Ben Ch 7

FOR six years Ben lived on Pigeon Creek. Peaceful years they were for the folk of the little village that grew up among the bluffs that border the wide Missouri Valley. As Grandmother White had said, the "mobbers" were left behind, so the settlers could plant and reap and build and worship without being molested. A thrifty, happy community was being developed with cosy homes, shops, school and meeting house.

In common with other settlements made by the pioneers when they came to western Iowa, the Pigeon Creek families found the first winter a rather hungry one. But by the next fall, corn and wheat fields had been spread over the rich, level lowlands, with patches of pumpkins and melons to add other good things for boys and girls. Among the surrounding hills, wild berries and "Potawatomi plums" and hazel nuts grew in abundance. There were deer and rabbits, prairie chickens, wild turkeys, and water fowl, too, for the hunting.

Ben and Joe, with little San Peter to guide and teach them, were often out with their bows and arrows. The Indian boy had helped to feather and tip these with sharp points. He trained the boys also at shooting.

"Now, you come after me," he would say, "and keep still. Bones and Towser, you no bark."

Through hills and over fields the young hunters would go. Often San Peter's bright eyes would spy some bird or animal. Up would go his little brown hand in warning, and the boys would get their chance to shoot. If they missed, whiz! would go his arrow, generally straight to the mark.

"No yell now," he would caution the white boys. "Scare game."

A few hours of this exciting fun usually brought prairie hens, quad, cottontails or even wild turkeys, enough to feed the families. When the laden young hunters came back they could shout their' success to heart's content.

Other youngsters would join in. It meant something of a feast for them. As for sweets to round it out, these pioneer children had very few. Maple sugar was scarce in western Iowa. "New Orleans molasses" might be bought at towns on the "Old Muddy" to which steamboats came; but it took a good deal of time to go even to the nearest of these with slow ox teams.

One adventure Ben kept in treasured memory was his first trip to that twisting river, and across the old ferry to the frontier town on its west bank. It was in the early spring of 1847, when the pioneer vanguard was being organized at Winter Quarters. Again his 'Uncle Starling was among those chosen to go with that band under President Young to seek out a homeland in the farther West.

Ben begged to be taken along. Since this wish could not he granted, his father took the happy boy across the river to see his uncle and the other pioneers off. He never forgot how the groups of covered wagons, after the "goodbyes and good lucks" were said, would wind their way into the hills towards the west.

That night, while he and his father stayed with the Brackens, friends from Nauvoo, the boy listened to a stirring Indian story.

"Winter Quarters is on Indian land, isn't it?" asked Ben's father.

"Yes, this is part of the Omaha tribe's reservation," replied Brother Bracken.

"You see," he continued, "when the Mormon Battalion was enlisted, the government officials promised our leaders that we might stay here as long as was necessary to move our people farther west."

"Have you had any trouble with the tribe?"

"Not much. Some of them have done a little stealing; but no outbreaks have come, or killing. My son, Eddie, and other boys did have a bit of real excitement, however, the other day when they were out with the cattle."

"Tell us about it, Eddie," said Ben's father.

“Well," began the twelve-year-old lad, "Billy Riter and Fielding Smith and some of us other boys were out with the cowherd just about a mile from town, in the hills. Fielding was on his pony; the rest of us on foot. The cows were feeding out on a kind of open space, when suddenly we noticed that they were getting nervous. Then some of them started to run as if they were seared. Fielding dashed after them on his pony and the rest of us were following, when we saw a band of young Omaha 'Injuns' on their ponies coming over the hill.

"First thing we knew they were right after Fielding on the dead run. We saw two of the bucks race along side of him, grab him under the arms and when his pony jumped ahead of him, they let him drop. Some of us put off for town to tell the men.

"When the scouts rode to the spot, Fielding was not there. They dashed on over the hill and found him with the cows. He had stayed with the herd even though he was on foot."

"Wasn't that young Joseph Fielding Smith, the son of Hyrum?" asked Ben's father.

"Yes," replied Brother Bracken. "He is here with his widowed mother getting ready to go west with another pioneer train."

"What about his pony?" asked Ben. "Did he get it back?"

"I believe the old chief made his young bucks return it," was the reply.

Another interesting trip Ben took about two years later was down the Missouri River road to St. Joseph. This time their wagon was laden with half bushel baskets. Not having so much wagon work to do on Pigeon Creek, Ben's father had invented a simple machine for turning out these baskets. It was just a log roller of the right size,, around which pliable wood could be shaped into the measures. With Ben's good help, they soon had a wagon full of these.

For about one hundred fifty miles they journeyed until they came to St. Joseph in Missouri. One thing that interested Ben was the plantation along the way with the Negro slaves working in the cornfields, and Negro cabins with many little piccaninnies playing around them.

At night, when they camped near a plantation, they would hear the darkies singing,

"Swing low, sweet chariot,

Cornin' fer to carry me home";

or some other song. Ben never forgot that strange, sweet music coming out of the Missouri woodlands.

Nor did he forget Saint Joseph, the frontier town on the "Old Muddy," where the trip ended. It was a busy trading post filled with mountain men, Indians, Mexicans, plantation owners and some of their slaves. Many caravans of covered wagons of pioneers going west were outfitted at this point; so the stores were full of things to buy.

No trouble was met in selling the baskets. Ben's father used the money to buy some chains and other articles needed for the trip he knew was soon coming. Ben was given a new pair of boots and a woolen jacket with some "hickory shirts." There were dress goods for mother and presents for the two grandmothers. For Paul it was a cap and a coat and a ball, and for baby Hannah, a dress and a doll. Another thing that Ben always remembered was some "store candy" for all the family. What a happy homecoming it was from that first trading trip.

Others were later made by various pioneers. Returning from the second one, Ben met Fred and Will, the boys who had come to Nauvoo when their home in the Morley settlement was burned by a mob.

There were "hellos" and handshakes and questions.

"Where do you live?" asked Ben.

"We've settled on Silver Creek," said Will. "Where's your home?"

"Up on Pigeon Creek, just north of Council Bluffs." "Is that far from us?" Fred asked.

"'Bout twenty miles as the crow flies," replied Ben's father.

Fred and Will were on their way to Saint Joseph with their father and Uncle Edwin. Their wagon was heaped high with hickory chairs they had made at their shop on Silver Creek.

"Good luck!" Ben's father called as they parted. "Same to you!" came back a cheery response.

Back and forth along the river road, wagons of the pioneers were kept going. By making and selling various articles, these settlers in western Iowa helped keep their families in needed goods through the struggling years. All the while they were building up their outfits for a longer journey just ahead.

Another source of income came from the men that were rushing out to the California gold fields. They would buy flour and other supplies from the settlers. Some mothers also made money by cooking, washing and mending for these gold seekers.

Stirred by the news of that great discovery, some of the pioneers themselves were ready to rush for riches; but their leaders advised them to keep down their excitement. Letters from their friends who had gone to the "Valleys of the Mountains" also added to their desire to go on West.

At last, in the autumn of 1851, the call came, "On to the Valleys." Apostles Orson Hyde and Ezra Benson brought the word from President Young that the Saints along the Missouri should delay no longer, but join in the onward march to the new homeland that had been established among the mountains. Most of the settlers were eager for this new adventure.