rapidly completed her preparations for the long journey across the plains. Under Bishop Hunter's advice she sold, for a small sum of money, the yoke of oxen that had returned the previous year from the valley, and turned the proceeds into a little fund for the outfit.

A brother, named Grover, whom she had known in Kirtland, and had been friendly with all through the various moves of the Saints, hearing of her destitute circumstances, and that she was about to emigrate to the valley, came in one day and gave her twenty-five dollars in cash.

She also sold the little cabin and piece of land for about twenty dollars, receiving her pay in corn.

This corn was prepared for the journey in a very odd manner. The children spent many days in parching it; after which it was taken to the mill and ground up. This was done by the advice of President Young, in order to preserve the meal sweet and good. The greater part of the corn was thus prepared; but Lydia carried some meal unparched. She bought a sack of flour weighing one hundred pounds, and thus had for the journey about seven or eight hundred pounds of flour and meal together parched and unparched. A few pounds of dried fish, some soap, eight or ten pounds of sugar, a few matches and a little soda, formed the grocery stores. Her medicine chest consisted solely of a bottle of consecrated oil.

One pair of shoes and a stout, home-made suit or dress with a better one for Sunday use for each of the children; a good shawl for herself and warm wraps for the little ones, made up the scanty wardrobe. But she had quite a good supply of bedding which was of great service to her on the journey. A little stove was set up in the wagon to keep them warm, and a little rocking-chair in the front end of the wagon for Lydia to sit in, were among her selections for the trip. However, she soon found that even these supplies would not go in the wagon, and give room for the seven little ones. Although but twelve years of age, James walked most of the way to the valley and drove the oxen, while Joseph, Newel and Sally walked a great part of the way; but even then, a place must be found for the three smaller ones, beside the mother. So after talking the matter over a great deal, Lydia concluded to yoke up two of her cows on lead of one yoke of oxen, and put the odd cow and the other yoke of oxen on some wagon belonging to the company, the owner of which would allow her to have the use of part of the wagon for her share. Bro. Cluff offered to let Lydia put her cow and oxen on one of his wagons, and partly load the wagon with her things, he having one of his boys to drive. Bro. Cluff was pretty well off, had ten or twelve boys, and was well able to assist the widow.

Lydia found herself ready about the 1st of June, 1850, and started with Bro. Cluff 's folks, traveling as far as Salt River, and then halting for the rest of the company to come up. In about two weeks, the whole company was gathered, organized and ready to start. As was the custom, the party was divided into companies of one hundred; then subdivided into fifties, which were again divided into companies of ten. Bishop Hunter was the presiding captain, and Jesse Haven was the captain of the ten in which were Lydia and her friends, the Cluffs.

For many days they traveled upon the prairie, a level sea of waving green, without a mound or hill to rest the weary eye. After striking the Platte river, they followed it up for hundreds of miles. Sometimes they would reach a little grove of trees, sometimes some brush, or a little driftwood caught in a snag in the river. This was all the wood the camp ever found while on the prairie; and the prudent widow always carefully laid by some wood in her wagon to serve when there was none where they camped.

For very many miles the train moved along the plains up the Platte river, which were then called the "buffalo country." Often in the distance they would see herds of these creatures. One day, they were traveling in a little more hilly part of the country, and became aware that the hills were covered with thousands of these herds. What was thought at first to be trees, turned out to be a moving mass of buffalos; and upon the head wagons getting near enough to see, they found that some of these immense herds were crossing from the hills down to the river to water. A halt had to be called, and some hours were spent waiting for the road to be cleared for a passage.

It was here in this "buffalo country," that the famous stampedes of the animals were wont to take place. Without one second's warning, every ox and cow in the whole train would start to run, and go almost like a shot out of a gun. No matter how weary, or how stupid they were, when one made the spring, the remainder of the horned stock were crazed with fear. On, on, they would go for miles, and seemed unable to stop until headed and brought back to camp. One day while slowly plodding along beneath the burning, sultry sun, the start was made, and as every wagon was drawn by oxen or cows, away went cattle, wagons and inmates; tin and brass pails, camp-kettles and coffee-pots jingling merrily behind and underneath the wagons where they were tied; children screaming, everything that was loose flying out as they bumped along; over the untrodden prairie flew the maddened cattle, nearer and nearer to the river bank, which was here a precipice of twenty-five feet down to the water. Women, seeing their danger, sobbed out wild prayers for God to save; men ran and shouted to no avail; when suddenly over the plumy grass flies a horseman, spurring and screaming to his quivering, panting horse; mothers clasp their frightened babes in their arms, and prepare to face their watery grave. But the rider is up with the head team, and just as the head wagons are within ten feet of the deadly bank, he turns them aside and they are saved.

