Following this they went in the direction
of my father’s home. Fearing for the
safety of our small daughter, who at the time was at my father’s place, we
followed them, little knowing what might occur.
As we were about to overtake them, they
stopped and ordered us back, my husband said we were going after our little
child.
At this remark three of the men sprang from
their horses, and one a Mr. Wethers, caught up a stick and struck my husband
between the shoulders, causing him to turn around and grapple with Wethers, who
then shouted for help. Gardener shot at
my husband, missing him, and not wanting to endanger a fellow posseman,
Gardener then used his gun as a club and struck him on the head several times.
I ran for help, but as the posse left I ran
and lifted my husband’s head, thus relieving his pain as best I could until my
mother (Elizabeth Shirley Wimmer) and
two sisters came to my assistance. They
were Latter-day Saint so they immediately administered to him by laying on of
the hands. After they had administered
the ordinance he arose and walked to my father’s (Peter Wimmer) house about two
hundred yards away.
When they left they gave us warning that if
we were not out of the place by the time the sun was a yard high the next
morning they would return and kill all of us.
Thinking that these fiends might return and
carry out their hellish threats we decided it was best to leave. We packed up our things in the wagon and
started that very night for Huntersville (a town about four miles away). We arrived there the next afternoon after
driving all night through the wooded country; being followed by the posse who
were determined to see us well out of the country.
Upon our arrival in Huntersville we were
immediately surrounded by a crowd of three hundred men. They asked us what we had in the wagon. I replied, “If you must know, we have a
wounded man in the wagon.” They then
asked if we had done anything for him and if we were Mormons. We had done very little for him and neither
one of us was a Mormon, and had never heard a Mormon preach. One of the men then told us to go to a
certain vacant house, arriving there they took my husband out of the wagon,
laid him on a door and the Doctors performed an operation on his head. They cut his scalp in four parts, drew down
as far as his ears and forehead. Then
thinking we would tell the posse they left him in this condition.
During my husband’s illness nearly one
fourth of his brains were taken out. The
Doctors were showing them to some persons who were present, when my husband
requested to see them. They were handed
to him. He seemed to scrutinize them
closely and then threw them into the fire, remarking, “There is a miracle for
you: (A man holding his own brains in his hand and then throwing them into the
fire! and living to see them burn!).
We were transferred to the Doctor’s office;
where we remained for nine weeks and by the time he was able to walk around the
office we were moved about a mile and a quarter out of town. While we were staying at this place he complained
of a severe pain in his head. I prepared
to go to the Doctor, but he objected saying I could do just as well. I worked at the wound in his head until I
could work my fingers the whole length of it and removed pieces of bone from
the size of a grain of wheat, to a piece on inch long and inch and a half wide,
about sixty pieces in all. Of this fact
there are many who can bear witness.
Previous to this the Doctor had also taken out about fourteen pieces.
We moved from this place to a house still
further out of town, and during our stay here we were presented (by ten men)
with a written agreement saying that if we would agree to leave, the state
would support us. This we refused to do. I told them I was an American Citizen and
knew my rights and I wanted those men who had ruined my husband to be dealt
with according to law and justice, but they said it couldn’t be done.
My husband and I walked; I carried my three
year old daughter in my arms and led a heifer.
It rained six days in succession and when we arrived at Salt Creek, it
was very high. I got a man to take my
husband and child across in his wagon. He refused to take me, but I was
determined to go and just as the wagon entered the stream I managed to get on
top of the bows, and in this way I got across without any of them knowing it.
We then moved to Harris Grove, twenty miles
north of Cainsville and from there we came to Salt Lake City Ogden ,
about forty miles north of Salt Lake
City
Mrs. James Powell
Descendency
James Powell (1809-1854), husband of Jemima Wimmer
Simeon Comfort Powell (1842-1918)
Hannah Caroline Powell (1882-1947)
Allen Berry Williams (1905-2000)
LaVon Williams
Diane Finlinson
Source:
(This story of James Powell was written in
the handwriting of Jemima Wimmer and was found in an old family record book of
Peter and Elizabeth S. Wimmer in the possession of Robert Wimmer, a grandson of
afore mentioned Robert Wimmer)
No comments:
Post a Comment