Mary Sophia Fuhrmeister
(An autobiography written 5 July 1923 for her grandchildren)

     I was born 1 Feb. 1845 in Dardesheim, Saxony, Prussia.  I was a twin; the other, a girl, died when three months old.  When I was a year and a half old, they had a son born.  My parents then moved to America, as Father was to be recalled to his regiment.  Rumors of war was in the air.  His uncle gave him the required furlough to Liverpool, England.  I being sick with measles, the officers placed us in a room to ourselves.  My little brother was buried at sea.  It was a trial to Mother, to part with her parents, brothers and sisters for they had not heard the gospel then, but God moves in mysterious ways his wonders to perform.

     It was a severe trial to my parents to come among strangers, they not being able to speak the English language and to be sick and afflicted.  But God never forsook them.  He had a work for them to do in these mountains. He provided in their hour of need, in a strange land.  He heard their prayers for they were not strangers to prayer.  They were Lutheran in faith and were honest, humble, God-fearing people.  Although mother grieved in leaving her native land, she did not know that her dream in her childhood was being fulfilled, until she saw the old, or rather, the first Tabernacle of Salt Lake City, filled with people and noted particularly the way the benches were placed one above or rather one row higher than the other row.  This dream had impressed her very much.

     They landed in Virginia.  Father was laid up with a bad hand which lasted for nearly a year.  Mother had to go out to work and take me along to get provisions.  But the kind people soon saw into the condition of things and brought many comforts.  We never lacked for the necessities when father's hand got well and the people found that he was a good mason by trade.  He was always grateful for what he received and was willing to return favors.

     In a few years, four I think, he moved to Milwaukee, Wisconsin.  There he bought a small home with a garden attached; he going off to Beloit, Wisconsin, to work to pay for our home.  he came across a cousin of his.  After paying for our home, being one a year and a half, and having bargained for another in Beloit, he came home and sold out and we moved again.

     On the day that father came home, mother was washing.  She was hanging up the clothes; and I was standing by her. Father had just sat down on the doorstep when a gun was fired off.  The bullet struck between me and mother in the fence.  Father was surprised but mother explained it to him.  The day before a flock of geese had been herded into our garden; mother coming home, she got a little switch and switched around the geese.  She happened to hit one on the head and killed it.  The little girl ran home crying. Soon her father came, he telling mother that it would prove a dear goose. Him not knowing of father's return, fired this shot. Which of us he intended to hit we never knew.  Seeing the direction of the shot, father went over, but he had seen father coming and had hid himself.  Father was advised to prosecute him but father said no, that he would leave that place and would not meddle with the law.  So we were preserved again.

     We traveled by team and soon were comfortably situated, father working at his trade building culverts for the railroad.  Here another son was born, Franz Frederick, who lived seven months and died. (According to the records Franz Frederick was born in Milwaukee and was buried in Beloit, Wisconsin) I must not forget to mention that mother was afflicted with a cramp of the stomach after the birth of this child, which affected her the rest of her days.  The cause of it or the name we never knew.

     During the time of our stay in Beloit, Wisconsin, a company of men--twelve in number-- arrived from Mecklenburg, Germany, bound for California to the then new gold fields of which they had heard in their country. Father, being a German, they came to board a few days. I, being six years of age, my curiosity was great to see these men perform many tricks in front of our home.  One of them had yellow hair hanging in ringlets on his shoulders, a mustache and whiskers, very tall and had a pleasant face. When they were ready to start he handed a violin and case and a bundle of clothing to father, asking if he would take care of them until he returned, for he might be glad for them then.  Father agreed to do so, never thinking he would move nearer west, the way the Saints were traveling or that this man would lead him to the waters of baptism.  As yet none of us had heard of the Latter-day Saints.

    Two years later my brother Albert was born.  My love was so great for him that on the day he was christened, I bit him;  He looked so sweet, in my eyes, in his baby carriage decked with flowers.  Mother forgave me for she knew I loved him and I kiss  his tears away.

     We moved to Dubuque, Iowa in 1856. On the 4th of July another son, Wilhelm or William was born.   He lived two weeks.  Here Father settled on a farm, wishing to quit his trade and farm, but when he became known, he could not hide his light for his work would shine.  The Methodists engaged him to build their new church which was a fine one, father hiring the other masons.

     Iowa, or the place we were in, was a new place.  Father put in a small piece of land into grain, corn, and a garden which me and mother tended.  We  also  had  a  small  patch  of potatoes.  Our house was  a story and a half, built of logs which father built.  It was the custom of the country to get up a "bee'' in raising the logs - for the carpenter's work; father did mason work. During this time, father, mother and I joined the Methodist faith.  The church was five miles off.  I went to Sunday School every Sunday, winter and summer.  Here I learned to read German.  I had always attended the district schools and it was in the English language.  Our parents always spoke their language till in later years they ceased it in our family altogether.

