A Child of the Sea; and Life Among the Mormons Part 6

The winter of 1851 my brother Lewis went to Ohio to school; my father was very sick that winter. We had two Mormon neighbors that were very kind to us. One was a good doctor, and he took care of father almost constantly with help from others. The other Mormon friend was an apostle in the church. He and his wife lived near us. He had charge of the people that lived near the Gentile settlement. They were very nice people. Both these neighbors were very much worried about the things Strang was preaching. The people were getting restless and divided. Many wanted to leave the island but had no means to go with, and feared to be punished if found trying to get away. A great many were opposed to polygamy. Strang tried to keep his people in harmony together, but the strife was growing every day. In the early spring Strang came to see my father. He was very sympathetic about his being so sick. Mother told him how kind Mr. Bower and Mr. Sinclair had been to us. He seemed greatly pleased and asked to know if he could do anything to help.

STRANG AND HIS FAVORITE WIFE.

When he was leaving he said to mother, "Come over to Sinclair's. My wife is there. We have a nice baby. Come and see our baby boy." Mother took me with her to the apostle's home. There we saw the King and his favorite wife, Charles Douglas, and their baby. I, being fond of babies, wanted to hold him. I sat in a little chair and the mother put the child in my arms. The King was afraid I would let the baby fall. He never let go the child's dress. He seemed very fond of the child, and it was plain to be seen that this was his favorite wife. Most of the time he called her "Charles" and sometimes Elvira. She was very sweet and seemed very fond of her baby, yet her face seemed sad when not smiling. Her manner was quiet and her voice low. Before we left Strang took me on his lap, asking if I did not want to go to school. I stammered "Yes," but mother said she is too young yet to go to school. When we came home mother said to father, "Don't you ever consent to send Elizabeth to the Mormon school." Strang had remained on the island that winter.

Very soon after our visit to the apostle, we were startled one morning to hear several boats and nets had been taken by the Mormons, with many barrels of fish from the store houses near the light-house point at the head of the island. Some Ohio fishermen had stored their fish and other property expecting to come back in the spring, leaving a man to look after the property. The ice was just breaking up in the lake. The Mormons took everything to the harbor. Our people saw them pa.s.sing very early in the morning. All were well armed and ready to resist any interference from the Gentiles. We Gentiles were very frightened, fearing they would take our provisions from us, as there were all sorts of rumors. Mr. Cable had a store with a stock of all kinds of merchandise for their spring trade. He feared they would demand the keys and take possession of his goods. There was very little sleep for several nights among us. Our Mormon friends who were true to us advised us all to keep very quiet and not be seen talking with them. They kept us posted as much as possible. The Gentiles made preparations to defend themselves. The Mormons took the boats and nets to the north sh.o.r.e, concealing them in the woods, making it appear the north sh.o.r.e fishermen did the plundering. The owners of the property recovered the boats and part of the nets, but never recovered any of the fish. They were sold by the Mormons.

At the harbor all was gaiety. Their theater was kept going to amuse the people with dancing parties every week. The King made it a point to entertain the sailors when vessels were detained by rough weather, and they began to think Beaver Harbor was not a bad place to be weather-bound. They found King Strang a charming entertainer. With opening of navigation the summer people came, and our house was again full of boarders. We had built a comfortable house, which was almost complete. Our regular boats were calling, business had started up and we all felt more secure from the Mormons as so many people were coming.

Fis.h.i.+ng was good, money plenty and everybody was busy. Strang had gone with his wife and child to attend outside affairs. The head apostle was in charge of everything and there was much dissatisfaction among many of his people. Several felt fear for their life, if they disobeyed the King's command. Among these was the Apostle Sinclair.

THE KILLING OF BENNETT.

The Bennetts were living not a great distance from us. Sam, as the younger brother was called, had married a young lady from Detroit, a Miss Sullivan. Thomas now boarded at his brother's home, and was still very sad over the loss of his wife and children. I had been visiting a week with Mrs. Bennett and returned home in the morning. In the afternoon a message came to our house saying that Thomas Bennett was dead. The Mormons had shot him. It was hard to believe, yet it was true.

The Gentiles were very much excited and sorrowful, too, as Bennett had been a favorite with us all. Could it be possible they had killed our friend and neighbor?

My three brothers were dressed in their Sunday suits and walked to the harbor, grandpa going with them, fearing something might happen to the boys. Bennett had always been very fond of my brothers and they loved him. Now, they must see him buried. It was long after dark before they reached the harbor. A Mormon family, who had some boys about their age, kept them all night. The next morning they went to where the body was.

