UTAH IN THE EARLY DAYS—PRESIDENT YOUNG'S PRIMITIVE HOME—RAISING THE STARS AND STRIPES ON MEXICAN SOIL—THE HISTORICAL THREAD UP TO THE PERIOD OF THE "UTAH WAR."

The early days in the valley are thus described by Eliza R. Snow:

"Our first winter in the mountains was delightful; the ground froze but little; our coldest weather was three or four days in November, after which the men plowed and sowed, built houses, etc. The weather seemed to have been particularly ordered to meet our very peculiar circumstances. Every labor, such as cultivating the ground, procuring fuel and timber from the canyons, etc., was a matter of experiment. Most of us were houseless; and what the result would have been, had that winter been like the succeeding ones, may well be conjectured.

"President Young had kindly made arrangements for me to live with his wife, Clara Decker, who came with the pioneers, and was living in a log-house about eighteen feet square, which constituted a portion of the east side of our fort. This hut, like most of those built the first year, was roofed with willows and earth, the roof having but little pitch, the first-comers having adopted the idea that the valley was subject to little if any rain, and our roofs were nearly flat. We suffered no inconvenience from this fact until about the middle of March, when a long storm of snow, sleet and rain occurred, and for several days the sun did not make its appearance. The roof of our dwelling was covered deeper with earth than the adjoining ones, consequently it did not leak so soon, and some of my neighbors huddled in for shelter; but one evening, when several were socially sitting around, the water commenced dripping in one place, and then in another; they dodged it for awhile, but it increased so rapidly that they finally concluded they might as well go to their own wet houses. After they had gone I spread my umbrella over my head and shoulders as I ensconced myself in bed, the lower part of which, not shielded by the umbrella, was wet enough before morning. The earth overhead was thoroughly saturated, and after it commenced to drip the storm was much worse indoors than out.

"The small amount of breadstuff brought over the plains was sparingly dealt out; and our beef, made of cows and oxen which had constituted our teams, was, before it had time to fatten on the dry mountain grass, very inferior. Those to whom it yielded sufficient fat to grease their griddles, were considered particularly fortunate. But we were happy in the rich blessings of peace, which, in the spirit of brotherly and sisterly union, we mutually enjoyed in our wild mountain home.

"Before we left winter quarters, a committee, appointed for the purpose, inspected the provisions of each family, in order to ascertain that all were provided with at least a moderate competency of flour, etc. The amount of flour calculated to be necessary was apportioned at the rate of three-quarters of a pound for adults and one-half pound per day for children. A portion of the battalion having been disbanded on the Pacific coast, destitute of pay for their services, joined us before spring, and we cheerfully divided our rations of flour with them, which put us on still shorter allowance.

"Soon after our arrival in the valley, a tall liberty-pole was erected, and from its summit (although planted in Mexican soil), the stars and stripes seemed to float with even more significance, if possible, than they were wont to do on Eastern breezes.

"I love that flag. When in my childish glee—
A prattling girl, upon my grandsire's knee—
I heard him tell strange tales, with valor rife,
How that same flag was bought with blood and life.

"And his tall form seemed taller when he said,
'Child, for that flag thy grandsire fought and bled.'
My young heart felt that every scar he wore,
Caused him to prize that banner more and more.

"I caught the fire, and as in years I grew,
I loved the flag; I loved my country too.
* * * * * *

"There came a time that I remember well—
Beneath the stars and stripes we could not dwell!
We had to flee; but in our hasty flight
We grasped the flag with more than mortal might;

"And vowed, although our foes should us bereave
Of all things else, the flag we would not leave.
We took the flag; and journeying to the West,
We wore its motto graven on each breast."

The personal narrative, up to the period of the Utah war, is thus continued by Bathsheba W. Smith:

"In 1856 my husband was sent as delegate to Washington, by vote of the people of the Territory, to ask for the admission of Utah as a State. In May, 1857, he returned. Congress would not admit Utah into the Union. On his journey East his horse failed, and he had to walk about five hundred miles on the plains. This made him very foot-sore, as he was a heavy man.

"On the 24th of July, 1857, I was in company with my husband and a goodly number of others at the Big Cottonwood Lake, near the head of Big Cottonwood Canyon, where we were celebrating the anniversary of the arrival of the pioneers in Salt Lake Valley, when word was brought to us that the United States mail for Utah was stopped, and that President James Buchanan was sending out an army to exterminate us. We turned to hear what President Young would say. In effect he said: 'If they ever get in, it will be because we will permit them to do so.'

"In September my husband went out into the mountains and stayed about four weeks, assisting in conducting the correspondence with the leaders of the invading army. Fear came upon the army, and they dared not come face to face with our people; so they stayed out in the mountains, while our people came home, excepting a few who remained to watch them.

"Soon after my husband's return, he married Sister Susan Elizabeth West, and brought her home.

"About this time I was having a new house built. One day, in the forenoon, I had been watching the men plastering it, and had been indulging in the pleasant thoughts that would naturally occur on such an occasion, when my husband came home and said it had been determined in council that all of our people were to leave their homes and go south, as it was thought wiser to do this than to fight the army. Accordingly, on the last day of March, 1858, Sister Susan, myself, and son and daughter, started south, bidding farewell to our home with much the same feelings that I had experienced at leaving Nauvoo.

"Peace having subsequently been restored, we returned to Salt Lake City on the third of July following. Instead of flowers, I found weeds as high as my head all around the house. When we entered the city it was near sunset; all was quiet; every door was shut and every window boarded up. I could see but two chimneys from which smoke was issuing. We were nearly the first that had returned. Being thus restored to my home again, I was happy and contented, although I had but few of the necessaries of life."