     One fine morning in February, father was making a woodrack when I saw a man coming down the road about a half a mile off.  It was no uncommon affair as we lived on the public road.  It forked at our place, one crossing the Mississippi River, the other leading into the country.  I told father this man was the one who had left his things with us.  "Oh, no," father said. I insisted it was he. I said, "can't you see his curly hair?'' "Oh, it is too far off -- you can't see," father said. Mother went by this time upstairs and looked out the window. "Yes, Fred, Mary is right, it is he," mother said. Here I must say I believe we were aided in our vision of sight. He came in at the gate and father began to believe it was him. He made himself known and father explained how I had known him so far off. He said I was six years old when he was at our home. Now I was 12 year's old.

     Father inquired how he had made it in California. The young man said he had not been there but had stopped in Utah and had been sent out as a missionary to preach the gospel, the same as Christ had taught when he was on the earth. Father invited him in -- saying he might stay three days with us as he was going to the city with a load of cord wood and he might ride. Albrant, for that was his name, began to explain the gospel as taught by the Latter-day Saints but father felt he had found the true church in the Methodists. He laid on the bed and dozed off, only rousing up when mother or Albrant called to him to see if he was listening. Mother and me kept Albrant company. Now when three days were ended they went to town but before he left, he left his
lessings and peace with us. On the way he did much preaching to father.

    When in town, father was particularly blessed in selling his load.  He inquired if Albrant wished to have a drink.  "No" was the answer. did he wish a cup of coffee.  “No” but he would take lunch if it was agreeable”. When they were finished father said he looked as if he needed a pair of boots. Father bought him a hat, pants, and boots and then gave him a five dollar gold piece.  This father felt to do as in our moving he had disposed of Albrant's things.  He bid father good-by and blessed him.

    His words did not fall on barren soil.   It took root and father began  to compare the two religions.  His mind was not at rest. He spoke to mother - if only he knew where to find or where to send for him (Albrant).  Mother said he had left his address with her.  So father wrote a letter for him to come again, which he did. Father and I believed and were baptized in February 1857. Mother, not being prepared as Martha was born March 25 following.  Father sent Albrant twenty dollars to come with. He now went on his way again while we stayed to sell out to come to Utah.

      In the meantime the evil one was busy.  Our friends were leaving us. Obstacles were placed in our way.  Yet father was prospered in making a good sale.  He got $1250.00 for his farm; yet he was offered $1500.00 before we had joined the Mormons.  So father made preparations to come to Utah the next spring.  He had two wagons, two yoke of cattle, and a span of mules.  William Albrant was to drive one team, he being recalled from his mission on account of Johnson's army coming to Utah.

      We started in April 1558 when spring was opening and no bottoms to the roads.  Threats were made to tar and feather our missionary.  After a little, father didn't tell who we were.  If asked where we were bound for, we said to California, for the gold excitement was high at that time. It took us from April till June 1858 to travel through Iowa as the roads were so bad.  As we neared Iowa City, we heard of Fuhrmeisters living in that part. We stayed a few days.  Here father traded one mule that had very small feet and always got stuck in mud holes first.  We got a big gray mule.  Here we came across four relations with their families.  Father said we were on our way to California.

       We arrived at last at the Missouri River, crossed over to Florence, Nebraska, then on to Genoa, Nebraska.  Here father bought a city lot, 10 acres of land, for which he paid 2 seamless sacks of crackers. We were provisioned for one year. We had dried beef, rice, bacon, tea, coffee, flour, dried fruit, tallow, and lard.  Father killed an ox, which weighed 1000 lbs. and some pigs.  We were comfortably fixed.  Father built a two story frame house, fenced the lot and put all his land in by the next spring and raised a nice crop of corn and buckwheat.

      The following winter our sister Isabel was born.  Mother's health was poor and I was the oldest of our family by twelve years(of the girls). The work fell mostly to me and this winter we were preparing again to continue our journey to Utah.  Genoa had no flour mill. We had to grind all the flour we ate in the coffee mill until spring. Then they got a large corn mill run by horse power.  I had to sift every bit of flour for our journey and was glad I did not have to grind it in the coffee mill as I had done before.

