Then there leaped forth, from man and maid, A song of joy and mirth; The most sedate could not be stayed, From thrilling notes of worth. It was a song of gratitude for home and lives preserved, No sweeter gush of sympathy, by man was ever heard. Chapter 32. A Thrilling Experience on the Plains.--The Stampede. In 1863, I was living in southern Utah. It was believed the Mormon immigration would be unusually heavy that year; hence great exertions were put forth by the people, to bring the season's gathering to a successful termination. Cooperation was the power which, under the wise guidance of Brigham Young, made it possible to build up a prosperous commonwealth in that isolated desert. Teams were raised in all parts of the territory, organized into companies of fifty wagons each, four yoke of cattle to each wagon, and placed under the care of experienced men. These were sent to the Missouri river, fourteen hundred miles, to haul back the luggage of the immigrants. The people were required to walk. Rules of government were established in each camp, and firmly carried out. No swearing was allowed; all assembled for prayers at the call of the chaplain, morning and night; usually at nine o'clock all retired for rest; and at five all arose. These camps were practical training schools of great value. It fell to my lot to drive a team in Captain John R. Murdock's train. Upon arriving at Omaha, I was selected to take charge of an independent company; people who had means to immigrate themselves to Utah. On the 8th of August, I commenced the task (mission, we called it, for we all served without pay) of leading these people, who were Scandinavians, from Omaha to Salt Lake City. When it is remembered that these people spoke a language that I did not understand; that they were not accustomed to driving teams; that I had to teach them even how to yoke their cattle, and hitch on to their wagons, it will be easy to imagine the magnitude of the task I had undertaken. For the first week we made only from five to ten miles a day; but at the end of two weeks, we could make twenty-five. At Wood River centre, the western line of civilization, and the last telegraph station, I received a dispatch from our immigration agent, Feramorz Little, telling me that the Sioux were on the war-path, and that we must be watchful or they would run off our cattle. As a word of encouragement, he added that Captain Preston would overtake me in a few days, and would give me four mounted Utah men to aid me as scouts and night guard for my cattle.