Blessed, Honored Pioneers: Who are Those 80 Pioneers Buried in a Pauper’s Grave?
For the past year, honoring a specific group of pioneers has become somewhat of an obsession. This is the third article I have written for Meridian about the eighty pioneers buried in paupers grave, plot D-7-1, in the Salt Lake Cemetery, 1863-1867. (https://latterdaysaintmag.com/pioneers-in-paupers-graves/;)
(https://latterdaysaintmag.com/lest-we-forget-paupers-grave-salt-lake-city/.)
It has been 178 years since the Vanguard Company entered the Valley of the Great Salt Lake on July 24, 1847. Today we sing: “Blessed honored pioneers” (hymn, 36) and acknowledge their sacrifices, “And should we die before our journey’s through” (hymn, 30).
As noteworthy as are the 70,000 pioneers who came to help build Zion in the western United States, today our concept of pioneer has expanded. We remember and celebrate every pioneer in every land, community, and family. All of us have pioneers who led the way in multiple aspects of our lives, and all of us are pioneers, leading the way for others.
Honoring pioneers reminds me of the praise Charles Dickens, the famous British author, gave to nine hundred pioneers from Great Britain, Switzerland, and the Netherland. In June of 1863, he went to the docks at London and spent several hours observing the Latter-day Saints who were gathered to sail to America. He mingled among them and interviewed Apostle George Q. Cannon who was president of the British Mission. About a month later, Mr. Dickens wrote an essay, “The Uncommercial Traveller.” After expressing concern for what these individuals would find in the wilderness of the Salt Lake Valley, he shared his positive impressions.
“I went on board their ship,” he wrote, “to bear testimony against them if they deserved it, as I fully believed they would; to my great astonishment they did not deserve it; and my predispositions and tendencies must not affect me as an honest witness. I [feel] it impossible to deny that, so far, some remarkable influence had produced a remarkable result, which better known influences have often missed.” Of the Saints themselves, Dickens confessed that, had he not known they were Mormons, he would have described them as, “the pick and flower of England” (https://latterdaysaintmag.com/charles-dickens-on-the-pick-and-flower-of-england/).
One of these British-born converts was Professor James Pigg Stannard, truly “a pick and flower of England.” He was born in Norwich on May 4, 1791. He became fluent in French, Latin, and Greek, but his favorite study was mathematics. His obituary said he pursued learning “with an ambition characteristic of the man.” He was Master of the Classical and Commercial Academy in Norwich. He inspected schools in Switzerland, France, and the Netherlands. Because of his brilliant mind and congeniality, he often dined with Queen Victoria. Willingly, he left all that behind when he became a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. When he arrived in Salt Lake City, he went to Brigham Young and offered his services. He began teaching and administrating in the Thirteenth Ward School. Four months later he was buried in plot D-7-1.
Although not as famous as the Professor, I have invited five women, the “pick and flower of Vermont, England, and Wales” to give brief life sketches. Each will tell you how they came to be buried in the paupers grave at D-7-1. (As far as I know, none of these women wrote autobiographies. I thank their descendants who put memories on FamilySearch and Becky Anderson for gathering the information and having the idea to put them in an autobiographical format.)
Lydia Kenyon Carter:
I am Lydia Kenyon Carter. I was born December 11, 1799, to Daniel Kenyon and Mary Tanner. I was number 12 of 14 children. At age 19, I married Simeon Daggett Carter in Benson, Vermont. We had three children—a son named Henry Orlando, and two daughters—Eveline Lydia and Lorain.
We moved to Amherst, Ohio, in 1830. One day Parley Pratt, our neighbor, sought shelter in our home when he was about to be arrested. As he ran out of our house, he left a copy of the Book of Mormon. Simeon read it and was so impressed that he traveled 50 miles to Kirtland to find out more about the church. He was baptized on February 14, 1831. We moved to Missouri to help build Zion. When we were living in Far West, Missouri, our daughter Lorain died. She was fourteen. Soon after, we were driven from Missouri to what would become Nauvoo. Emma Smith and I became close friends.
Simeon served multiple missions stateside and then served in England for three years. He returned on a ship with many new converts. Simeon arrived home as preparations were being made by the leadership of the Church to leave Nauvoo. We were blessed to be endowed and sealed in the Nauvoo Temple in December 1845.
