A Historical Epilogue

Utah Historical Quarterly

Vol. 24, 1056, Nos. 1-4

AN HISTORICAL EPILOGUE

On September 4, 1955, the Richard Fancher Society of America unveiled a monument to the memory of the victims and survivors of the Mountain Meadows massacre in 1857. A number of Fanchers were in the massacre, including Captain Alexander Fancher, sometimes referred to as Charles Fancher. He was a grandson of Richard Fancher of the Revolution for whom the family organization is named. The Fancher family has held family reunions for a number of years, but the erection of the monument at Harrison, Boone County, Arkansas, made this year's gathering a very special occasion, attracting more or less national interest.

Chiefly responsible for the success of the reunion was the president, Mr. J. K. Fancher, of Connor, Arkansas. He had written hundreds of personal letters to family members, had followed up the business of collecting money and getting the contract for the monument, and then planned in detail the day's activity. As part of this, he had been in communication with the Utah State Historical Society, and invited both Dr. A. R. Mortensen, Director, and Mrs. Juanita Brooks to attend the ceremony. Through the efforts of Dr. Mortensen and the generosity of Mr. Nicholas G. Morgan, Sr„ Mrs. Brooks was able to go-

Mrs. Brooks reports that the services were sacred in nature, though non-denominational, carefully planned in a spirit of tolerance and forgiveness. She was cordially received and her talk well accepted, with the reaction of many present that they were glad to know more of the background facts that led to the massacre.

Some of the Fancher family expressed a desire to hold memorial services at the Mountain Meadows in September, 1957. Mrs. Brooks assured them that they would have full cooperation from the people of southern Utah in helping to make the pilgrimage a success. Several who have already visited the site protested that there is no marker on the highway to direct those interested to the place, and that the side road to it is almost impassable, at least in wet weather. They felt they should like to cooperate with the Road Commission, the Trails and Markers Association, the Sons of Utah Pioneers or any other agency of this area to correct this condition.

The first two of the documents which follow constitute a significant portion of the ceremonies of September last. The third is a brief but powerful sample of the results of that affair, and its spirit is in sharp contrast to the century of silence, misunderstanding, and hatred which had gone before. It would seem that an episode of history, three generations later, is now complete.

SPEECH GIVEN AT THE DEDICATION OF A MONUMENT HONORING THE VICTIMS OF THE MASSACRE AT THE MOUNTAIN MEADOWS

My dear friends:

By Juanita Brooks

My text for today comes from Proverbs 4:7—"And with all thy getting, get understanding."

I should like to preface my remarks with an incident which will show why I selected this text.

When I was in my eighteenth year, I left home to teach school. In the town where I worked was a fine old man who seemed to me to exemplify Old Age at its best. There was a dignity about him, an aura of wisdom, and with it all a gentleness. I used to wonder what he was like as a young man—how big and handsome he must have been who now was like a shock of grain, ripe unto the harvest.

One day as I closed my school he came to my schoolroom, and after the customary greetings, he said, "I have something I would like you to do for me. My eyes have witnessed things that my tongue has never uttered, and before I die, I want them written down."

I promised that I would do it; I really intended to. But as eighteen is more interested in young men than in old ones, I put it off. There were last-day-of-school programs and reports to attend to; there were dates and dances. Soon after school closed a neighbor came to say that my old friend was ill, and that he kept asking for the little school ma'am.

I went at once and stayed by, the three days until he died. It was the first time I had witnessed the passing of a human soul, and I was shaken by it, but more shaken by the last hours in which this ninety-two-year-old patriarch tossed in delirium. He sang bits of Indian songs, he preached in the Indian tongue, he mumbled incoherent bits. Once he opened his eyes wide to the ceiling and shuddered. "Blood! Blood! Blood!" he said, in a voice that made my hair crawl.

I turned to my uncle who stood by. "What troubles him?" I asked. "He seems to be haunted."

"Maybe he is. He was at the Mountain Meadows massacre, you know."

