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PIONEER LIFE IN MANTI |
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EARLY PIONEER LIFE IN MANTI, UTAH As lived by the children of Fredrick W. Cox. The first Flour Mill was built at the mouth of Manti Canyon, but it was destroyed by the Indians, October 1, 1853, and the millers were killed. So our first mill for grinding was a large coffee mill which went from house to house as needed. After the mill was built it was not long until we were glad to go even when papa was not there. We could clamber into the great water wheel and run up the side. Our weight would start the wheel over, then we would tumble over and over like a wheel within a wheel. Soon it was safe to go in every direction, and Temple Hill was our special delight. In the Spring we gathered little round rocks for "play bisquits" and flowers, sego lilies and garlic decked our play places. It is needless to say that it was hard to get along in this new country. We youngsters didn't realize the many hardships and self-denials of our dear parents. Even actual necessities were scarce. It was hard to live without bread and other staple foods, but at times we had to, and we got along without it by substituting corn bread and the greens which sprang up so miraculously at the foot of Temple Hill and grew so thriftily, that we gathered them day after day. We raised vegetables as the summer advanced. They helped our diet. Like most children, we hungered for sweets. Our parents tried to fill this want by crushing watermelons, cornstocks and beets, then boiling them down in molasses. This was also used to make cake pumpkin, butter custards and other simple foods. There was no fruit in Manti until we had lived there maNy years, except a few wild currants and occasionally, in season, there were red and service berries. One year when the service berries were quite plentiful our children and Uncle Orville's went out on the road which now leads to Sterling Mines. We gathered all that were ripe and then Ada climbed the highest tree out there. When she got as far as she could she snatched her bonnet off and swinging it hard she called, "Three cheers for the Red, White and Blue!" and the echo answered back. "Three cheers for the Red, White and Blue!" Not only was this the first time it was voiced in these distant wilds, but it was the first time I ever remember having heard it. We little ones envied her. We thought it was so grand. Unless one has been without fruit for many years, he cannot sense the longing for it natural to growing children. The older girls have spent the whole day picking two quarts of wild currants that we might have some of them. Only one famished for them could tell how good they tasted. Our parents were resourceful at all times and few pioneers have struggled harder than they to make families and neighbors more comfortable. Having vegetables filled the lack of fruit in a way. Father made a long-legged stool with a sharp wooden peg standing in the center. On this pin he would drop a pumpkin and then with the drawing knife, he would peel the upper half, turned over the other half was similarly peeled. Then it was cut round and round in spiral rings and a slender pole run through it like a string of beads. When the pole was full, it was raised overhead where it was dried and ready to put in a sack and hung out of the way until needed. At times the little rooms were festooned from side to side with yellow pumpkin. Then with molasses, it was made into pies and sauce for our bread and butter. We used molasses a lot for sweetening and flavor. We used salt-rising bread until way into the eighties, as we raised everything necessary for it here at home. Flour and water and a pinch of salt was all that was needed. We had a large dutch oven built in the dooryard to bake our bread. It would hold twelve or fourteen large loaves. We refined our salt by dissolving rock or red salt, letting it settle until perfectly clear, then dipping it off to put in a vessel over a fire, where the water was boiled away. It was then spread in the sun to dry out. In this way, if handled carefully, it would be as white as snow. When soda was needed, like everything else, the people got the best to be had. The men were on the lookout for storms for as soon as it dried fairly well, the southern bottom lands would be like snow, down in what was called the saleratus beds. The storm would dissolve the alkali in the saturated beds, and bring it to the surface where it lay in a loose coating all over the land. The wagon was made ready with the oxen or the team of horses hitched on. Boards were laid across the wagon bed for seats for the larger children. The younger ones climbed in back and all were fitted out with sack and shingles, and a lunch. At the saleratus beds, each took his shingle and carefully scraped the white coating into small heaps until we hd all we needed for the time. Then we would carry a sack from pile to pile until all the sacks were full, then they were loaded into te wagon. After our picnic lunch we turned merrily homeward. It was a sight-seeing day too, for there were large hideous