Mary Sabin Powell's Story ... continued

page 11

Being almost thirteen years old I felt quite responsible for my younger sisters. Sometimes when Father or Mother took sick I worried, as I did not want them to die by the wayside.

We hadn't been long on the march when Brother Kettle died. We took the last lumber in the company and made him a coffin. We buried him beside a mulberry grove.

While the company halted, I took a walk in the woods to get away from it all. There were wild grapes, persimmons, hickory nuts, black berries, walnuts and hazel nuts by the score. Here I learned to know a peach. There were many fruits new to me also. I was surprised at the variety I found there. I went into the woods every possible chance. How I enjoyed swaying in the grapevine swings. The moss was velvety green, the wild flowers beautiful. Ah! but the time flew by so very quickly. I was never lost in the woods. Some folks thought it remarkable how I could find my way without the least bit of trouble.

The journey was very hard on Mother. Picture a lady with dark blue eyes, black hair and a face very pale from exhaustion. She is bearing the trials of the journey without complaint. That is my mother.

On the road to Council Bluffs, we met a man, woman and child driving in a white topped rig. They seemed to become alarmed on seeing Mother's condition. The man poured out a stimulant for Mother to drink. The woman gave me a slice of cornbread mixed with white flour for Mother to eat. They pitied her very much.

At Council Bluffs we had the pleasure of meeting an old lady who clapped her hands in delight to see us. She took Mother into her neat little log house and made her lie down on the bed. It was snowy white and the room was spotless. While Mother slept the woman hurried and churned. When Mother woke she gave us the buttermilk. Mother said she could never forget it. We dreaded to leave this cosy little house. It stood propped on blocks alone in this little grove. It was the only house we saw that day.

From the Bluffs we went up the river to Florence, Nebraska. At Florence we remained two weeks fixing the handcarts and wagons. There were two buildings at this place - a large store house and a mill.

We had been in Florence a little over a week when our bake kettle came. I was overjoyed. Now Mother should have light bread. I took the kettle and went off about a block. In this quiet place I built me a fire, took dough and made twenty four beautiful brown biscuits. I was glad as glad could be. I took the biscuits to camp and surprised Mother. All the women had to come and get a peek into our bake kettle.

While in Florence, Nebraska, a gentleman came in our camp. Said he to the captain, "Is there a man here from Wales by the name of John Powell?"
"That's the man I want," said he. "I've been on the look out for him for the last five years. My wife wants to see Bro. Powell. She thinks the world of him. He gave her a home in the old country."
This man offered Father eighty acres of land if he would settle in Nebraska. He also was willing to help erect a house for us.

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