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According to
early Saint, Hezibah Richards, what did the apostates in Kirtland have in their
possession that belonged to the Church?
a.
The
keys to the Kirtland Temple
b.
The
original manuscript to the Book of Mormon
c.
The
Urim and Thummim
d.
Joseph
Smith’s Bible
Yesterday’s
answer:
B. He ran away from home to live with the natives
From the life of Nick Wilson: Nick
Wilson was born in Nauvoo, Illinois, and crossed the plains with his family
when he was seven years old. His family settled in what today is the
Grantsville area, and son Nick was given the responsibility of herding sheep in
a very desolate, lonely desert. He made friends with some Shoshone Indians and
was offered a pony if he would go with them. He couldn’t resist the pony so he
decided to accept their offer. [He lived with the Shoshone Indians for two
years]: One day we were getting wood, and having cut more than we
could carry in one trip, I went back for it when a boy ran up to me and said,
“You’re a squaw,” and spit at me. I threw down my wood and struck out after
him. He ran yelping at every jump, expecting me, I guess, to kick his head off.
But Washakie happened to see us and called to me to stop. It was lucky for that
papoose that he did. I went back and got my wood and took it to the tepee.
Washakie wanted to know what it was all about. I told him what the
boy had done. He said he did not want to start another camp fight, but he did
want me to take my own part. He said that he had been watching how things were
going, and he was glad to say that, so far as he knew, I had never started a
fuss. He did not think that I was quarrelsome if I was let alone. He was glad,
he said, to see me stand up for myself; for if I was cowardly the papooses
would give me no peace.
One day I heard an Indian talking to Washakie and telling him it
was not right for him to let me do squaw’s work; it would set a bad example for
the other boys. Washakie replied that he thought it was a good example, and if
some of the older ones would take it, it would be better for their squaws.
“We burden our women to death,” he said, “with hard labor, I did
not think so much about it until Yagaki [Nick Wilson] came. I see now how much
he helps mother and how much hard work she has to do. Yagaki appears to be
happier helping mother than he is when playing with the other boys. I believe
that she would have gone crazy if it had not been for him, her troubles over
the loss of father and my brothers were so great. I do believe that the Great
Spirit sent the little white boy to her.”
Chronicles of Courage, Lesson
Committee (Salt Lake City: Talon Printing, 1997), 8: 338-339.
The following is a number of pages, but well worth your reading
if, as Paul Harvey used to say, you want to know “the rest of the story.”
From the life of Nick Wilson:
Our winter camp was a very beautiful place with plenty of game and
an abundance of good dry wood. We had nearly everything that was needed to make
us happy. All of the sick Indians got well, and we were getting along finely
when one day some of Pocatello’s Indians came to our camp.
That night Washakie called a
council of the tribe to meet in the War Chief’s tepee. I thought this strange,
for he had always held his councils in our tepee. The next morning they held
another council, so I thought I would go over and see what it was all about.
But when I got to the door of the council tepee, I met an Indian who told me to
run back, that they did not want me in there. This puzzled me, for I had never
before been sent away from the councils.
When I got back to our
tepee, mother and Hanabi were both crying. I knew then that something serious
was up, but they would not tell me a word about it. I thought that Pocatello’s
Indians wanted Washakie to help them in some bloody affair with the whites.
Things went on in this
way for four days. The Indians kept on holding councils, but I could not learn
what was the cause. I saw other squaws come to our tepee, but when I came near
them, they would stop talking. This made me think that the trouble had
something to do with me, and I worried a good deal about it.
On the fifth morning
Washakie sent for me. I went and found about fifteen Indians at the council.
The War Chief first asked me how old I was.
“About fourteen
years,” I answered.
“How old were you when
you left home?” he went on.
“Nearly twelve.”
“Were you stolen away
or did you come to us of your own accord?” was his next question.
I told him that I ran
away; nobody forced me to come; but two Indians coaxed me and gave me my pinto
pony.
He then told me that I
might go. When I got back to our tepee mother and Hanabi wanted to know what
had happened and I told them.
That night the council
was continued in Washakie’s tepee. The War Chief asked me some more questions.
He wanted to know how the Indians treated me, and why I ran away from home.
I told him that I had
been treated just as well by the Indians as I had ever been treated by the
whites, and that I ran away because I was tired of herding sheep alone.
Besides, I wanted the pinto pony and the only way I could get him was to go
with the Indians, so I went.
“Have the Indians kept
their promises with you?” the War Chief asked.
“They have done
everything they said they would do.” I told him; “I haven’t any fault to find
with them.”
