JUSTIN ABINADI BLACK - CHAPTER TWO

In the first chapter about my Dad I told you that my Dad was born in Huntington, Emery County, Utah and he lived there until he was ten. At that time his Dad, Benjamin Daniel Black decided that things were not very good for them there as far as making a living to support three families so he decided to try another place. Well, I have a copy of what my Dad wrote about that trip so I’m going to let you read what he wrote, exactly as he wrote it. I have come to the conclusion that certain people are born at certain times because they have the strength to endure what comes in their lives. Our obstacles are so much different and require other strengths. I’m not sure I could have endured what the pioneers did in crossing the plains and in settling the West after they arrived here.

Following, is what Daddy wrote of their move to New Mexico:

(January 31, 1974, my Dad wrote to Karen Black. For those who do not know who Karen is—she is a niece of both Jack and I. Her dad is my brother, Durant, and her mother is Jack’s sister Elaine. Thank goodness Karen and another niece, Eileen, daughter of my sister Grace, became interested in learning more about my Dad. They began writing to him and asking for stories.)

“Maybe you would be interested about our trip from Huntington, Utah to Fruitland, New Mexico. I guess you know I was born in Huntington, Utah. My Father’s health wasn’t good in Huntington, and he decided to move to Old Mexico. This was when I was ten years old. At this time he had three horses, but having 3 families, he had to have a team and wagon for each family. So, he had to get 3 more horses and 2 wagons. So, he traded what property he had, and got 3 horses and the wagons and a little needed money. And his Father bought a horse for him, so now he had 7 horses, and three wagons and was ready to start. There were two other families and another man ready to go with us. So, we started and went one mile out of town. And stopped overnight at a farm where they had arranged to pasture the horses that night. Time we were ready to leave the next morning, it was raining, and rained almost steady all day. So we didn’t go far that day. The next morning the sun was shining bright, but the road was muddy, so progress was slow. So, after two days of travel we were only about 25 miles from Huntington. That night we had no hay for our horses so we had to turn them loose to forage on the range. When the men folks went to find them the next morning, one of our horses couldn’t be found. But on close inspection of the road, they found his tracks, and he was headed for Huntington. So Father came to camp, ate his breakfast, got on a horse and went after him. Father was gone the rest of that day and all the next day. The horse had gone all the way to Huntington, and then up Huntington Canyon to his former home. Father got to Huntington after dark, and stayed with his Brother Charles that night. The next morning, as Father was quite sore from riding bareback, Uncle Charles sent his son up the canyon to get the horse. When Tom got back with the horse, Uncle Charles gave Father a quilt to ride on and a rope so he could make loops for stirrups, which made Father’s ride back to camp more comfortable. But when it began to get dark the second day after Father had left, and he hadn’t got back yet, my Mother, Aunt Susie and Persus Roberts went back the road some distance, and hollered as loud as they could. Father was close enough he heard Mother’s voice and answered and the women folks came back to camp rejoicing and Father wasn’t far behind.

“Nothing of interest happened after that until we reached Green River one and a half or two and a half days later. We got there about noon, and the men at the Ferry wanted three dollars a wagon to Ferry us across and that would have cost Father $9.00. So, Father said he wouldn’t pay that much, he would find a place where he could ford the river and cross. They offered to come down a little, but Father said they were still too high. Then, a man came and said he knew where there was a fording place and he would ford us over for three dollars, but Father said if you can ford us over, I can ford myself and it won’t cost me anything. So by inquiring around a little he found a man that told him that up the river about a mile there was a place where people had forded the river, but it had been some time since any one had crossed so we went up the river and found the place. Then Father, Azariah Brown, and Will Guymon got on horses and rode across and back and finding it all right for crossing, we all crossed over. But while in Green River, the men folks found a place where they could pasture their horses over night. So, after we had crossed over to the east side and had eaten our supper, Father, Brother Brown, Will Guymon, my brothers, Ben and Acel, took some bedding in a wagon and all of the horses and went back to the west side where the horses were to pasture. Some of the horses were loose, and two of the men were on horses trying to drive them, it was a little upstream and two horses of Brother Brown’s wouldn’t go against the stream and got too far downstream and got in the quick sand. But they were near the bank, and the men worked until midnight to get them out. But the bank was too high and steep for them to get out on that side, so they sent them back to the east side. We boys got them and we had built up a big fire, and we led them back and forth around the fire until they were dry and warm so they wouldn’t get sick. So it was one o’clock or after, time we were all in bed.