No, I didn't know. Nor could I understand how such a man could possibly have been involved in anything so horrible. Surely here was no man of violence, no murderer! It was my attempt to understand that led to research in this subject, and which in the end produced the book The Mountain Meadows Massacre.

The history of the west is so often marked by tragedy and death, death for individuals and for groups. When we look back at them, we see how, by the slightest chance, each could have been avoided.

Take for example the Donner Party. When they broke from the larger train of which they were a part on that July day in 1846, they thought they would save five hundred miles in distance and make the Hastings Cut-off the regular California route. Had they been a week earlier, they might have got through before the snows fell. Or had winter not been premature that year, they might have made it. Or, better still, had the letter written by Edwin Bryant warning all trains to avoid this route been delivered, they would never have gone at all.

But how idle now to speculate. The fact was that the company tried the new, direct route and were overtaken by winter in the mountain pass which now bears their name. Their suffering, their survival, is a story of horror which has no parallel in American history, a story of people forced to subsist upon human flesh, of parents devouring the bodies of their own children, of men casting lots for life. Of the 87 who took the Hastings Cutoff on July 20, 1846, only 47 reached their destination, and tiiey only because they were rescued by relief parties from the coast.

A second example was the Sandwalking Train which left Great Salt Lake City on October 1, 1849 to follow the southern route, then only a faint trail. This company was loosely organized of a number of independent groups, among them the Jayhawkers, the Bug Smashers, the Wolverines, and others who were identified by family names such as the Bennetts and Wades.

They had hired Jefferson Hunt to pilot them through, but enroute someone produced a map of a direct route west to the coast. In vain did their captain tell them it was too good, too easy, that lines on paper meant nothing where country had not been explored. In vain did he remind them that only a few men had passed over the route they were following: Jedediah Strong Smith in 1826, John C. Fremont in 1844, and some of the returning Mormon Battalion men in 1847. At the last camp he told them to choose, each teamster, which way he would go. As for himself he would take the beaten track though only one wagon went with him.

The next morning the Jayhawkers led out boldly for the short cut; wagon after wagon followed them, until of the total of 107 wagons that started, only 12 followed Captain Hunt.

Again the details do not belong here. Some of the wagons returned to the cross roads to follow the captain later, others made their way back to the road. Only ONE wagon of the 37 who went on finally reached its destination. And it was by diis group that Death Valley received its name.

But there has been no tragedy like that of the Fancher train. Like the Donner Party, had it been a week or two earlier, it would have passed in safety, with supplies purchased from the Mormons. But after military law was declared and the people were told to prepare for war, possibly for a long seige, and not to sell a kernel of wheat to any passing emigrant train, complications set in.

In our effort to understand, let us pause here for a glance at Mormon history, for the dark happenings on the Mountain Meadows were made possible only by what had gone before.

The story of the rise of the Mormon Church is one of persecutions and drivings. Three times these people had been forced to leave their homes. There had been whippings and tar-and-feather parties, burning of homes and pillaging. At Haun's Mill in Missouri, a mob rode into the village; the Mormons took refuge in an old blacksmith shop, where they were killed like trapped animals, their bodies thrown into a dry well.

At last they established their city, Nauvoo, Illinois, where more than fifteen thousand of them gathered. This time their trouble grew into a local civil war, with both sides appealing to the government for aid.

Finally a truce was agreed upon, in which the Mormons were to evacuate Nauvoo in May, and their enemies were to leave them unmolested until that time. But the Missouri boys grew impatient, and in February began what they called "Wolf Hunts," or depredations of Mormon homes.

Now the Mormons were forced to leave before they were ready. On February 14, the first wagons crossed the river west, the thermometer fell to below zero and a heavy storm arose. In this first temporary shelter 19 babies were born in one night. During the first season, 600 Mormon graves were left on the prairies of Iowa—600 victims of exposure and hunger and disease.

(When Hitler was criticized by an American for his treatment of the Jews in Germany, he said nothing he had done could compare with the treatment given the Mormons in our land of the free. He insisted that neither in numbers moved, or in distance or suffering involved was his action as despicable as ours.)