      We made another start in May. Our  first day's travel was crossing the Platt River.  Our missionary left us and went with a company of elders from Utah going back to their missions.  Here I had to learn to drive two yoke of oxen, which I learned so well I could get off and on the wagon when going.  I would jump off, run our two cows ahead a little, then get on again.  Of course it was level plains.  Albert had to drive the cows. He would get tired so we changed off. He was six years old then. When there was a bad place, father would come and drive over, then get the mule team over, as mother and the baby and Martha were in their wagon.

      We had another woman passenger along from Genoa, a Mrs. Miller and her l0-year-old daughter.  She proved a burden to us and not what she appeared at first.  She would take our meal and trade it off at those trading posts along the plains.  Father one time set her off at a camping place but our Capt. Beckworth persuaded him to take her through, but he gave her a good lecture.

      At the big mountain she would not walk as all the women had to do, to get up the mountain.  Father took the whip from me and drove and in lashing the oxen, the end struck her across the mouth, her being right back of him calling him all kinds of names.  Her divorced husband had met us that morning from Salt Lake City, which made her bold and mean that morning. Well, he came running with a pistol to settle with father. But father paid no notice and drove right along. The captain soon got there to inquire as to the trouble.  The train stopped to rest and after all was understood, it was decided she was in the wrong and to blame and got just what she deserved.  (Though father never intended to strike her.) Even Mr. Miller was satisfied.

      Well we got up the big mountain but now the going down.   All four wheels were locked and drags behind.  None of the women folks wanted to ride down. We were all glad to walk down, down, down. We camped one more night, washed, put on clean clothes to be as presentable as possible next day. Oh, how glad we were when we came off the bench and could see Salt Lake City, Aug 3 1859. We drove to the Union Square and camped till father could look around.

      His intentions were to go on a farm.  The next day father hitched up his teams of cattle and drove in front of the President's Office to tithe himself. He told Pres. Young that there were two yoke of cattle, he could take his pick of either yoke.  Pres. Young looked them over and said, "That team has crossed the plains without an oath taken to them."  Of course father never used oaths and of course I did not.  It was always gee, and haw Bolley, Buck, and Bright.

      The President asked father's intentions, but he had gotten the word somehow that father was a mason and Pres. Young appointed or rather counseled father to work on the Salt Lake Temple, which had been covered (the foundation).  They were then uncovering it again after peace was declared with Uncle San's Army which had gone to Camp Floyd and some returned to the States.  Some had met us in Sweetwater as we all got into the stream.  They found we were Mormons and oh, the oaths they gave vent to, did make me shiver, for they felt so sore over their winter's camp in Echo Canyon. They said they felt to finish us off, right there, but we passed on.

     Our Captain said to travel late so as to get past their trains before camping, but when we stopped after dark we found ourselves almost in one of their camps. Our Captain put out guards for teams and camp and ordered oxen to be brought to camp at ten o'clock in the morning. Everything was made ready at night and the women did not get up. Well, when daylight came, we had got in the midst of another soldiers' camp. They were very hostile, used very vile words.  When we got to their winter camp - oh, the dead cattle.  It surely could be called a boneyard.  Ox chains, yokes, wagons, acres fenced in made of wagons, or prairie schooners, as they were called. But it proved a blessing in disguise for the Saints.  All the iron came in useful in those early
times.

      Well, father bought a home with his remaining teams and wagon, keeping the one mule team. In the l2th ward our bishop was Leonard Hardy and counselor Atwood, and the others I forgot. We had a nice little orchard. Father then worked on the temple. Now I had left our camping place on the Square as it was the custom for the people to visit the emigrants and find places for all.  I had desired to work out and was glad father wasn't going on the farm. Brother David Callder, Pres. Young's head clerk, had engaged me so I left the camp.

     It was some little time before I found out where my parents were.  I lived in the twentieth ward and they in the twelfth, which was right opposite to us, across the road.  Brother Callder had two wives. Here I learned something  about polygamy.  Each had their own rooms but the dining room and parlor were in common. So were the washings together. When clothing or cloth came in the house, it was divided evenly.  If one got shoes, the other did.  I could not detect any partiality,  He always went with both to parties.  I, of course, taking care of the children.  I mention this because of the impression it had as regards to polygamy.  It seemed to be so noble, but it was a noble man in this case.

      One day one of the wives had me go with her to visit her mother, Mrs. Hammer, to help carry her child.  Sister Hammer lived in the lower part of the town.  While there a young man, Henry Maudsley, came in.  His mother and Mrs. Hammer had been playmates in England and later neighbors in Nauvoo and were of the same faith. He had come the same year- 1859 - 21st of July and we came August 3rd.

