PIONEER SKETCHES—UTAH IN 1850.
BY ELDER JAMES H. MARTIN, IN THE CONTRIBUTOR, 1890.
It is very difficult for young men born in Utah, and still more so for those who have immigrated from other countries, to understand how Utah, with its fair valleys, which now bloom as a garden, could ever have been so barren and desolate as they have heard the old pioneers describe it. Now, look where they may, they see beautiful homes, lovely fields and orchards; majestic shade trees and waving meadows. "Is it possible," say they, "this beautiful scene could ever have been the dreary waste we have heard our fathers describe?" It is even so, and the writer, in whose memory those scenes are still fresh, will endeavor to illustrate by a few reminiscences.
It was on the 22nd of July, 1850, that on my way to the California gold fields I first entered the valley of Great Salt Lake, but it seems as if 'twere yesterday. As our little company of a half dozen wagons, emerged from the mouth of Parley's Canyon, a vast expanse of gray desert met the eye, livened only by a growth of stunted sunflowers upon the slopes of "benches" at the foot of the mountains. Gray, gray, everywhere; nothing but the bluish gray of sage-brush and greasewood covered the whole face of the land. Not an acre of meadow or green grass to be seen anywhere; the only green visible, being a thin line of willows along the Jordan, or the small streams flowing into the valley from the mountains. We saw squaws among the sunflowers with baskets and paddle in hand, beating the sunflower seeds into their baskets; the seed ground between two flat stones into a coarse meal, forming material for their only kind of bread. The Indians cultivated no land, but subsisted upon game, fish, sunflower seeds and roots; and when grasshoppers and crickets were plentiful, they gathered them by the bushel and baked them for future use in pits, which they dug in the ground and heated by fires made in them. Sometimes the poor natives had not even this to eat, and to preserve life, {430} had to subsist upon the inner bark of cedar and juniper, and seed bearing grasses. Although the scene upon entering the valley of the Great Salt Lake was desolate in the extreme, away in the distance was a sight that gladdened the eye and caused tears of joy to flow from more than one of our party. For months had we toiled slowly onward, living upon bacon and flour—flour and bacon—month after month. "And now," we thought as we saw the distant houses, "now we may get something good to eat—some milk, butter, green vegetables!" What luxuries! who can appreciate such things until long deprivation has made them precious?
We drove through the scattered town of small one-story adobe or log dwellings, but saw nowhere a sign displayed to indicate store, grocery or other place of business. I afterward found there were a few small second hand stores in town; one on Emigration street, as Fourth South was then called; one east of President Young's block; and one or two in other places, but none on Main street, which at that time was lined on both sides by a simple pole fence. No shade trees or orchards were to be seen; if any fruit trees had been planted they were too small to be casually noticed. Some tall native cotton woods stood along the south branch of City Creek, which ran southerly through the lot formerly owned by General Wells. The other branch of the creek ran westward, through the Temple Block, and thence found its way to the Jordan.
The Old Fort on the present Sixth Ward, or Pioneer Square, was still inhabited by families who had not yet been able to build upon their own lots. Everybody was busy—no loafers standing about—every man engaged in the mighty work of building a new state in the midst of the desert. And every man was a farmer. Food is the most important requisite of life; people may and do live without clothing or comforts, but food they must have or soon they die. So every man's great desire seemed to secure food for himself and family—a desire sharpened by the sufferings of the infant colony during the two previous years of partial famine.
One thing struck a stranger as very odd—the sight of money disdained and refused in making trade. For instance, I buy some butter or vegetables, and offer money for it—"Can't you let me have some sugar, sir, or some dried apples, instead of money?" I answered that we have a little of such articles left—hardly enough to last us to California, and again offer the cash. "Oh, do let us have a little dried fruit; it is so long since I had any!" And so we found there {431} are things more desirable than money. This was a common experience during the summer of 1850—money refused, and better pay—food—demanded. It may be different in Utah today.
Other things—strange things—were noticed by our party. Not an oath was heard from any of the Mormon settlers; and if a Gentile uttered one, he did so carefully, as we understood a man was liable to a fine for swearing. Not a drunken man could be seen—for there were no drinking hells allowed until Gentile Christianity forced them upon the people. And there were no houses of ill fame until the same corrupt but overpowering force introduced and sustained them. "Why," said they, "you must be like other people—you must have all these things." They judged Mormons by themselves.
No one thought to fasten a door at night—there were no thieves; and a woman might pass through the streets alone at any hour of the night with perfect safety. Is it so today? If not, is it "Mormonism" or its opposite that has wrought such a woeful change? There is no doubt as to the answer.
A few settlers ............