A Story from Matthewsville

A few local men were clustered outside a shop in a frontier town in Arizona. They were discussing their land and how difficult some of it was to farm.
"I've a large plot that's particularly hard to manage," one said. "If someone would work it for me, I'd give them a quarter of it."
He was overheard by Frederico Sanchez, a hard-working immigrant from Mexico that the locals called Mexican Fred. Frederico approached the group and said that he would take those terms, if the man were serious. They reached an agreement, and Frederico began the rough work of moving rocks, irrigating, and cultivating the land. It took several seasons for the land to become profitably productive, but Frederico was determined and did his job well. At the end of the term he approached the landowner to collect the title for the portion of the land promised to him. Now that the land was tamed the man was reluctant to part with the quarter. It was significantly more than what others paid over for the same services where the ground was not so hard. He hedged on the original agreement and offered a smaller amount of land instead. Frederico was not about to accept anything less than what was offered him originally. He didn't have the agreement in writing, but many men had overheard the verbal contract.
"We should discuss it with the bishop," offered the landowner. He was a high priest in the church and was reasonably sure the bishop would decide in his favor. What he offered was fair, even if it wasn't what he'd originally agreed to.
Frederico wasn't a member of the church, so he hesitated. "Who is the bishop?" he asked.
"Daniel Matthews," the man replied.
Frederico knew him. He was a fair man. "If he isa your bishop, then heesa my bishop too!" Frederico exclaimed in thickly accented English. The two went to Daniel Matthews, the grandson of Joseph Matthews from earlier posts. He listened to them both and talked to some others who had been there at the time the agreement was made. Much to the landowners surprise, he sided with Mexican Fred.

Frederico Sanchez outlived many of the others in this story. I never met him personally, but my grandmother did. He is buried in the same cemetery as many of the Matthew's clan.

A Significant Moment for Matthews

I'd like to take a break from the stories to mention the dedication of the Gila Valley Temple in Arizona. I was privileged to see the dedication via satellite at my stake center. The temple matron gave a brief talk and mentioned the many Arizona pioneers who would be rejoicing along with us as the temple was dedicated. I couldn't help but think of Joseph Matthews, David Henry Matthews, and the rest of their family.
David Henry Matthews and his brothers, the sons of Joseph Matthews, were asked to leave Utah and help build a colony in Arizona. The church leaders told Joseph that he had earned his retirement and that they didn't expect him to go. He told them, "You know damned well if you are calling my sons to go, you are calling me too!" So he went.
They settled in a place that came to be known as "Matthewsville" near present day Pima. It doesn't exist anymore... except for this:

This sign marks the dirt road that leads to the cemetery where many of the Matthews are buried. Here is the monument to Joseph Matthews and his wife:


And the headstone for David Henry Matthews and his wife:


After visiting the cemetery I shared some of my favorite stories about my pioneer ancestors with my young family. My seven year old was captivated by the stories, just as I am. The Arizona pioneers were amazing men and women. They built something solid where there was very little. In some ways, I felt sad that all that was left were these few headstones in a small cemetery in the middle of nowhere. As I thought about it, though, I realized that the real monument to them is their descendants.
My grandmother, Phyllis Matthews/Stevens, was an amazing woman. She had six children and took in many more through the foster care program. I understand that she also taught English and helped immigrants get their citizenship. She supported education and helped teach me to read. What greater gift can you give a child than that?
I had my dad on the phone, guiding us to the grave sites. I told him that I really, really liked those Matthew's characters. He told me that any many ways, I'm one of them. I hope I can live up to that!
More Matthew's stories to follow... the one about the Titanic and Mexican Fred come to mind.
I don't intend for this site to be purely for Matthew's stories, though. If you have a pioneer story from your family history you'd like to post, please email it to me!

On the Trail West

The wagons were circled for the night. Dusk was falling, and the weary pioneers were preparing to sleep. The men were tired. They hadn’t come as far that day as they would have liked. There was no trail now, and men had to trudge ahead and break down the sharp prairie grasses to keep them from injuring the oxen’s feet. Some had scouted ahead to find the easiest way forward for the wagons. A wagon had broken an axle which they’d had to stop and set up a temporary forge to repair. All had been done with an air of tension and with too little sleep. They’d been up at 3am when the stationed guards had spotted six Sioux Indians scouting the camp. The Indians had retreated as soon as they’d been seen, but everyone was tense. It was a relief to keep moving, but the broken axle had slowed their progress. It was one of those days that needed to end so they could start fresh.

I’m not sure what Joseph Matthews was doing when the alarm came up. Currying a horse? Finishing a meal? Checking to make sure a wagon was secure? Whatever the men were doing was dropped. The Indians were back, and this time, they said, they’d taken Porter Rockwell and his horse. In moments several men were on horses after them. Soon, however, the report was proven false. Porter Rockwell was in camp. There were two horses missing, neither of which belonged to him. The missing horses had been running when they left camp, which made the men believe that they’d been driven off. Nobody was certain. Many of the men looked for them, aided by the light of a half moon. The search was called off at 11pm. They couldn’t find the horses.

