I, Mary Goble, was born in Brighton, Sussex, England 2 June
1843. My father William Goble son of William and Harriet Johnson
Goble. My mother was the daughter of John and Sarah Penfold.
My
childhood days were spent the same as most children. When I
was in my twelfth year, my parents joined the Latter-day Saints.
On November 5th I was baptized. The following May we started
for Utah. We left our home May 19, 1856. We came to London the
first day, the next day came to Liverpool and West on board
the ship, Horizon, that evening.
It
was a sailing vessel and there were nearly nine hundred souls
on board. We sailed on the 25th. The pilot ship came tugged
us out into the open sea.
I
well remember how we watched old England fade from sight. We
sang "Farewell Our Native Land, Farewell."
While
we were in the river the crew mutinied but they were put ashore
and another crew came on board. They were a good set of men.
When
we were a few days out, a large shark followed the big vessel.
One of the saints died and he was buried at sea. We never saw
the shark any more.
After
we got over our seasickness we had a nice time. We would play
games, and sing songs of Zion. We held meetings and the time
passed happily.
When
we were sailing through the banks of Newfoundland, we were in
a dense fog for several days. The sailors were kept busy night
and day ringing bells and blowing fog horns. One day I was on
deck with my father, when I saw a mountain of ice in the sea
close to the ship. I said, "Look, father, look." He
went pale as a ghost and said, "Oh, my girl." At that
moment the fog parted, the sun shone bright till the ship was
out of danger, when the fog closed on us again.
We
were on the sea six weeks, when we landed at Boston. We took
the train from Iowa City where we had to get an outfit for the
plains. It was the end of July. On the first of August we started
to travel with our ox teams unbroke and did not know a thing
about driving oxen. My father had bought two yoke of oxen and
one yoke of cows, a wagon and tent. He had a wife and six children.
Their names were: Mary, Edwin, Caroline, Harriet, James and
Fanny.
My
sister Fanny broke out with the measles on the ship and when
we were in Iowa Campgrounds, there came up a thunder storm that
blew down our shelter, made with hand carts and some quilts.
The storm came and we sat there in the rain, thunder and lightening.
My sister got wet and died the 19 July 1856. She would have
been 2 years old on the 23. The day we started on our journey,
we visited her grave. We felt very bad to leave our little sister
there.
We
traveled through the States until we came to Council Bluffs.
Then we started on our journey of one thousand miles over the
plains. It was about the last of September. We traveled from
15 to 25 miles a day. We used to stop one day in the week to
wash. On Sunday we would hold our meetings and rest. Every morning
and night we were called to prayers by the bugle….
One
night cattle were in the corral, which was made with wagons.
When one of the guards saw something crawling along the ground.
All in a moment the cattle started. It was a noise like thunder.
The guard shot off his gun. The animals jumped up and ran. It
was an Indian with a buffalo robe on. Mother and we children
were sitting in the tent. Father was on guard. We were surely
frightened but Father came running in and told us not to be
afraid for everything was all right.
We
traveled on till we got to the Platt River. That was the last
walk I ever had with my mother. We caught up with Handcart companies
that day. We watched them cross the river. There were great
lumps of ice floating down the river. It was bitter cold. The
next morning there were fourteen dead in camp through the cold.
We went back to camp and went to prayers. We sang the song "Come,
Come, Ye Saints, No Toil Nor Labor Fear." I wondered what
made my mother cry. That night my mother took sick and the next
morning my little sister was born. It was the 23rd of September.
We named her Edith and she lived six weeks and died for want
of nourishment.
We
had been without water for several days, just drinking snow
water. The captain said there was a spring of fresh water just
a few miles away. It was snowing hard, but my mother begged
me to go and get her a drink. Another lady went with me. We
were about half way to the spring when we found an old man who
had fallen in the snow. He was frozen so stiff, we could not
lift him, so the lady told me where to go and she would go back
to camp for help for we knew he would soon be frozen if we left
him. When she had gone I began to think of the Indians and looking
and looking in all directions. I became confused and forgot
the way I should go. I waded around in the snow up to my knees
and I became lost. Later when I did not return to camp the men
started out after me. It was 11:00 p.m. o'clock before they
found me. My feet and legs were frozen. They carried me to camp
and rubbed me with snow. They put my feet in a bucket of water.
The pain was so terrible. The frost came out of my legs and
feet but did not come out of my toes.
We
traveled in the snow from the last crossing of the Platt River.
We had orders not to pass the handcart companies. We had to
keep close to them to help them if we could. We began to get
short of food and our cattle gave out. We could only travel
a few miles a day. When we started out of camp in the morning
the brethren would shovel the snow to make a track for our cattle.
They were weak for the want of food as the buffaloes were in
large herds by the road and ate all the grass.
When
we arrived at Devil's Gate it was bitter cold. We left lots
of our things there. There were two or three log houses there.
We left our wagons and joined teams with a man named James Barman.
He had a sister Mary who froze to death. We stayed there two
or three days. While there an ox fell on the ice and the brethren
killed it and the beef was given out to the camp. My brother
James ate a hearty supper was as well as he ever was when he
went to bed. In the morning he was dead.
My
feet were frozen also my brother Edwin and my sister Caroline
had their feet frozen. It was nothing but snow. We could not
drive the pegs in the ground for our tents. Father would clean
a place for our tents and put snow around to keep it down. We
were short of flour but father was a good shot. They called
him the hunter of the camp. So that helped us out. We could
not get enough flour for bread as we got only a quarter of a
pound per head a day, so we would make it like thin gruel. We
called it "skilly."
There
were four companies on the plains. We did not know what would
become of us. One night a man came to our camp and told us there
would be plenty of flour in the morning for Bro. [Brigham] Young
had sent men and teams to help us. There was rejoicing that
night. We sang songs, some danced and some cried. His name was
Ephriam Hanks. We thought he was a living Santa Claus.
We
traveled faster now that we had horse teams. My mother had never
got well, she lingered until the 11 of December, the day we
arrived in Salt Lake City 1856. She died between the Little
and Big Mountain. She was buried in the Salt Lake City Cemetery.
She was 43 years old. She and her baby lost their lives gathering
to Zion in such a late season of the year. My sister was buried
at the last crossing of the Sweet Water.
We
arrived in Salt Lake City nine o'clock at night the 11th of
December 1856. Three out Of four that were living were frozen.
My mother was dead in the wagon.
Bishop
Hardy had us taken to a home in his ward and the brethren and
the sisters brought us plenty of food. We had to be careful
and not eat too much as it might kill us we were so hungry.
Early
next morning Bro. Brigham Young and a doctor came. The doctor's
name was Williams. When Bro. Young came in he shook hands with
us all. When he saw our condition our feet frozen and our mother
dead-tears rolled down his cheeks.
The
doctor amputated my toes using a saw and a butcher knife. Brigham
Young promised me I would not have to have any more of my feet
cut off. The sisters were dressing mother for the last time.
Oh how did we stand it? That afternoon she was buried.