Another thing which must be taken into account was the love of the Mormon people for their prophet, Joseph Smith. When he was killed in the jail at Carthage, Missouri, there were many young men who, viewing his dead body, promised God that if they ever had an opportunity to avenge his deadi, they would do it.

Now given this much by way of background, is it too hard to understand how men who had suffered repeatedly, whose brothers had been killed at Haun's Mill, who just ten years before had taken the vow of vengeance, should be glad when their leaders said, "We will not run again! This time we will defend our homes!"

Word of an approaching army reached Utah on July 24; the Fancher train arrived in Salt Lake City on August 3 and 4. To the Mormons, the army was only another armed mob. They had learned by sad experience how far they could trust an army.

As with the Donner Party and the Sandwalking Train, the Fancher group was composed of more than one unit. There was also the "Missouri Wildcats," often described as being rough and ready and fearless. Now for any man, even in time of peace, to come into a Mormon village and boast that he carried the gun that had "shot the guts out of old Joe Smith" was to invite Mormon retaliation. Now when the wave of patriotic fervor was at its height, it was doubly dangerous.

Another element in the situation which was most important in the final tragedy was the Indians. The oldest settlement in this area was but five years old; the youngest scarcely three. In the southern part of the state beyond Cedar City there were seventy-nine families widely scattered in eleven small villages. Outnumbered more than two to one by the Indians, the Mormons had sought in every way to gain their friendship and confidence. Now with war declared, they must have the natives for allies. Here was a wealthy train which would mean loot and horses, both of which the Indians would be glad to have.

I shall not go into the details of the horrible affair. It would do none of us any good now. The Indians had gathered from miles around and were stirred up by the fact that some of their men had been killed. Like a fire started in a small patch of weeds may get out of control when a wind comes up, they posed a real problem. Some of the white men did not approve, but in the army who talks back to his commanding officer? Some, remaining silent, did not carry out the orders.

So there was carried out one of the most despicable mass murders of history. It was tragic for those who were killed and for the children left orphans, but it was also tragic for the fine men who now became murderers, and for their children who for four generations now have lived under that shadow.

Many of them moved away. Not that they feared the law, but that they could not face their neighbors. They wanted their children to grow up so far away that they would not hear of this or become connected with it. Within a year, the population of Cedar City had decreased almost half.

Nearly twenty years later one man was executed on the scene of the massacre. Some of you may know what it is like to hang the wrong man—it can so easily be done; it has been done in more places than one. This man chose to be shot, and took death voluntarily rather than involve anyone else.

Let me come back now to my text: "With all thy getting, get understanding." Many years before the Old Testament Prophet gave this advice, Socrates said, "To understand all is to forgive all." It is given to God alone to understand all, but as His children we may strive toward understanding, and that is our only purpose here today.

I am proud to be able to participate with you in these exercises, proud that it was my research which gave you the names on this shaft. I think it speaks highly of your character as Christians that you should invite me here to participate. Now I should like to extend an invitation to you to hold memorial services at the Mountain Meadows on the centennial of this event, September 11, 1957. I am sure that the people of southern Utah will treat you cordially and will do all that they can to help to make your program a success.

May God help us all as we strive for understanding and brotherhood, I ask in Jesus' name, Amen.

ACCEPTANCE SPEECH AT THE DEDICATION OF THE MOUNTAIN MEADOWS MASSACRE MONUMENT ON SEPTEMBER 4, 1955

By Ralph R. Rea

This is indeed an important occasion for the city of Harrison and for Boone County. It is important to all of us from a historical standpoint, and it can be of far greater importance to us from a spiritual standpoint.

We of Harrison and Boone County are deeply honored that we should be chosen as the site for the erection of this beautiful monument. We are further honored that so many distinguished guests are in attendance here. We welcome all of you—relatives of these honored ones, public officials, and other friends and neighbors, and especially you, Mrs. Brooks, for coming this great distance from your native state of Utah. We are most happy to have you, and we sincerely hope you find your stay here a pleasure that will long be remembered.

It is, I believe, quite appropriate that this monument be erected at this time and in this place.

Ninety-eight years ago today these people to whom we here pay tribute were moving slowly southward by wagon train from Salt Lake City toward Mountain Meadows and death. For that reason this ceremony is timely.

Some five months before that time the party had assembled in this very valley. Most of them, no doubt, by the springs some four or five miles south, but some, quite possibly, were, as historians contend, at the Stifler Springs near the present site of the Legion Hut and others by the Rush Spring which was just some two blocks southeast from where we now stand. At any rate we do know that they spent a week or more assembling in this general location, and that their journey began here. We know that they trod this same valley and that their eyes beheld these same beautiful hills. No doubt it was the vision of this valley and these hills that diey saw in the dying embers of their campfires when they sat at night on the lonely desert and thought of the home they had left behind. So it is proper that this memorial be placed here.

Before us we see a beautiful shaft of granite. Engraved upon it is the story of the ill-fated Fancher Caravan. Also engraved there are the names of some of those who died at the Meadows, and the names of the seventeen children who survived. This monument is a tribute to the Fancher Caravan—the known and unknown—those who died and those who survived.

But in another sense this stone shall stand through the ages as one of the Memorials to our great pioneers, to men and women who bought a free nation for us with their labor and their lives. Let us here honor these brave men and courageous women who in their quest for freedom pushed their way westward from two tiny specks of humanity on the Atlantic Coastline to the Appalachian Mountains; thence west to the Mississippi; on into the vast Louisiana Purchase; and finally ended their westward trek only after they had crossed the burning deserts and the Rocky Mountains to the shores of the Pacific itself. Many of these people were in search of land and wealth. Some were seeking freedom. Still others were fleeing from persecution, and this was the case of the Mormon people who founded a land called "Deseret" which later became Utah. Yes, let this be a monument to all the brave men and courageous women who made our nation great.

But in still a greater sense let us see this monument as a symbol of Forgiveness—a memorial of Brotherly Love. Our nation has seen many unhappy divisions. It has seen brother arrayed against brother, father against son, and neighbor against neighbor. We have shed the blood of our fellow Americans because of political, racial and religious differences. Let us here resolve, before God and in the shadow of this monument that never again shall the sword of intolerance and hatred be unsheathed. Let us here dedicate this monument to the concept that we are all one flesh and one blood as the children of God. Then let this stand through the ages as a monument to Forgiveness, Tolerance and Brotherly Love.

One morning, not so long ago, I stood in the pre-dawn blackness on yonder hill overlooking this valley, and I fancied that I saw below me the generations of men gone by. I saw the lights of the campfires in the valley and I could hear the groan of wooden axels and the sharp crack of bull whips. There was the lowing of herds and the shout of teamsters. Now and then I heard children's voices—happy voices as they sang "We're goin' to Californy!"

Came the dawn and with it I saw that the campfires were but the flickering lights in the windows below. I saw, instead of a caravan, a city with houses and bridges; instead of a dusty trail I saw paved streets and cars. I knew that this was a new day, far removed from a spring morning those long, long years ago. I thought then of the transitory nature of things and the eternity of God. I knew that there was a past that was dead and a future that would live on forever. I saw hatred, intolerance, murder, and all of man's inhumanity to his fellow men as but the acts of God's erring children. Then the words came to my heart: "Oh God, how can we be forgiven, except that we first forgive."

Mrs. Juanita Brooks St. George, Utah

Dear Mrs. Brooks:

Connor, Ark. 9-10-55

Hope this finds you and yours and family well and happy.

We surely enjoyed having you with us at Harrison on the 4th. Everyone liked your fine talk. You commanded more interest than anyone on the program! You impressed the people most favorably, and your coming has done much to establish a spirit of love and forgiveness. The Mormon Church owes you much, because now the people in this section feel much better toward the Mormon people.

It would be very pleasing to me to have a copy of your fine address. I have one of Judge Fancher's and one of Ralph Rea's ....

Most sincerely your friend,/s/ J. K. Fancher

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