In 1868, returning from a visit to the Moqui Indians, forty-seven men in our company, we crossed the Colorado river on a raft made of flood-wood. I had charge of the rude ferry. We made five trips, which occupied the entire day; most of the time my feet were in the cold river water, while my body was perspiring with the exertions I had to make. That night I was attacked with cramping colic and suffered fearfully. In the morning, being out of food, we had to move on. Keeping in the saddle gave me great pain. At Kanab the boys found the old cast-away running gears of a wagon. They made a harness out of ropes, and lashing two poles on the running gears, they swung me in a hammock between them, and hauled me to Washington to my house. John Mangum was my driver and nurse, and he was careful and tender to relieve my pain. He gave me in all twenty-two pills and a pint of castor oil, and I carried that load in my stomach nine days. As soon as we reached Washington, Doctors Israel Ivins and Silas G. Higgins were summoned from St. George. They came and worked five days with me, then gave me up. Bishop Covington came, and "sealed me up unto death," that my sufferings might cease. He kindly offered to watch during the night, but Albina excused him. As soon as he was gone, my wife sent for Brother Tyler, a humble ward teacher. She next persuaded the family to get a little rest, then sitting by my side, poured out her soul to the Lord, until Brother Tyler's heart was touched; and kneeling by my bed, he too pleaded with the Father to spare me. While he prayed, I awoke as from a sleep. I saw the two kneeling; I listened to their pleadings, and wondered what it meant. I placed my hand on Albina's head, when she looked up and sprang to her feet crying, "He is saved! He is saved!" In the morning I dressed, and as the bishop came by, I hailed him, took a seat by his side, and rode in a lumber wagon over to St. George to attend the quarterly conference. To me, it has ever seemed the womanly strength of character and faith of Albina that saved me. Albina died on the 8th of January, 1913. From her birth to her grave, she was a pioneer. She drove a yoke of oxen from the Missouri river to Salt Lake City. One of her sons, in learning of her death, wrote: "The hand is still that bore the whip, across the dreary plain, Heeding neither wind nor dust, nor driving mountain rain; Trusting in a hope divine that ever bore her up, Tasting alike the joy of toil, and of its bitter cup. And thus through life she journeyed on, bravely to the end, And all along her thorny trail, were those who called her friend." Chapter 29. In Memory of My Wife, Lydia. When I married Albina, Uncle Brigham and Aunt Clara D. honored me with their presence at the banquet, which father provided. Uncle Brigham told this incident: