Yet farther back I went in my wandering to the days of Nauvoo where for so short a time the Saints were happy and I played, amused myself in the home of the Prophet and with his sons as well as in my father's house. Well do I remember the return of my father with the Prophet after they had crossed the river and had started on their journey west, because the false cry was raised that they were deserting the flock and how they went to Carthage never again to return in mortal life, cut down because of the testimony of Jesus in the prime of life and sealing their testimonies with their blood. Then followed the feverish days in which the Saints continued the labor on the Nauvoo Temple until it was complete and endowments were given therein and the wicked expulsion of thousands of innocent people from their homes. I recall the departure of the first companies over the frozen river on the ice in the depths of winter and how, shortly afterwards my mother and her family were forced also to take their departure in poverty and wend their way westward with the rest. My Brother John had gone at an earlier day and we overtook him on the journey. Then came the struggle on the banks of the Mississippi where we tried to save means to continue the journey to the valleys of the mountains and my employment as herdboy while we there sojourned. It was here that I had one of the most thrilling and exciting adventures of my life when the Indians made a raid on our cattle and, although but a child, I remember how the thought came to me that if our cattle were taken our journey to the Salt Lake Valley could not be taken. With more than human effort--for I know the Lord was with me--I turned the cattle and started them for home where they escaped although I was taken captive by the savage redmen, but considered so insignificant that they dropped me on the ground where I was left to survive or perish as chance it may and the horse on which I rode was stolen. Then came the journeying across the plains and after many difficulties the arrival in the valley--the promised land--where we were promised rest at least from enemies thirsting for our blood. We moved out on the Mill Creek and started to farm, but before many years had passed away my beloved mother was called home and I was sent out when but fifteen years of age to perform a man's duty in the world--a duty that was not, however, new to me--for had I not done the like when we crossed the plains?