Lydia's wagon was near the lead, and she came within a few feet of the precipice. When she once more was safely traveling in the road, she and her children thanked God for His deliverance, praying that they might be so endangered no more. Her prayer was granted.

Another stampede occurred, but it was in the night and no one was hurt. The wagons, at night, were drawn up in a circle, the tongue of one resting upon the hind wheel of the preceding wagon; inside of this ring, the cattle were coralled. One night the camp heard the sudden start, and over one wagon over which the lead ox had leaped, went the whole herd. The wagon, which belonged to John Kay, was badly broken up. Out into the prairie ran the cattle; but as speedily as possible a man jumped on a horse, and riding furiously until he got ahead of the herd, he circled round and brought them back to camp. The cattle, when stampeding, always follow a leader, so the horseman took advantage of this, making a circle of some ten miles around to get back to camp.

From ten to twelve miles, was the average day's travel. At night, on reaching camp, the ring of wagons was formed, the cattle were turned out to feed, and then tents (by those who had them) were spread, camp-fires lit, supper cooked by the women; beds made in and under wagons, and in tents; supper eaten, and children put to bed. After dishes were washed and put away, the horn blew and the camp would gather in the center of the circle, a hymn would be sung, and prayer offered to God for future protection with thanksgiving for His past mercies.

Then the cattle would be brought up and corraled, and the older people would gather around the camp-fires; sometimes to sing, sometimes to tell stories of the past, and sometimes even to dance on the level space cleared for the purpose.

At daylight the cattle were again turned out to feed upon the grass, the horn blew, and singing and prayer were offered up to God. Breakfast was soon prepared and eaten, wagons packed, oxen yoked and the day's march was again taken up. No swearing, either at oxen or in any other way was allowed. No one was allowed to wander off; no running of teams, no team could try to pass another, no camp-fires must burn at night after retiring. Great care was taken that the prairies should not be set on fire.

Sabbath day, the train remained in camp, holding service and praising God, resting from the week's journey and toil.

Sometimes a halt would be made for a day or so that the women might wash and iron, and patch up the clothes. At such times, the young men would take their guns, getting permission from their various captains, and go out hunting; rabbits, deer and sometimes a buffalo would be the results of these expeditions, everything being divided carefully among the camp.

The camps were each a company of fifty, traveling about a day's journey apart, on account of the feed for the cattle.

Bishop Hunter was very kind to Lydia, and as they neared their journey's end, he would often come up and ride along a moment, saying in his quaint, abrupt fashion:

"Fine boy, fine boy! cattle look well; old cattle! didn't expect 'em to see the valley; look well, look well, better than when they started. Fine boy, fine boy—!"

By this time the worthy man would be out of hearing and soon out of sight, giving his jerky discourse to the winds that blew softly round his little gig.

Lydia's food lasted very well, she sometimes making a little mush or johnny-cake; the cows giving milk night and morning. When there was no fire she would turn the warm milk out on some parched meal, let it soak awhile, and then eat it with thankfulness.

For butter, the "strippins" were taken at night and in the morning, put into the churn which was in the wagon, and at night she would find a little pat of butter sufficient for breakfast, churned by the day's riding.

Days, weeks and months thus passed by, and at last, about the first of October, the train entered Emigration canyon.

Long camping times were now a thing of the past, and all anxiously watched for the first sight of the valley of the Great Salt Lake, where all their hopes were centered, and their feet were bound.

What a joyful cry ascended from the weary travelers as the mouth of the canyon was reached, and they were almost at their journey's end! Oh, what a glorious time was that! Lydia's bosom swelled with unspeakable joy as her eye beheld the scene before her, and she realized that her journey's end was reached.

A general halt was called, and a universal prayer of praise and thanksgiving ascended to that Father who had established the Saints in the tops of the mountains.