It had been put in a blacksmith's shop. Dr. McCulloch opened the body to see which of the seven bullets had proved fatal. One had pierced the heart. The body was put in a plain pine coffin and buried without prayer or ceremony of any kind. The grave was near the water in a little grove of cedar trees where the sound of the waves never ceased their solemn murmurings. When my brothers visited the grave soon after it was piled high with great rocks, meaning that every Gentile would be served the same unless they obeyed the king's commands.

TO BE BROUGHT DEAD OR ALIVE.

The killing of Bennett was a threat shock to all our people, as no one believed the Mormons would carry things so far. The Bennetts had gone early on the lake, returning before noon. While attending to their work in their workhouse two Mormon men stepped in, demanding the tax money.

Bennett answered, "I want to see the king before I pay it." The men went away. The Bennetts stepped out to go to their dwelling, when seven bullets were fired at once into the body of Thomas Bennett. He dropped dead instantly. The brother ran toward his house with his hand up to his head. Bullets came thick and fast around him. He was shot through the hand, shattering all his fingers on one hand. There were many shots entered the windows. Mrs. Bennett to save her life had to go into the cellar.

The body of Bennett was put into his own boat with all the fish there was in the fish house, which amounted to considerable money, and taking the wounded brother with them to the harbor. There the doctor dressed his wound. Strang always declared he never gave orders to have Bennett killed or to be brought "dead or alive." Until the killing of Bennett we could not believe the Mormons meant to do us bodily harm. Now all was changed. There was no more open friends.h.i.+p between Mormons and Gentiles as before. They avoided us, pa.s.sing us without speaking with their heads bent and eyes looking to the ground. They seemed a sad and silent people.

Not long after Bennett's death I saw the king coming to our house. The very name of Strang struck a terror to my heart. I felt so afraid of them all now. He was almost to the door, dressed in his black suit and high hat, I always recognized him from the rest. I said to mother, "Oh, where shall I go, I am so afraid of Strang?" Mother's bedstead was a high, old-fas.h.i.+oned one with white curtains about it. I ran and had just time to seat myself under it, and tried hard to pull the curtains around me, but my feet were left sticking out from under the curtain.

STRANG HAVING DINNER WITH US.

Strang walked in, seating himself in a chair, saying: "Good morning, Mrs. Whitney." Mother greeted him very coolly, as she had not seen him since Bennett's death. How my heart did beat when he asked where my father was. Then I was sure he wanted to take me away to the harbor to school. Mother told him father would soon be in to dinner, which she was then preparing. Strang said: "I guess I will stay to dinner, Mrs.

Whitney, and have some of your nice baked whitefish, which I see you have." He saw her putting it into the oven. He talked about many things and after a little while he said, "Where is your little girl?" Then I was sure he would take me away. I wanted to scream, but kept quiet.

Mother told him, "The child is afraid of you since you had Bennett killed." He came over to the bed, getting down on his knees, saying, "Come out, child; I will not hurt you. Come and sit on my lap." I drew back. He pulled me out by the hand, taking me in his arms and sitting in the chair he stroked my hair, saying: "I will not hurt you, child. Do not be afraid of me." His voice was low and his face looked sad. I looked at him a long time, then said: "I see blood on your head. I am afraid of you." He put his hand to his head, pa.s.sing it over his forehead, and looking at his hand, he said: "I see no blood." He was very pale and his face was serious. Mother explained to him that I had heard the people say that the blood of Bennett was resting on Strang's head. I got down from his lap and took my little chair as far as I could from him, and holding my doll. I watched the king, fearing him so much.

He told mother he was absent when Bennett was killed. She asked him why he was always absent when his people did the most disagreeable things.

He said: "Do not judge me too harshly. I am not responsible for the killing of Bennett." Father and our boys soon came in with our friend, John Goeing. Strang staid to dinner and praised our boys for being so brave in going on the lake. He said: "My people will never learn to be good sailors; they are too timid." Then he asked about the schooling.

Father told him John Goeing, our boarder, was teaching us.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE MORMON FEAST GROUND AT FONT LAKE, BEAVER ISLAND.]

Father told me in after years he had a very serious talk with Strang that day, and the king admitted it was not right that Bennett was killed, but said where there were people that were opposite in their beliefs there was always trouble. Mother told him some sorrows would come to him if he persisted to live as he was living. He smiled, saying: "Oh, we aren't such a bad people, after all, Mrs. Whitney, and when you become one of us you will think just as we do." He shook hands and was gone. Mother said to father: "I do believe we shall have to leave here soon or we shall be forced to become Mormons." Father a.s.sured her that would never be.

JOHN GOEING AND HIS DEAR OLD IRISH HOME.