Shots were fired early the next morning. The guards were on edge and had fired when they’d heard the brush stir nearby. This time it was just wolves.

William Clayton and Porter Rockwell went back to try to find more signs of the horses, but returned empty handed in time for the wagons to roll out by 8:30.

The country here was dry and sandy. The trees gave way to brush. The pioneers kept a weary eye out for Indians, but never saw more than a rattlesnake or a prairie dog. At 2:30 they stopped to rest and dig for water since there was no ready source nearby. While they rested, a party was formed to look for the horses one last time. Porter Rockwell, Joseph Matthews, Thomas Brown, and John Eldredge were chosen to go.

Brigham Young instructed the four chosen men before they set out. He was concerned about their safety and warned them not to go too far. Just to the bluff, not as far back as the camp from the night before. The four men shouldered their rifles and set off on their horses.

The signs of the missing animals were not easy to pick out from the tracks of the oxen and the other horses from camp, but the four had a pretty good idea of which way to go. Each broken shrub, each furrow in the dusty ground told a story to the trackers. They were getting closer. They came to the bluff where they had been told to turn back. There was still plenty of daylight, and they were closer to the missing horses. The animals had been important to their owners, and they couldn’t be that much farther from finding them. They chose to keep going.

They were about a mile out from the previous night’s camp site when Porter sensed movement from the corner of his eye. “Wolf,” he muttered, and slid from his saddle to sight his gun at it. As he leveled his weapon to fire, an Indian burst from the brush. More sprang up from behind boulders and dips in the land that didn’t look capable of harboring a man. The Indians leaped for Rockwell and Matthews’ horses, but Porter Rockwell reacted quickly. He jumped back into his saddle and leveled his pistol. The Indians drew back. The two parties faced each other. Four rough pioneers on horseback, and fifteen Pawnee Indians on foot. Some of the Indians had guns, others held bows with their strings taught, arrows trained on the pioneers. Should they stand their ground? Should they fight? Should they run and risk the shots and arrows as they fled? The tension was palpable.

The Indians moved first. They were suddenly enraged, and with loud cries they retreated back about fifty yards. Six had guns and sent balls whizzing about the pioneers’ heads. The pioneers turned their horses and fled the way they’d come. The Indians didn’t pursue them. Soon they were safely back with the rest of their party.

It wasn’t long before Brigham Young asked to see the returned men privately. “You went farther than I asked you to go.” He stated. He wasn’t asking them if they had. He already knew. The men nodded and began to explain. President Young cut them off. “You were saved today. The Indians left because there was an army of Nephite warriors beside you that they could see and you could not. If you think the Lord will save you again when you disregard my instructions, brethren, think again!”

When I was writing down the story of Joseph Matthews and the Antelope, I came across a useful website that had several journal entries that mentioned Joseph Matthews. One of them was about an encounter with the Indians. It was brief, and there wasn’t much detail about it. On Christmas day when we met with some of our extended family, I talked to one of my aunts. She is one of our family history gurus. I was delighted to learn that she and an uncle have recently been in contact with someone who works for the church history department and have been going through documents to find which of the stories grandma told were closest to any original accounts of what actually happened. As I talked with my aunt about the stories told about Joseph Matthews, she mentioned the story about the Indians. It was one I’d never heard my grandma tell; I’d only read the summary in the journal online. She told me grandma’s version, but warned me that it was one that could have been overinflated as it was passed along. I took what I found online and what my aunt told me and blended them to write it down.

According to the journals I read, there was a brief skirmish with the Indians (15 Pawnee) that occurred much the same way that my grandmother said it had. There were 15 Indians and 4 Pioneers. The journal entry says that the Indians were ready to fight, but were ‘bluft by the four men’ (here’s the link) It seems pretty unlikely to me that 15 men would stand down to four without good reason. I think an army of stripling warriors would be reason enough, don’t you?

Outlaw in the Kitchen

David Henry Matthews was a leader in a small colony of Mormon Pioneers who settled in Arizona. He and his wife were known for their hospitality, and their home became a stopping place for many who came to or through what is now Pima, Arizona. At times the house was so full that Mrs. Matthews, who thought of others' comfort ahead of her own, would fill all the beds, the cots, and the kitchen floor by the fire, then go to sleep outside on a table that was used to butcher hogs in winter.
Arizona was frontier territory in those days, complete with cowboys and ranchers, horse thieves and gunmen.
Horses were stolen several times from the early pioneers, and they'd occasionally have to send to Utah for more stock. It was a frustrating business as horses were so necessary to the pioneers for their livelihood. Horse thieves were just about the worst kind of criminal, and any man caught stealing a horse could be executed.
During an early morning raid, one of these thieves was shot and fell injured from his horse. The men who dispersed the raid stood around him, arguing over what to do. They were religious men and not inclined to shoot him outright or give him a trial and hang him. They decided in the end that they would bind his injured foot, give him some water, and leave him in the desert in hopes that his friends would find him and take care of him.
It was then that David Henry Matthews rode up in his buckboard and asked the men for a report. They told him what had happened and what they intended to do. That didn't sit well with Bishop Matthews. "You put him out in the desert with a lame foot, and you might as well shoot him now. What would the Lord want you to do?" This shamed the men to silence. Bishop Matthews came down from his seat. "Help me put him in my wagon," he told the men. "I will take him to my house." A few of the men protested. This was a dangerous outlaw! How could he take him home? It might endanger his wife and his children. Bishop Matthews waved aside all their protests and insisted on taking the wounded man home, saying that his wife would want him to.
He was right. She doctored the man and set up a cot for him in the kitchen. He stayed there until he could walk again. Near the end of his stay, the Matthews asked him if he had any money. He told them he didn't have anything on him and that he couldn't possibly repay them for their kindness. The Matthews told him that he had misunderstood what they were asking. They wanted to make sure he had enough to get to wherever he needed to go. He had nothing. They gave him 20$ (worth a lot more then) and sent him on his way.
Horses still went missing around the Mormon colony, but if one of those belonging to the Matthews was ever gone, it was back the next day. The thief would occasionally stop at the Matthew's home for a night when the house was quiet. He'd leave before the sun rose and there was always a twenty dollar gold piece on the pillow.
The name of the thief, my grandma said, was Johnny Ringo.