snakes to shudder at, and wild birds we had never seen before, and that were not afraid of us. To use the saleratus, two or three teaspoons full were put into an earthen bowl and boiling water added. When it stood long enough to settle, it was ready to use. With lots of practice, the bisquits often looked better than they tasted. Of course the saleratus was a useful article to the Pioneers for they used it in many various ways; in making soap, scouring wool, washing clothes, scrubbing floors, tinware, knives and forks. It was a cleanser for everything and everybody. We used the leach too, getting lye from the wood ashes. As every good housewife made her own soap, she saved every scrap of fat for this purpose. Pioneer families learned not only to make everything for themselves but to take care of everything. Even the scraps of clothing were used. The calicos and light fabarics were pieced into quilts. Aunt Jemima made up the heavier goods into shoes for our holiday and summer wear. Once a year we went to Brother Ipson or Brother Braithwaite and had our feet measured. Then we were furnished with a pair of cowhide shoes which must last while the cold weather lasted. In warm weather our feet went bare. Our feet got hardened in a little while so that it was in our pride, not our flesh that we suffered. Many times when we were going places and could see some of our beaus riding toward us, we would shy off to the side of the road and sit down by the side of the ditch in order to let our feet hang out of sight. It was the same when we went to work in the fields, to glean, or to plant potatoes or to weed them. We would slip out of sight, if possible. William laughed at us, and once we had been planting in a hurry, wishing to be done early enough to go with a crowd of girls to the warm springs - next day being Sunday, beau day. Will said to Haze, "Say Haze, if you want a wife who can plant potatoes, she's a dandy. She planted an acre yesterday." Oh, if only the earth had of opened for me. Our mothers also made our sunbonnets and hats. With nimble fingers they braided the straw, sewed and shaped, bleached and pressed our hats, and I don't need to say that we were proud to wear them. One holiday, I had both hat and shoes of mother's make but not a dress that was whole. What to do! Mother did not know. The last one had been worn to rags. Since it was a holiday, she did not want to stay at home in the house all day with me. Well, she went to Aunt Jemima and together they fixed over one of Adelaide's, and how that day was enjoyed! Then they took thirty pounds of wool in the dirt, washed it, carded it by hand, then spun and weaved it for half the cloth it made. Of this hard earned cloth, dresses were made for us little girls. The cloth was white so they sent for bark to make it a tan color. When our dresses were dirty, they put us to bed rather early while they washed, pressed and made ready to wear again. Aunt Emeline's oldest children were boys so she was the tailor for the family and made whole suits of clothes for father, Fred, William and others. She was an ingenious person, a;nd her work was always admirable. She also made fancy buckskin cloves, stitched them with silk and they were equal to the fancy gloves of today. The material was prepared in the dooryard. While she basted the edges of two skins which had been tanned by the Indians, together, the boys or father dug a small round hole or pit and made a strong smudge in it. By stretching and spreading the skins above the smoke with pliable sticks, they were smoked a beautiful unfading tan color. Of course, if the skins got blazed they were ruined. As further example of their thrift, they took an old cotton filled quilt of a neighbor, pulled out the stitches, washed and carded the cotton and spun doubles and twisted them making thread to patch and darn our clothes. The neighbor got half the thread for the old rag of a quilt. In this way they helped both themselves and the neighbors. Father and the boys never lacked for employment. They grew ambitious to put our large family into a better home. So when the sun shone there was the rock to quarry out of the hills. When it was cold and stormy they worked on the looms, spinning wheels, swifts reels, shurrier and all the other tools for the women to work with. Then there were sleds, sleighs, and everything made of wood which was needed in our home or on the farm to be hand made. The wagons were always being refitted with bows, and the men always tried to have things better made and more convenient. There was all the farm work to do, and more land to be cleared. While Father, Fred and William grubbed the land of the heavy rabbit brush and sage brush, the children who were large enough to help, went along to pile the brush to be burned. We made row after row of brush piles. When it was ready to burn a match started the first pile. Then the fun began. Snatching a burning brush we ran to the ext pile, then on and on until it was all a mass of roaring flames. Then we raced between the long rows of smoke and flame shouting, singing, and laughing. It was a happy band of toilers! We sang all the way to and from