      He remembered me, but I had forgotten him, as we both lived in Genoa. He, being one of the men who were called to furnish the people with buffalo meat at Genoa, I did not see much of him, yet he often brought father a good hunk of meat. He found out where father lived so called on him and finally drove father's team on shares, hauling wood from Cottonwood Canyon to Salt Lake City, furnishing Brother Cottam with timber for his furniture shop - they being old acquaintances of Henry's folks in England and crossed the sea together for Nauvoo.

      Of course our acquaintance ripened into friendship and in 1860 on the 21st of July we were married by Bishop Kesler of the Sixteenth Ward. We moved closer to my parents till  the fall of 1861, when  Henry took a farm on shares in West Weber. My oldest child, a girl, was born the 3rd of August 1861.  We moved the last of December to our farm.

      In the spring of 1862, Henry went to Salt Lake City to see the President as regards to the contract he had made.  In taking the farm the parties had not filled their agreements and the President had made out the papers. President Brigham Young said for Henry to leave the farm and go south as there would be a call made in October Conference to settle Dixie. We moved in and lived with father and mother.  I felt I could not go so far away from my parents.  I always got so homesick.  But father said, "Go Mary; if ever I move I shall come south. You will soon see me with you.”

      So in Nov. of 1862, we moved to St. George.  Henry got a lot,  paying forty dollars, by' selling the gun he thought he would never part with because he had killed so many buffalo and deer with it.  The spring of 1863 Henry built a willow shed over our tent, made a fireplace in one end, made a place for the wagon box, for a bedroom and got eight acres of farming land.

     On the 18th of June my little Agnes died, not quite two years old. I felt so bad; Henry got me a chance to go with Brother Parks (Pymn's son-in-law) who was going up to Salt Lake City for a reunion of the Mormon Battalion the 17th of July. While in Salt Lake, David, my brother was born - 11th of March 1863.  I helped mother dry peaches and spin for cloth.  Father got rolls of cloth from the tithing office.

      In November when the emigrants came in and the teams that crossed the plains were sent to Dixie, I went with them home. Brother Daniel McArthur of St. George was captain.  That fall father married Mary Rich. Father and Albert came to St. George, his having bargained off his home, but not having received his pay till spring.  Father soon got lots and also a home or house for the family. Henry and Albert went up in March 1864 to Salt Lake City for mother and the family.  That same year Libbie was born August 31st.

      While Henry was called on an Indian expedition to Meadow Valley, we lived on cane seed meal for bread all that winter and spring of 1865.  The year of 1866 Henry mortgaged our home for a team.  In 1867 Manda was born and we could not raise $400.00 for our team so we lost our house.  The same fall we moved to the Muddy Valley as Henry had chills and fever for two years steady as the day came.  He couldn't pay his indebtedness so we started a new home. Here our oldest son was born, Sutliff Henry. He lived only two weeks.

      In 1870 our son Albert was born. When he was seven weeks old we moved to St. George and the Muddy Mission was broke up. We stayed at father's two months.  He still was working on the temple.

      In March 1870 we moved to Long Valley, from there to Panguitch. He put in a crop and a frost in August took all crops so we picked up and moved to Richfield, Sevier County, Utah. We built a home and stayed for three years. Then the United Order came, we joined and put in our all,  Here our daughter Fidelia was born Mar. 10, 1873.

      In 1875 we came to St. George to live.  Our son Frederick was born. He lived one month.  We then rented the Foster Ranch for one season and bought land two miles north, which in known by the name of Maudsley's Ranch.  Here we built a log cabin and lived in it for twenty-three years; passed through many hardships of pioneer days. Here six of our children were born and married off, and have gone to make homes of their own.  But one son is left to care for his mother.

       Their father died in 1908 - gone to his long home.  Many trials, sickness, and deaths we have passed through.  Our son Albert died at Monroe, Sevier County, Utah in his 22nd year.  Our youngest, William, came very near leaving us through an accident.  I hope we meet beyond the river and all keep the faith- is the wish of a loving mother.  Two children, little Henry and Mary Ann, passed away and were buried in Pine Valley. Then our son, Joseph, helped build a rock house, as we had lived in the log cabin 23 years.  Later he married and went to Canada to live. Then my son, William, took hold until he got married and went to Springdale, Utah to live.  All my dear girls were all married and in homes of their own.

       I was left alone.  I sold the home ranch to my brother Albert Foremaster and bought a home in St. George, Utah.  Paid fifteen hundred dollars for it.  My girls are all kind and good to me, 5 July 1923, and doing all they can.  Yet they, too, have their trials as we all have. There are just three girls and one boy left of my thirteen in the family. The others are gone to welcome us home when our work is finished here.

Signed, Mary S. Foremaster Maudsley
 
 

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Henry Maudsley  (still gathering history)
 
 
 

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