John Goeing came to the island and had been with us two years. He was an educated and refined gentleman from Ireland. His father was a rich Irish lord. John had been disappointed in love and left his "dear old Irish home" to come to America. From a visit to friends in Canada he had wandered to Beaver Island, and had been with us ever since. He was a great reader, having a box full of books. He did not work, and being very fond of us children he took it upon himself to teach us. He received money from home often, with the finest of broadcloth suits of clothes with silk underwear. Every evening after the lessons were heard John would read to us or tell us about his "old home in Erin." What brother Charley and I loved most was to have John tell about the chase with hounds. I liked it all except where the fox was killed by the dogs, then I would say, "John, can't you tell some stories where the fox gets away from the hounds?" Then he smiled, saying, "I won't have the foxes killed any more. It makes Elizabeth feel too sorry." Then he would get his books, saying, "Now, children, where shall we go tonight? England, Ireland or Scotland?" Sometimes we all wanted different stories. Then he would say, "I will take you to Ireland, my own native home." To me it was fairyland to listen to John telling of the home he had left, with its lovely green parks, graveled walks, shady bowers where his father and mother often strolled about with their children. We could almost see it all as he told it to us, and so often when he finished the tears would be falling through his fingers as his head rested on his hands.

And the books, how wonderful were the places he took us to in them! He had traveled almost everywhere and we loved best to hear about his travels. We could understand it all better. John was like a brother to us younger ones, and like a kind son to father and mother.

MY BROTHER CHARLEY GOING TO OHIO.

Summer was fast slipping away. Our summer boarders were talking of home.

One of our boarders, Mr. William Hill, was anxious to take my brother Charley home with him, put him to school and teach him the engineer's trade. It was all talked over and settled that Charley was to go. We children could not realize much about what it meant. My eldest brother had been one winter with the same man. Charley was to remain with Mr.

Hill until he was twenty-one, he being past ten now. Papers were made out and signed. Mother prepared all the clothes for her boy that was going away to another home. I remember so well seeing the tears rolling down her cheeks as she sewed and st.i.tched far into the night, making the little jackets that Charley was to wear in his far away new home. She sacrificed her own feeling that her boy might have an education, and a good trade when he became a man. The time had now come for Charley to go. Father and mother had grown thin and pale. The packing began. Mother could not finish and neighbors had to come in and finish it for her.

BROTHER LEWIS AND I WERE GOING TO OHIO WITH MR. CRANE.

Mr. Hill told her Charley could come back to see us every summer. But somehow it seemed it never would be the same. Charley would never be ours again. It was terrible to think about when the time came for them to go. A letter came to Mr. Hill from his sister in Painesville, Ohio, asking if he could not bring the little sister, meaning me, that she would like to have a little girl to be with her two small children. She would send me to school and I would be near my brother. Then I could come home in the spring and go back another winter if all was agreeable.

It was at last decided that I, too, should go the last trip of the steamer Michigan, in December.

BROTHER CHARLEY GONE.

The steamer was at the dock. Good-byes were said. Charley was gone. The boat steamed away, taking the first one from the home nest. It was hard for mother to give up her boy, but she felt it was best for him. Oh, how long the time seemed to me! No more could we wander about together. Our little canoe lay idle upon the beach. There was no little brother to help row the boat, or swing in the old swing from the big maple tree, or chase the plovers along the sh.o.r.e. Our little pet dog was always searching about for Charley. His bows and arrows were put away out of sight. The house seemed still; it was as if some one lay dead. John felt just as sad as any of us. Our neighbors came to cheer us, telling us we should meet again when the spring time came.

Mother still was busy getting the rest of us ready to go. Mr. Crane was our neighbor. He came from the headlands near Fairport, Ohio. His daughter Elizabeth came with him and her brother to be their housekeeper. They owned a farm in Ohio. They were a large family and money could be earned easily at the island as the fish were so plenty.

They came with several other Ohio families. Mr. Crane was coming back next season and I could return with them. Nearly all our summer people were gone. We had just two left and they were going on the last boat.

The Mormons were now taking boats and nets every chance they got and the Gentiles felt very unsafe. Our two Mormon friends told our people there was great trouble among them in the Church, as Strang's laws were becoming unbearable.

The weather had changed and snow and ice were now with us, and brother Anthony had gone to Green Bay to his uncle John Gebeau. In another week brother Lewis and I would be gone. How often I said to John, "Now you will be good to father and mother, won't you? for they will have no one but you, and you will read to them and tell them about Ireland and your old home."

John promised all and mother told me afterward she never could have lived through the winter only that John was so kind. He read them stories, and being a good singer, he sang his old native songs of Ireland. All was ready. Our trunks were packed. Mr. Crane's goods were on the dock. Fis.h.i.+ng had been good and those who had not had their nets stolen were going home with money. There were about twenty families of the Gentiles to remain all winter at the settlement at Cable's dock. The rest went to their winter homes.