work. Father was a good musician, and played his flute. He played all kinds of music. He and mama sang in the choir in the old council mansion years. It was where the Carnegie Library now stands. When the harvest time came the whole family except the mothers and smallest children went to gather the crops. Father or Fred would swing the cradle. The other boys raked or helped Will to bind. The girls followed behind picking up every head that scattered on the ground. I have heard Father say that it would make the 'old cylinder' hum when a bundle of the gleanings went through it. How hungry we were when noon came! Father set down by a little stream and drew the dinner bucket dripping from its cool depths in or near the water. No food tasted half so good. Then we had an hour of rest. We waded the creek, sat in the shade, or bent a young cottonwood down and springing uipon it, 'we would take a horse to ride'. All the way home was a joyful ride. The smaller ones clambered over Father's knees and often with four or five he sat trotting or swaying them back and forth singing happily: "Sailing in the boat when the tide rolls high Sailing in the boat when the tide rolls high Sailing in the boat the colors how they fly Waiting for a pretty girl to come by and by." "Choose you a partner and dance away Choose you a partner and dance away Choose you a partner we'll dance till day And we don't care a fizzle what the old folks say." When the milking and the chores were done, he called us all together and we gratefully thanked the Creator for the many blessings we enjoyed. Then off to bed, and our slumber was sweet from honest toil in peace. At times when the harvest was rushed, we would spend the whole week in the field. Rosalie and Lovina went back and forth bringing food from home as we needed it. One night they were a little late and were lost in the darkness and the tall sunflowers. For once, they were glad to hear the voice of Joseph Chapman who guided them to the camp and father. At night the mosquitoes swarmed over us feasting on our tender flesh. Our noses, lips and eyes were often so swollen we could not help but laugh, though we often felt like crying. We all wanted to sleep by Father. To satisfy us and be just, he had us take turns sleeping beside him. Besides our love for him, it was very comforting to feel him near in that wild sagebrush country were snakes roamed at will. The Indians were nearly always with us, begging, and when we had bread, they shared with us. About ten or twelve would come to the door to perform and beg. They had a drum made of an animal hide stretched over a shaped wooden vessel like a washdish, only deeper. Then the hide was drawn together at the back and tied for a handle. They held the drum in one hand and beat the flat side with a stick and danced, singing Hi Yia, Hi yia, ya yia, keeping time. They kept up the grotesque performance until given something to eat. Then they went to the next door and repeated it there. The children usually put as many people as possible between them and those dark people whose cruel deeds filled us with terror. Sometimes the Indians went away on trips or on the Warpath with other tribes. If victorious on these excapades, we could usually tell by the fact that they brought back little Indian boys and girls to be sold or abused until relieved by death. At one time they brought so many youngsters that nearly all the older residents in Manti had and Indian boy or girl. A great many of them grew to manhood and womanhood among our people. Of course Father wanted no slaves in his family, and besides our homes were very crowded with so many children in just one room for living room, bedroom and kitchen. One day when Francis was about ten years old, he was with the sheep. Vet, wo was smaller was with him. They always carried their dinner in their hands because they must follow wherever the sheep went feeding during the day. On this particular day, a lot of wandering Indians were trailing their tent poles and camp equipment along through the brush and stopped to arrange some packs. The boys came up curiously to watch them. Presently Vet turned to Francis saying, "That Indian took my dinner from me." Handing his dinner to Vet, Francis strolled around among them and came up just behind a fellow who was greedily eating Vet's dinner. He raised his foot and kicked the Indian with all his might and strength. Amidst the jeers of the others, the culprit handed what lunch was left back to Vet, and the campers moved on without further molesting the boys. Indians always admired acts of bravery. It semed to be a habit among the Indians to just help themselves to his dinner if they found a boy alone with the sheep. The boys were surely glad to get off with that. We watched the Indians sometimes hunting rabbits on the hill. They would first form a large circle. Then they would ride round and round drawing nearer and nearer together until the poor bunnies were completely surrounded. Then they began shooting them with their bows and arrows. Right now, I can hear their fiendish laughter as the poor things fell one by one until none were left live. They would take them to