Washakie then said
that he had told the Indians they might offer me the pony if I would come; but
they were not to force me away from home. “So when he came,” the chief
continued, “we gave the squaw who owned the pinto four colts for him. I gave
her a yearling, mother gave two others, and Morogonai gave one. We never told
the boy that he could have the pony; but we all understood that it belonged to
him. Afterwards I gave him another horse for breaking some colts for me.”
The War Chief asked me
whether I would rather live with the white people or the Indians. I told him I
would sooner live with the Indians. With that the council broke up and the
Indians went to their various tepees.
“What does all this
mean?” I asked Washakie.
“You will know in the
morning,” he replied.
“If they intend to
take my pony away,” I said, “I will slip out in the night.”
“They are not going to
do that,” said my mother; “whenever you go, that horse goes with you.”
We all went to bed
that night wondering what would happen next day. It was a long night for me,
for I did not sleep much.
Morning came at last,
and after breakfast the War Chief with several other Indians came to our tepee.
With them were the Pocatello Indians. When they were all inside the tepee,
Washakie told me that these Indians had been down to the place where my people
lived; that my father said I had been stolen by the Indians; that he was
raising a big army to come and get me; and that he was going to kill every
Indian he could find. Washakie asked me what I thought about it. I told him
that it was not so.
“In the first place,”
I said, “my people do not want to fight the Indians; and besides, if my father
had been coming after me he would have come long before this. I don’t believe
one word of it.”
Washakie was of the
same opinion as I was.
Then one of
Pocatello’s Indians said he had just come from Salt Lake City and many people
there had asked him whether he knew anything about the boy that had been stolen
from the whites. He said that all through the white men’s towns they were
getting ready to fight, and he knew that they were coming to get me.
“I know that are not,” I said,
“for I have heard my father say many times that if any of his boys ran away he
should never come home again; besides, my father has an old Gosiute Indian
living with him who knows all about my running away.”
Washakie said that it
did not look reasonable to him that they would wait so long and then come to hunt
the boy, especially at that time of the year.
This made the
Pocatello Indians angry. “All right,” they said, “believe that white boy if you
would rather than believe us; but if you get into a fight with the white men,
you need not ask us to help you.”
Washakie said that he
was not going to have any trouble with the whites if he could avoid it.
“No,” they said, “you
are too big a coward to fight anything”; and off they strutted as mad as
hornets. As they went out they said to one of our Indians that they would like
to get that little white devil out in the brush and they would soon have
another white, curly-headed scalp to dance around.
When the council met
again that night, they did not have much to say; they all appeared to be in a
deep study. After a little while Washakie said he thought it would be a good
thing to send some of our Indians to the white settlements to find out what was
going on.
“That is the best
thing to do,” said old Morogonai, “but who will go?”
“It will not be hard
to get men enough to go,” said Washakie.
The War Chief said it
would be better for the white boy to go himself and end all the trouble; for if
his folks were coming after him that would stop then and settle the dispute.
Nearly all of the council agreed with the War Chief.
Washakie asked me what
I thought about it. I told him that I did not know the way home and I would not
go.
“If the council
decides that it is the wisest plan for you to go,” said the chief, “we will
find a way for you to get home safe.” He then asked each member of the council
what he thought about it, and all were of the opinion that was the best thing
to do.
Mother talked and
cried a great deal. I do not remember all she said, but I know that she begged
them to send someone else. Washakie was silent for a long time, then he said
that I had better go; that he would send two of his men with me to the nearest
white town and then I could get home myself.
“I want you to go
home,” he said, “and when you get there, tell the truth. Tell your father that
you came to us of your own accord; and then if you want to come back, we shall
be glad to have you come and live with us always.”
“All right,” I said,
“I will go home if you want me to, but I will not stay there.”
How mother did take
on! It seemed as if it would break her poor old heart, and Hanabi took it very
hard, too. I told them not to feel bad, for I would soon come back.
In a few days, I was
to leave, so we began to get ready for the journey. Hanabi and some other
squaws set to work to make my clothes, and they soon had enough to dress me in
first-class Indian style. The Indians gave me so many buffalo robes and
buckskins that one horse could not carry them; so Washakie said that I might
have one of the horses they had captured from the Crows.
When the two Indians
that were to go with me said they were ready, we packed up. I had in my pack
seven buffalo robes, fifteen large buckskins, and then pairs of very fine
moccasins. It was a bulky load, but not very heavy. Just as I was leaving, the
little boys gave me so many arrows that I could not get them all in my quiver.
When we started to
leave the village, how my mother did cry! I tried to comfort her by telling her
not to feel bad, for I should soon be back. Little did I think it would be the
last time I should see her, for I fully intended to return that fall.
