But the weather was more moderate that night than it had been for several weeks previous. At their first encampment the thermometer at one time fell twenty degrees below zero, freezing over the great Mississippi. The survivors of that journey will tell you they never suffered so much from the cold in their lives as they did on Sugar Creek. And what of the Mormon women? Around them circles almost a tragic romance. Fancy may find abundant subject for graphic story of the devotion, the suffering, the matchless heroism of the sisters, in the telling incident that nine children were born to them the first night they camped out on Sugar Creek, February 5th, 1846. That day they wept their farewells over their beloved city, or in the sanctuary of the temple, in which they had hoped to worship till the end of life, but which they left never to see again; that night suffering nature administered to them the mixed cup of woman's supremest joy and pain. But it was not prayer alone that sustained these pilgrims. The practical philosophy of their great leader, daily and hourly applied to the exigencies of their case, did almost as much as their own matchless faith to sustain them from the commencement to the end of their journey. With that leader had very properly come to the "Camp of Israel" several of the twelve and the chief bishops of the Church, but he also brought with him a quorum, humble in pretensions, yet useful as high priests to the saints in those spirit-saddening days. It was Captain Pitt's brass band. That night the president had the brethren and sisters out in the dance, and the music was as glad as at a merry-making. Several gentlemen from Iowa gathered to witness the strange, interesting scene. They could scarcely believe their own senses when they were told that these were Mormons in their "flight from civilization," bound they knew not whither, except where God should lead them "by the hand of his servant."