I was busy bidding my little playmates farewell, as the boat was expected every hour. At last the steamer was beside the dock. Elizabeth Crane had packed my trunk, as mother could not do it. I had my dolls packed and then took them out, saying to mother, "I will leave my dolls so you can see them and you won't be so lonesome." When she could speak she said, "Yes, leave the dolls. When I look at them I shall think you are near." So the dolls were left in their little beds covered up with their sheets and quilts just as I always put them to sleep. We all ate our dinner together. It was a sad, silent meal. Mr. Crane and Elizabeth were charged over and over again to take good care of me if I should be sick. They promised to do all they could for me. Mr. Crane said. "I shall take care of your child as if she were my own." I said to John.

"Now who will go to England, Ireland and Scotland with you these long winter evenings?" He said, "I guess I will have to take your father and mother with me as you children will all be gone." "Well John, be sure you take little dog Prince and all the dolls. Don't leave them here alone." The whistle blew, good-byes were said, mother caught me in her arms with one last long kiss and "G.o.d bless you, my child." Mr. Crane and Elizabeth with brother hurried to the boat, John and father coming as the captain shouted "all aboard." Father kissed me, saying, "Be a good girl, come home in the spring and G.o.d bless you."

ON BOARD STEAMER MICHIGAN.

My hand slipped from his into Elizabeth's. She led me over the gang-plank. My little dog had followed me. He put his paws upon my shoulder and was licking the tears off my face. Father called to him, but he would not leave me. The men carried him to father, the plank was pulled in, the paddles turned and we steamed away with those on the dock waving us good-by. Elizabeth took me up on deck where brother and I stood waving as long as we could see the old home where we had all been so happy together. We soon reached the harbor, we landed at the Point dock to take freight. Mr. McKinley had taken his family the trip before and gone to Ohio for the winter, his clerk taking charge of the business in his absence. His father, grandpa McKinley as we called him, came on board to go away for the winter. He was always so kind to us children and we all loved him. It was Sunday, but I noticed the Mormon women had their was.h.i.+ng on the line, Sat.u.r.day being their Sunday.

We steamed away and soon could see nothing about us, as it was snowing and the sea was heavy. Our boat rolled and pitched about so no one could stand upon their feet. Jane, the cabin maid, took me to her private cabin and let me lie on her couch. As I lay there I began to realize I was leaving my home. It was dark, the lamps were lighted and I said, "Oh I must go home. I can't leave father and mother." Elizabeth took me to her room, putting me in her berth. There I sobbed myself to sleep.

AT MACKINAC ISLAND.

When I awakened we were at the dock at Mackinac Island. Everything was white with snow. The whole island looked like white marble. The damp snow had covered the trees. The fort on the hill looked so pretty where the snow was on the tops of the houses and chimneys. A flag waved over the fort. There were soldiers in their blue clothes walking up and down the fort hill. Dogs and ponies. .h.i.tched to sleds with people dressed in fur coats, caps and mittens riding along the front street that reached round the pretty bay. The dock was full of people. Men, women and children nearly all speaking in French. There were a number of families going away on the last boat to their winter homes. Elizabeth took me ash.o.r.e. We went into several stores and there I met old grandpa. I told him I was going to see Charley. He was so pleased to see me and cautioned me to be careful not to fall overboard and to be sure and tell Charley grandpa had not forgotten him. Then he gave me packages of candy, apples and raisins. I met several that knew me, as they were so often with us at home. We walked down to the Mission House, as mother had told me so much about the Mission. When Mr. Ferry was there mother had attended the Mission school for a time. We saw Robinson's Folly with the white snow covering the rocks and trees. We then came back to the old Mission Church, and going inside I told Elizabeth my mother had often taken me there when I was a baby. I showed her the Dousman pew in front where the family used to sit, my mother being adopted by Mr. and Mrs. Dousman. We then came to the "Old Agency House" with its quaint old chimney outside at the end, its little dormer windows in the roof. It was now all covered with the pure white snow and every shrub around its doors was draped in white. We pa.s.sed on, going toward the Grand, many little houses covered with cedar bark and some had cedar bark put all around the outside, with narrow strips of wood tacked on to hold it.

Some had little square windows with four and six panes of gla.s.s with white muslin curtains. They looked like little toy houses, but were warm and comfortable. It was a quaint little village full of jolly, kind hearted people whose hearts were tender and true to their neighbors.

It being cold we soon went back to the boat. Our boat looked like a huge snow bank beside the dock. The freight was being rolled over the plank and all was confusion. There were handshakes and good-byes as the people hurried over the plank. The "all aboard" was shouted, the plank was pulled in, the paddles turned and we were moving away amid the waving of caps and fluttering of handkerchiefs. Our whistle was saluting, and many of the people on the dock joined in one of the old French-Canadian glee or boat songs, their voices sounding far out over the waters as we pa.s.sed Round Island.

ON LAKE HURON.