We took plenty of
dried meat with us to last us through the trip, and away we went. On the fourth
day, at noon, we came to a place on the Bear River about twenty-miles north of
Brigham City, Utah. We stayed there the rest of the day to give our horses a
little rest. The two Indians said that they would go no farther, for I could
find the way from there very well.
The next morning they
helped me pack my horses and put me on the right trail, telling me not to ride
too fast, for I could get to the white settlement long before night.
As I left them I said,
“You may look for me back in a few days.”
“Don’t try to come
back this fall,” they said, “for it is getting to late to cross the mountains,
and we may have a big snow at any time now. It will take you six days to get
home from here, and that will make it too late for you to return. You had
better stay home this winter. The Indians will be there next summer. You can
come back with them.”
About noon I came to
some warm springs. I thought it would be a good idea to wash my face and hands
as I had not done it very often for the past two years. I saw that I had plenty
of time, for the sun was high, so I unpacked and staked my horses and went to
work to give myself a good scrubbing. I ran my fingers through my hair to get
the snarls out, but after all my fussing I could not see that I looked much
better.
My hands were like an
Indian’s and my costume was in the latest Indian fashion. My leggings were
trimmed with new red flannel, my shirt was of antelope shins, and my frock of
heavy buckskin, smoked to a nice reddish hue, with beads of all colors in wide
striped down the breast and on the shoulders, and fringes all around the bottom
that reached nearly to my knees. My cap was made of rawhide, with notches
around the top, and looked like a crosscut saw turned upside down. It came to a
peak in front, and mother had put a crown in it with muskrat skin.
After I had scrubbed
off all the dirt I could, I packed up and started again. Could see the
little town long before I came to it. At the first house I reached a man who
had just driven up with a load of hay. When I asked him where I could find a
place to camp, he told me to stay at his place if I wanted to, that he had
plenty of horses I tied them under the shed and fed them. By that time the man
came out and said that supper was ready. I told him that I had plenty to eat
and would rather not go in.
“Come and eat with
me,” he insisted, and taking me by the hand, he led me into the house.
The women and children
stared at me so hard that I felt uncomfortable. The children would look at me,
then turn to one another and laugh.
“I suppose you would
like to wash before you eat,” said the lady. She gave me some water and soap.
It was the first soap I had seen for two yours. After I had washed, she told me
to sit down at the table.
“Don’t you take off
your hat when you eat?” the man asked.
“No,” I said.
“Will you please take
it off here?”
I pulled it off.
They had bread and
butter and potatoes and gravy and milk—the first I had seen since I left home.
But I was mighty glad when I got away from the table.
I went out and watered
my horses and gave them some more hay. By this time it was dark, so I made my
bed and turned in. Just as I was getting into bed, I saw this man go down town
and pretty soon he came back with three more men. I saw them go into the house.
Shortly afterwards he came out and said that the bishop was in the house and
would like to have a talk with me. I told him that I did not want to talk; but
he kept at me until I got up and went into the house.
The bishop said his
name was Nichols, or something like that then he added, “I see by your dress
that you have been with the Indians.”
I told him that I had
lived with them for a year or two.
He said that he had
read in the papers about a little boy running away with the Indians, and he
thought I might be that boy.
“Maybe I am,” I said.
“To what tribe do you
belong?”
“Washakie’s tribe.”
“I have heard,” he
said, “that Washakie is a chief among the Shoshones and that his tribe is
friendly to the white people. What do you know about them?”
“Washakie’s band,” I
replied, “are good Indians, I have heard the chief say many times that he was a
friend to the people of Utah, that he had seen their big chief, who was a very
good ‘tibo.’”
“What is that?” he
asked.
“Oh, I forgot, I was
talking to white men,” I said; “’tibo’ means friend.”
I told them that he
had no need to fear Washakie’s tribe, but that old Pocatello had drawn away
some of Washakie’s Indians, and that they were bad Indians, who were doing
everything against the whites they could. Washakie had told me that they were
killing the emigrants and stealing their horses and burning their wagons.
Well, this bishop
talked and talked, and asked me ten thousand questions, it seemed to me.
Finally the woman took pity on me and said, “Do let the poor boy rest.”
I told them I had
always been in bed by dark and that I felt pretty tired.
“Well,” said the
bishop, “you may go to bed now, and I will see you in the morning. You had
better come down to my house and stay all day. I should like very much to have
Brother Snow talk with you.”
I didn’t say anything,
but I thought that neither Snow nor rain would catch me in that place another
day, so I was up by the peep of day and away I went. I traveled seven or eight
miles and stopped by some hot springs, unpacked my horses, and got me something
to eat. I thought that I would not stop in any more houses where bishops could
get hold of me and talk me to death.