In July 1849, Simeon and I joined the Silas Richards Wagon Company of 100 wagons. I was 48 and Simeon was 54. Traveling with us was our son Henry, his wife and their two sons. Louisa Holland Gibbons, age 21, was also in the company. She was a recent convert from England. She and her brother had traveled on the same ship with my husband. Her brother died and was buried at sea. Simeon took to looking after her. A month after our arrival in the Valley, late October 1849, Louisa became Simeon’s second wife.
Brigham Young called Simeon to help settle Brigham City. He moved to Brigham City with Louisa and his young family. I lived in Salt Lake with my newly married daughter and her husband who worked on the Temple.
I died on December 10, 1866. Elder Wilford Woodruff attended my funeral. I was buried in a pauper section of the city cemetery, plot D-7-1.
Elizabeth Crouch
Hello, I am Elizabeth Crouch. My parents are Ebenezer Caleb Crouch and Sarah Russell from Sussex, England. I was born in 1847, the first of twelve children. In 1851, my little brother Ebner died at age two.
In 1854, my parents met missionaries of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and were baptized. My father ran a very successful mercantile business. When our customers found out my parents had joined the Mormons, they boycotted, and father was forced to close his business.
In early 1856, our family emigrated to America, landing in Boston. Since we did not have the money to travel on to Utah, we stayed in Boston. Father could not find a job; we were strangers in a strange land and lacked even the bare necessities. Sickness came upon us and within the space of two months the three youngest children died—Emily age four, John age 3, and Kate at eleven months. My father was unable to pay the burial expenses, so they were buried by the municipality of Boston. Mother had the heart-rending experience of seeing strange men enter the house, take the bodies of her three little ones to where she never knew.
In the fall of 1856, our family consisted of my father, mother, my brother Ebenezer and I. Father worked in a paper mill and earned enough money for us to make another start for Utah. We got as far as Florence, Nebraska (which is Omaha today). This is the place where emigrants heading west were outfitted for crossing the plains. Ebenezer R. Young of Salt Lake City needed additional drivers to drive an ox train of ten wagons filled with merchandise. He offered father and mother our passage across the plains for their services. Father drove an ox team and mother cooked for the drivers.
After a long tedious journey of one thousand miles, we reached Salt Lake City in the later part of October 1859. We camped with many other families where the City and County building now stands.
We moved around as father looked for ways to support our family. First, we went to American Fork and lived in a dugout. Later we moved into an adobe shack. We moved back to Salt Lake and then to Camp Floyd. Later we moved back to Salt Lake where father purchased a mercantile. There were dwelling rooms in the rear of the store where we lived.
Between 1857 to 1863, my mother gave birth to five more children: four daughters and one son. They all died in infancy. Three years later in 1866, mother gave birth to her last child, Herbert Benjamin Crouch. He lived to be 82. In November 1863, we moved to Weber Valley. Father built the first house in what is now known as South Morgan. I was 17 and contracted tuberculosis. I passed away on February 20, 1865. Because of the financial burden, I was buried in a paupers grave in D-7-1 in the Salt Lake City Cemetery.
Jane Hardcastle
Hi. My name is Jane Hardcastle. I was born April 17, 1847 in Yorkshire, England to William Hardcastle and Ann Hall. I am the ninth of thirteen children. Three of my siblings died young: Mary died at seven months old, Mark at nine months, Alma at two years. The oldest child, Joseph, a father of two young sons, died at the age 26.
My father was a stone cutter. Several of his brothers were Methodist ministers. They were not happy when they found out our family was meeting with the Mormon missionaries. Even so, my entire family were baptized members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Following our baptisms, my parents felt strongly about emigrating to Utah, but they could not afford to send us at the same time. They decided that John, age 18, would be the first to go. John joined the Martin Handcart Company in 1856. Early snowstorms halted their journey. At least 145 members of the company died. Many survivors had fingers, toes, or limbs amputated because of severe frostbite. They almost starved. John stayed healthy enough to help others.
After five years of working and saving money, John had saved enough to bring another family member to Utah. It was decided that Father should go because of his poor health. As a stonecutter, the dust had damaged his lungs.
In June of 1862, our family gathered at the docks to say goodbye to Father before he set sail for America. He hugged and kissed each of us goodbye then climbed on board the ship. We didn’t know that would be the last time we would see him. He died of cholera aboard the ship and was buried at sea.