their "Wickiups" where the rabbits were thrown on the fire, hide and all. When the meat was done, what was left of he hid was stripped off and dinner was ready. Aunt Emeline's room was lighted by one small window, one door and an open fireplace, and had room for two beds with the foot boards coming close together. There was scarcely room for her family to gather around the fire opposite the beds. The next room being the corner one, it had a door facing the east and a window facing the north. The partition walls were straight west from the door and south from the window. Aunt Jemima had two beds in here and Aunt Lydia one. They had no fireplace, but used a step-up stove for cooking and heating. Aunt Jemima had a family but Aunt Lydia had not been married long. They did all their work, lived, and ate in this one room. Mama had a small bedroom a little more than half way up the side of the fort. In it there was space enough for one bed and a small one on the floor. There was a corner fireplace with room for mother's 'half' chair where she sat to knit and we gathered around her and the fire. We had plenty of company for there were not any story books or papers nor much of anything else to pass the time for us, and when the long winter evenings came, story-telling was our usual and popular pass-time. Reading would have been difficult even if we had had books for we had no lamps and only a few candles as there were no cattle to spare for the fat. As a substitute they used what was called a 'slut'. This was a saucer with a small piece of rag in the shank of a button. The weight of the button would hold the rag down in any kind of grease. It made quite a light. Mother had read a good many stories in her childhood, and when the neighbor children found what interesting stories she could tell them, her evenings were not spent alone. As soon as the chores were done, the dishes washed and the evening's work over, they gathered at our corner fireplace and eagerly listened while mama patiently told story after story. She repeated them evening after evening until the children practically knew them off by heart. Then they would hang bed curtains and give a dramatic performance of them. The reformation time came along and the larger boys and girls joined with their parents and evening meetings were held. The young folks learned to get up in those gatherings and bear their testimonies. Some of them got to be real preachers. Our schools were very simple. Two of the large children would take their places and choose up sides until all were chosen. Then the teacher would take the place in the center facing them. If the word was spelled correctly, another was given out, but if it were misspelled, he or she sat down. Toward the last it grew to be exciting and lots of fun. Occasionally we would take a ride to Ephraim in the sleigh to a dance. The winters went by and in the spring Father would go to the stone quarry. All the children liked to run about temple hill. We found a soft clay bed and we carried loads home. We spent hours molding clay and making everything from a horse to a frying pan. Edwin or Byron might have made themselves famous as sculptors, so perfect were the things molded by them. The girls fashioned every kind of dish for cooking and for the table. We enjoyed them as well as they do the costly china of today. On the Hill, top, we found a soft rock which could be whittled into something like a pencil. It would make quite a decent mark if we could keep a point, but it had to be thick and clumsy keep it from breaking. However, it was the only pencil we ever knew of or had the chance to use, and it was so short that it almost made our hands cramp to use it. Paper was scarce in those days so we were only allowed to write three or four lines in our copy books each day. Neither were the textbooks suitable to our ages. We had only the books which our parents carried and used in their last days of school. Think of such little tots trying to understand the figures and geography adapted for the seventh and eighth grades. Our parents did all they possibly could for the children. Mother taught school before we came here and again here in the "Court House" in the old fort. One evening she was ready to call the roll, but had left the roll book at home so she sent me back to get it. I got it and started back, when an old Indian started following me. He was old Shintooth, the ugliest human that ever lived and an outcast even among his own people. At first I paid no attention to him and thought he would desist when we met someone, but there seemed to be no one about. He was slowly gaining on me! I could hear his horrible breathing. Fear lent me wings, for I could almost feel his horrible claws grasping me. On and on I fairly flew with him after me all the way. Reaching the door which was unlatched I fell through and dropped on the floor. One night an Indian came to the Fort and told the people that the Indians were coming to surround the Fort and kill all the Mormons before morning. Our younger children had gone down to the barn to bed. Father hardly believed what he said but would take no chances when little children