After my horses had
fed, I started on my way again and after traveling about ten miles more, I came
to a place called Ogden. As I was going along the main street a man standing by
a store stopped me and began talking Indian to me. He asked me where I had
been. I told him. While we were talking, several more men came up and one of
them asked me where I was going to camp that night. I told him that I did not
know, but that I would go on down the road a piece until I found grass and
water. He asked me to put my horses in his corral and give them all the hay
they could eat.
“No,” I said, “I would
rather go on.”
“No,” he said, “you
must stop here tonight.” With that he took the rope out of my hands and let my
horses into his corral. I followed him and when I had unpacked I asked him if
he was a bishop. He said he was. I told him I thought so.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because you talk so
much.”
He laughed and said that
I must not mind that, for they seldom saw a person like me, and they wanted to
find out all they could about the Indians.
After a while he
invited me in to supper. I did not want to go, but he would have his way, so I
went in with him. I think he said his name was West.
This Bishop West, if
that was his name, asked me a good many questions, but he said he would not
weary me by talking too long. I was in bed soon after dark that night. I
intended to get off early the next morning, and give them the slip as before;
but just as I was packing up, the bishop came out and said, “Hold on there, you
are not going before breakfast.”
I told him that I had
plenty to eat with me; but he insisted that I take breakfast with him, and I
had to stay. He asked me a great may more questions, but he was very nice about
it. I felt glad to talk with him, for he was so kind and good to me.
He said that I would
be a very useful man, if I was treated right. He asked me whether I had been to
school much, and he was very much surprised when I told him that I had never
attended school a day in my life. He said that I must go to school, and if I
lived near him he would see that I did go. As I started away he asked me to go
and see Governor Young when I got to Salt Lake; but I thought I did not want to
do it. I was a young boy then and did not realize the importance of his
request.
That day I reached a
place called Farmington. Just as I was nearing town, I saw some boys driving
cows.
“Where can I camp tonight?”
I asked them.
“Up on the mountain if
you want to,” said one of them.
“You think you are
pretty smart,” I said.
“Just as smart as you,
Mr. Injun,” he replied; “if you don’t believe it, just get off that buzzard
head of a horse and I’ll show you.”
I jumped off and he
ran. I got on my horse and started after them, but they scrambled through the
fence and ran away through the fields. I went on through the town, and after
getting permission from the owner, camped in his field, and I was not bothered
with any questions that night.
The next morning I was
off pretty early and reached Salt Lake City. I did not stay there, however, but
went on through and stopped at the Jordan River Bridge for noon. This was a
familiar road to me now, for I had been in the city several times before. That
afternoon I journeyed on to what we called Black Rock and camped that night at
the southern end of Great Salt Lake. I was now within a short day’s ride of
home. Could hardly stay there till morning, I was so anxious now and to
get home.
Just as I was making
camp, a team drove up with three people in the wagon. I knew them. They were
John Zundel, his sister Julia, and Jane Branden, our nearest neighbors, but
they did not know me at first.
I had a fire and was
broiling a rabbit I had killed, when Julia came up and tried to get a good look
at me, but I kept my face turned from her as much as I could. Finally she got a
glimpse of my face and went to the wagon. I heard her say to Jane,
“That is the whitest
Indian I ever saw, and he has blue eyes.”
“I’ll bet a dollar it
is Nick Wilson,” said Jane.
They came over where I
was and Jane said, “Look up here, young man, and let us see you.”
I let them take a look
at me.
“I knew it was you,
you little scamp!” she said, taking hold of me and shaking me and patting me on
the back.
“I’ve a good notion to
flog you,” she went on. “Your poor mother has worried herself nearly to death
about you.”
Morning came at last,
and I packed up in a hurry to get home. I did not stop this time until I
reached it.
As I rode up, two of
my little sisters, who were playing by the side of the house, ran in and told
mother that an Indian was out there. She came to the door, and she knew me the
moment she saw me. I cannot tell you just what passed the next hour, but they
were all happy to have me back safe at home again.
I had forgotten all
about my horses in the joy of the meeting. When I finally went out to unpack
them, the folks all followed me and mother asked, “Where did you get all of
those horses? Did you take them from the Indians and run away?”
I told her that they
were mine, that I had not run away from the Indians as I had from her. After
that I put my ponies in the field, and answering their eager questions, I told
them all about my two years among the Indians.
Chronicles
of Courage, Lesson Committee (Salt Lake City:
Talon Printing, 1997), 8: 356-365.