After feasting their eyes until somewhat satisfied, every one anxiously hurried to reach this blessed spot, and very soon the long serpentine train was in motion.

Down the declivity cumberously hastened the tired oxen, urged by the loud and oft-repeated "whoa-ha, whoa," of their lusty drivers.

On the third of October, 1850, the company reached the city, then called Great Salt Lake City. Wagons went here and there, friends rushed out from every hut and tent to greet and welcome the travelers.

As Lydia looked around her she was surprised to see the many comfortable homes dotted around, with weighty stacks of grain, and ricks and stacks of wild hay garnered for the winter's use.

Three years only had the Saints been here and already she saw houses and sheds on every hand, with here and there a fence, all the lumber for which had been sawed out by hand.

The long street on which she was traveling was called Emigration street; (now called third South street); it was a distinct line in this wilderness, of houses, cabins and tents; but as there were very few fences, little could be told of the plan of the city as it now stands.

The houses were mostly thatched with straw or covered with mud. Some few shingles had begun to assert their rights by proudly crowning a few of the most pretentious houses.

Lydia enquired the way to her brother-in-law, Joseph W. Johnson's house, to which she directed James to drive. Joseph Johnson had married Newel's sister, and Lydia met a warm welcome from these kind-hearted people.

Here she rested for several days, washing and ironing up her clothes and overlooking the slender stores remaining from the journey.

Samuel, her step-son, was with his uncle, he having left Mr. Wixom because of unkind treatment. He greeted his mother with noisy rejoicings, and immediately began planning for a home, or a start for one, for the family.

"Mother," he said, about the second day of her arrival, "I think we might take a lot somewhere down in the south-eastern part of the city, drive the wagon on it and then make plans for the coming winter."

"Why, my son, do you wish to go down there?"

"Well, mother, you know the cows must have some feed and on the bench close by, there's pretty good feed."

"Well, Samuel, in a couple of days we will hitch up and make a start for a home once more."

Accordingly, on the fourth day of her arrival Lydia directed Samuel and James to yoke up the oxen and cows, and, for the last time for many months, she and her little ones traveled in a wagon.

She called a halt on a vacant lot in what is now the First Ward, took possession of the same and at once made plans for a house. Before making any move to build, however, Lydia went to the agent of the Emigration Fund, delivered up the two yoke of oxen, and gave her note for sixty dollars for the use of them in crossing the plains. Before two years were past this note was redeemed and she was out of debt.

The adobe yard was close by the new home, and one evening as the little circle was gathered round the blazing camp-fire the widow said, "Boys, do you think you could make adobes?"

"Of course we could, mother; Uncle Joseph will show us; you know he is a mason," said Samuel.

"Well, if you boys could make some adobes, and then get a job to pay for laying them up, we might get up one or two rooms which would be warm and comfortable."

Execution followed close upon the heels of plans with the indomitable little woman, and by the beginning of December the house was ready for occupation. Brother Johnson had laid up the walls of the little, two-roomed house for work which the boys did for him. Poles were brought from the canyon to lay across the top of the walls to serve as rafters on which to pile the roof of straw and dirt. From the wagon Lydia had drawn out three window sash, much to the joy of the boys. These had been saved by the mother when leaving the states. These gave two windows to the front and one smaller one to the back room, which latter was used as a bed-room. The doors were made of "shake" (lumber split out of logs instead of sawed), strongly fastened together and hung with rude, home-made hinges; these doors, overhung with a stout blanket, were quite capable of keeping out the cold. A huge fireplace filled up part of one side of the "big room." The floor of earth was oddly carpeted, first with a lavish supply of straw, over which was stretched a rag carpet fastened to numerous stakes driven down all around the edge of the room. For the bed-room the box of the old wagon was split up and the boards were laid down under the beds. When settled, the little family was more comfortable than it had been since leaving Nauvoo.

As soon as possible after moving into the house, Lydia went around to her neighbors and told them she was about to open a small school.

Schools were then very rare, and on the opening day the brave teacher was surprised to see so many pupils present. The school paid so well during the winter, and so satisfied were the people there with the teacher's labors, that she was solicited to accept the Ward school, which she accordingly did in the Spring.