were exposed, so he came and got us all up into the Fort for protection. What an anxious night of watching we spent! But not a single Redskin came in sight. Our family had long outgrown those little rooms in the Fort but it took time in those days to build a home large enough to hold that many comfortably. Meanwhile they must be fed and clothed. We were seven years building the old home which we called the 'Big House'. It still stands in sound, perfect condition one block west of Main street on the south side of Depot street. We moved in in 1881 or '82, four wives, seven sons and sixteen daughters, besides Fred's wife; and it seemed so good to have whole rooms to work and play in. At this time young people were visiting our home and we were getting grown up. Young men were making shy advances and the older girls were enjoying dances, the theater and other social affairs. We enjoyed our home life and it will cling to us while life shall last. Father was often away from home. About in '82 Old Topaddie came to the Big House and told Father of some wagons over near Green River which had been left by Johnson's Army. The Indian sat on the floor and mapped out the whole route describing and locating the mountain, river, and valley and how far they would have to travel without water. This so interested Father that he determined to trust the Indian and to follow him. He persuaded Archie Buchanan to go with him. They took teams, bedding, provisions and trusted their lives to the Indian. Father had always been a friend to the Indians. Many are the cattle, sacks of flour, potatoes and other food he gave them as well as housing them and feeding them. No matter how often they came they never went away empty handed. In spite of all the familys' fears he trusted Topaddie. We were all very much frightened as the time set for their return came and went and they did not come. We realized how an Indian might be tempted and a traitor Indian destroy them. But this time the red man proved a trusted friend indeed and though they were gone longer than they expected to be, they returned safely. Their provisions gave out and the old Indian hunted continually, for game was scarce, only a rabbit to be seen once and a while. He always gave the white men the best. He roasted the rabbit skin and all and gave the meat to Father and Arch. The part he knew they would refuse as unclean he ate himself. It was hard to realize the value of all Fathr brought home. Several of the wagons were re-made and there was iron and lead to last years in that land 1000 miles from where it could be bought even if you had te money, which we did not. The wagons were an essential to our working men. The Indians came to Father with so many of their troubles. Even after he was gone an Indian came from far out in Dixie country to see him and seemed so disappointed when told that Father had been killed in an accident. The food eaten by the family was mostly raised on the farm and our clothing was provided from the work done by our mothers until we were large enough to work and earn it for ourselves. I asked mother if Father ever bought me a dress, and she answered, Not that she knew of. Nor can I remember of getting one from him. Of course he bought sheep and provided the wool to be made into clothes for our comfort. But of "Store Clothing" we had none; only those earned by our own efforts and except the factory he provided and the cotton yarn for the 'linsey'. There were no stores until we had been here a good many years. When goods were finally brought here, they were so high it took almost a fortune to get the few things we could not get along without. Father always made trips to Salt Lake where he would buy necessities. Usually he made it convenient to conference time and took some of the women so that they could have an outing once and a while. I remember Father paid 90 cents to a $1.00 a yard for factory, 30 cents for a spool of thread; 25 cents for a box of matches. Wheat, oats and flour were usually just as hight. I have sold a knitted scarf for a busual of wheat, then sold the wheat for a five-dollar felt hat for Francis; the first 'store hat' he ever had. Father planned the Big House with one large and light room for children enough to keep two teachers busy. Rosalie taught the smaller pupils first and afterward when she had experience she taught the higher classes. Ellen Van Buren was an assistant in winter and was used night and day. There was night school for older boys and girls. Some married people, too, who had not been able to get sufficient schooling attended the evening classes. W.K Barton taught singing school there. Uncle Orville had a dancing school, too, which we children enjoyed, although we were only spectators, yet it was a picnic to watch those who took part. Uncle Orville was a good dancer and with dancing pumps on his feet he was like a rubber ball, so light and nimble was he. How did our patient mothers ever endure all the racket and bustle! It went on continually all the year round though in a different way in the school season. We held public dances in that room for it was the nicest room in town to dance in. In the