With the death of our father, our family became destitute. We could have used help from our wealthy grandparents, but they had disowned us. Despite our need, they would not help. For three years our mother tried to feed and clothe the family. Then in 1865, John sent for my mother and the three younger children! I was 19, Levi was 17, and Emma was 12.
My mother, Levi, Emma and I arrived in New York City in June of 1866. From there we traveled to Nebraska to prepare for the trek west. We joined Captain Samuel D. White’s mule wagon company of about 230 individuals and 46 wagons. Because I was sickly, I was allowed to ride in a wagon. After a long and difficult journey, we arrived in Salt Lake in September and had a joyful reunion with John. We had not seen him for ten years. Now he was 29 years old, married and a father of four children.
Later, as means were available, the other members of the family came to Utah. But the joy of reuniting was short lived. My health continued to decline after the long and difficult trek across the plains. I died less than two months after arriving in the Salt Lake Valley on October 23,1866 at the age of 19. I was buried in D-7-1, an unmarked paupers grave.
Rebecca Adams Rogers
My name is Rebecca Adams Rogers. I was born in November of 1798, in Birmingham, Warwickshire, England to William Adams and Cicely Miller Dowdswell. I was born the middle of three children. There is no record of what happened to my brothers, Henry and William.
When I was 24, I married William Rogers in Worcestershire, England. He was a sword blade grinder. We had six children. Our oldest died at age three. Then William died of pneumonia when he was 36. I was expecting our seventh child. This was a dark time for me. I was grieving, expectant, alone, and overwhelmed with caring for my five young children. When I heard the Mormon missionaries preach, I was drawn to their message.
It took about eight years but finally all my children had joined the church, except, William, my oldest. The rest of us desired to go to Utah to join the Saints. As we worked and saved, we all were able to emigrate. My daughter, Mary, and I were the last to leave England. In June of 1864, we sailed on board the Hudson, landed in New York in July, and started the trek across the plains in August.
I cannot remember which handcart company we were in, but we left late in the season and were delayed further by early snows in Wyoming. My hands and feet were frozen, and I got tick fever. I passed away one day after our arrival in the Salt Lake Valley. Because of our dire circumstances, my children buried me in an unmarked pauper’s grave in D-7-1 in the Salt Lake City Cemetery.
Mary Davies
I am Mary Davies. I was born in Merthyr Tydfil, Glamorganshire, Wales, on July 15, 1823 to Jonah Davies and Jeannette Short. My father was an iron works laborer. When I was 24, I married Thomas Foster Thomas who was from my hometown. He also was an iron worker. Thomas and I had ten children. Seven died as infants.
Shortly after our marriage, we were introduced to the Mormon missionaries and were baptized in June 1849. In 1856, Thomas and I made the decision to leave Wales and emigrate to America to join the Saints in Zion. We sailed aboard the S. Curling and made our way to St. Louis. Not long after our arrival our little Nephi died and six weeks later Thomas Jr. died. It was a dark time in our lives. The following year, I gave birth to a son we named Moroni who only lived three days. The following year, I gave birth to another son, Alma who died shortly after his birth.
Finally, in July 1862, we departed from Florence, Nebraska, with the James Wareham Company traveling with about 250 individuals and 46 wagons. We arrived in Salt Lake on September 26, 1862.
As we worked to build a life for our family, we experienced still more heartache. In March 1865, our beautiful six-year-old daughter Elizabeth died of scarlet fever. It was so difficult to bury her in an unmarked pauper’s grave in D-7-1. At the time, I was expecting twins who were born July 4 and 6. Both passed on July 9.
My strength was gone. My heart was broken. I followed them in death the next day and was buried in the same pauper’s grave where Elizabeth was buried just four months earlier.
To Every Lydia, Elizabeth, Jane, Rebecca, and Mary
I’ve prayed for the gift to write fluent expression
To weep words of comfort for heartaches long hidden
You suffered severely through painful rejection
Poverty, illness, death and dejection.
You buried your children in locations to mourn
Lost siblings and parents, continued alone
Grief upon grief, with no consolation
Your needs went unmet through want and privation.
You left native lands and you faced the unknown
You lie in a mass grave without a head stone
Now your name and story are finally found
For courage and strength with the Saints you belong.
Blessed Honored Pioneers