I know how these stories change and become legends. Who knows for certain how much of this tale is true? Johnny Ringo was a big name outlaw in the Arizona territories and Texas. How much thievery is attributed to him by association? He became a popular western character for cinema in the 1960s. There has been a lot said about him. It could be true that it was him, though. The dates are right. It is recorded that Johnny Ringo failed to show up for a trial because a wounded foot kept him from traveling to the court.
Who knows?
Wish I did!

Of Antelopes and Men

In 1847 Brigham Young and advance company of pioneers began their westward trek. There were 148 people in the original company, including my great-great-great grandfather Joseph Matthews.

Brigham Young relied on Joseph Matthews and Porter Rockwell to scout for him, reporting on what he could expect ahead. President Young felt that many men told him what they thought he wanted to hear rather than giving him an accurate account of things. He had no such reservations about his scouts. They would travel ahead and report back to President Young. Their reports were reliable and they did their job well. However, many of the church leaders on the trek were concerned about the faith Brigham Young put in these two men. Both were 'questionable' characters.

The Word of Wisdom was more of a guideline and less of a strict commandment at the time, and these men both clung to their tobacco. This disturbed some of the elitist, as did Porter Rockwell's temper and Joseph Matthew's habitual swearing. He didn't use hard swear words. One man said that he 'swore like Shakespeare' saying things like, "Oh ye shades of Hades!" It disturbed many of the others in the campe to the extent that several of them decided to take their concerns to President Young. "How can you trust such men?" they asked.

Brigham Young took aside the concerned individuals and called his scouts to him. They went walking together up to a bluff on the plains, talking about the area as they went. President Young had a spyglass with him. He paused to look through it and then exclaimed at the beauty of an antelope he could just make out in the distance. He passed the glass to another member of the party, asking them if they had ever seen such a magnificent specimen. He too propounded on the beauty of the creature, its white belly and rich coat. He passed the spyglass to the man nearest him, who also commented on the animal. When the spyglass came to Porter Rockwell, he passed it on to Joseph Matthews without saying anything. Brother Matthews was also silent, and passed the glass on. The next member sighted the glass and added his own opinion of the antelope. So it continued. Each man had something to say about the antelope that Brigham Young had seen, except for Porter Rockwell and Joseph Matthews.

When the spyglass returned to President Young, he confronted the silent members of the party. "Brother Rockwell, Brother Matthews, don't you have anything to say about the antelope?"

"Brigham," Brother Matthews spat. "You know damned well there ain't no antelope out there."

President Young laughed and said, "Brethren, that is why these are my scouts."

In an effort to weed the historical from the fictional, I did some research online.

It is true that Joseph Matthews and Porter Rockwell were scouts for Brigham Young. Their names are recorded as part of the first company in several registers, and they are pictured on the North Side of the “This is the Place Monument” in Utah. I also found a journal entry that talks about President Young’s spyglass. I found a blog of another descendant of Joseph Matthews that refers to the ‘antelope’ story. So how much of it is true? Darn it all to heck, I wish I knew.

A New Blog!

My family has a rich pioneer history of unwritten stories. As far as I know, many of my ancestors didn't keep a journal or publish their own stories anywhere. They told their stories to their children who passed them on until the present.
I love these stories.
I love them because they are full of history, courage, faith, and hope. Some are inspiring. Some are amusing. All of them are worth retelling.
Many of the details have been lost or possibly altered. It's like the telephone game where you sit in a circle and whisper a message. The more participants, the greater the change when the last person repeats it back. Although these stories have never been deliberately altered, there is no way for me to verify their authenticity entirely.
I recently began a quest to find out what I could about these stories and then write them down. I've decided to publish them here publicly so that others who may have descended from the same people might stumble across them and give me their versions. Or perhaps others with similar stories will share them here.
There is something enchanting about these stories that are lost to ledgers or journals, but remembered by the posterity of the pioneers.
I want to keep them alive.