spring, school was cut short for the boys and girls had to work the farms. There was the ground to plough and grain to plant. We did not have alfalfa in those days. Just a little wild haly, so the oxen were turned out to feed during the night. Sometimes it took long hours of hunting in the mornings to find them. Besides the horses and cattle, there was a good-sized flock of sheep. These were cared for summer and winter at home. They were never driven to the mountain or desert as they are in these days but were corralled each night. There was enough range in the valley for them and Edwin, Byron and Francis each in their turn had to herd them during the day and bring them home at night. In the spring when there were lambs the girls would cut potatoes in small pieces and scatter them in the troughs so that they might eat and thrive. We also fed milk to the orphaned ones. Along in April the herd was driven to the Warm spring where large spout was erected which would raise the water high enough to have quite a fall. Each sheep was held while the water washed out the dirt. Then they were turned loose to dry. When shearing time came the wool was much cleaner. It was brought home and each mother had her portion weighed out to her according to her number of childrn. In the Big House there were three looms which were used by the mothers until the girls were older when each in her turn learned to weave. At times, there were seven and eight spinning wheels arranged along side by side facing the windows and the street. We first picked the wool, taking out all bits of dirt and straw. Then it was sorted, The fines and best was put in one pile, the next best in another and so on - usually making four grades. The first or finest grade was to be used in making fine flannel for dresses, next for linsey sheets, underwear, and so on; next for jeans or heavy cloth for trousers for men and boys. The last lot was carded by hand for quilt batting. The first three lots were sent to carding machines and made into rolls, then how we made the wheels spin. Our reels would take at least two yards of yarn to go around them We put forty times, or threads into one knot, ten knots in one skein of yarn making 160 yards in each skein. In weaving, fourteen knots were usually put into one yard of cloth. It required more if very fine and less if course, making about 1200 yards of yarn to fill one yard of cloth. Then it would take just as much for the warp. We would spin from four to six skeins in a day. We had to be very careful in spinning warp or it would break in the weaving which made that work so trying and tedious. We ran races to see who could spin the most in a day or a given time. Rosalia wove ten yards of linsey in one day. She was sick the next day to pay for it. Then Lovina spun ten skeins in one day and eight was the largest day's spinning I ever did. The rest kept close to Us. We sang every song we could think of. we set words to music. We sang whole stories told in verse. Aunt Emeline remembered the "Ritter Baun" and taught it to us. "The Ritter Baun from Hungary came back renowned in arm Despising jousts of chivalry, of love and ladies' charms While other knights held revel, he sat wrapt in thoughts of gloom or in Vienna's hostelry slow paced his lonely room There entered one whose face he knew, whose voice he was aware To whom he had often listened in a holy house of prayer. It was the Abbott of St. James, monk, a fresh and fair old man Whose reverend air arrested e'en the gloomy Ritter Baun. But seeing with him an ancient dame come clad in Scotch attire The Ritter's color went and came and loud he spake in ire. Ma, Nurse of her that was my bane, Name not her name to me. I wish it blotted from my brain - Art poor, take alms and flee. Sir Knight, the Abbott interposed, "This case your ear demands." And the crone cried with a cross enclosed in both her trembling hands. You wedded undispenced by the Church, your cousin Jane in spring In autumn when you went in search for Churchman's pardoning. Her house denounced your marriage bauns, betrothed her to decry And the ring you put upon her hand was wrenched by force away Then wept your Jane upon my neck, crying, Help me nurse to flee To my Ritter Baun Glaymorgan hills. But word arrived, ah me! You were not there, and 'twas their threat by foul means or fair, Tomorrow morning was to set the seal of her dispair. I had a son, a sea boy in a ship at Hartland Bay And by his aid from her cruel kin I bore my bird away, To Scotland then from the Divan, Green Myrtle's shore we fled And the hand that sent the ravens to Elijah, gave us bread. She wrote you by my son and he from england sent us word You had gone into some far country. There were 14 verses more and we used to sing them all. This information was obtained from Margaret Pace in the Spring of 1963. The story of 'Early Life in Manti, Utah' was written by Emerette Cox Clark, daughter of Cordelia Morley Cox, and we have no date of writing. *In a note book on "Our Beloved Home and Parents" She said she had written much when she wrote to her on May 19,1919 - "Dear Sister Rosalie" - Clare B. Christensen. |
Last Updated: 03.10.2018