“The next morning, we started on toward Moab. As I remember, we got to the Colorado River about the middle of the afternoon on the third day. There, there was nothing to do, only to ride the ferry. But, they only charged us $2.50 for all three wagons, and the boat was large enough to take all three outfits at once. But, we were to leave our extra horse to come with the next load, as there would be only 2 outfits. But, the horse was loose, and he didn’t wait. When we were about half-way across, he plunged into the stream and followed us. I heard a man say, “He will never get out alive.” Another one said, “I wouldn’t give 50 cents for a chance for him. But he swam and caught the boat and swam right along by the side of it. Father got a rope and put it around his neck. There were 4 or 5 men on the south bank, and a man on the boat had quite a long rope, which they took. Two or three men got hold of each end, and put the middle of the rope over the horses rump. Although the bank was almost straight up, by the men pulling on the ropes, the horse got out all right. Then, one man jokingly said, “I am going to charge you $2.00 for that horse swimming the river.” Another said, “I’ll give you ten dollars for that horse.”

“Well, after all were across, we started on toward Moab. We had not gone far when Mother noticed some watercress by the side of the road. She said, “There is some watercress. We must have some.” We had a big brass bucket, so we got it. And my sister, Tamar and I got out of the wagon to get some. But when we got to the cress, the frogs began jumping every direction, so we went back to the wagon and told Mother the cress was no good, there were frogs all through it. She said, “That makes it all the better. Get some water cress and get a lot of it. So, we filled the bucket and the whole camp had water cress for three or four days. And all seemed to enjoy it. That was the first time I ever saw water cress.

“From Moab we traveled on toward Monticello. When we got to Cane Springs we stopped there to water our horses, and fill our barrels with water. Each wagon had a 30 or 40 gallon barrel fastened to one side, so we could have water when we came to a camp where there was none. While there, my brothers, Edd and Ernest and I noticed some goats at a corral not far away. So, we went to see them and look around a little, while the men folks filled the barrels. Soon, the call came, “We are going.” So, we ran for the wagons. In the bottom of Cane Springs Canyon was a narrow wash, about five feet wide and that deep or deeper. When we got to it, Edd and Ernest walked back a few steps and ran and jumped across, but when I tried, my toes barely touched the bank and I went part way down. But, they grabbed me by the arms, and pulled me out, and we soon caught the wagons.

“We traveled on, I don’t remember how long, but we got to Church Rock Saturday night. There was water there and the feed was good. So, we lay over Sunday. The women did some much needed washing.

“Monday we started on. It was not far to Peter’s Hill. There at that time, the road followed the canyon, crossing it several times. At one crossing, the reach in our wagon broke and Father had to go up a side canyon some distance to find a tall straight cedar, out of which he could make another reach. Then to make the reach, and get it into the wagon took quite a bit of time. We only got to Carlile that night. A distance of probably eight miles. From Carlile, we went southeasterly direction toward Cortez, and didn’t go to Monticello. When we got to Cortez, we stopped at a Flour Mill to get some flour and some grain for the horses. While at the mill, three drunks came on horses. They stayed around a while doing things that were amusing to we kids. While they were there a stirrup came off of one fellow’s saddle. He didn’t seem to have missed it. My brother, Ben, picked it up and gave it to him, and then helped him put it back on. When they were through, the fellow said, “Thank you.” But, Ben said nothing. So, the fellow put his hand on Ben’s head, and said, “Say, I said thank you.” Then Ben said, “Oh, you’re welcome.” Then, he said, “That’s right. When a fellow says thank you, tell him he is welcome.” Then as they rode away, one fellow waved his hat and hollered, “Hurray for Bryan!” Another hollered, “Hurrah for McKinley!” And the other said, “Hurray for any old thing.” Then, we drove down into the south Montezuma valley where we got some excellent pasture for our horses, at five cents a head. Next day as we traveled on south, we came to a Ute Indian Agency, where they gave out rations to the Indians each month. There was a large spring there where the Indians brought horses to water, and we stopped and watered our horses. While there, an Indian came with quite a band of horses and they were quite small. And Will Guymon said to me, “Why don’t you go and fill your pockets with ponies so you will have some to play with.” While there, a Navajo Indian came and wanted us to let his boy ride with us to Fruitland, New Mexico. He said his boy had been kicked in the chest by a horse, and couldn’t ride his horse. As Will Guymon rode alone a good deal of the time, he decided to let the boy ride with him. The older Indian went along, riding his horse and leading the boy’s horse. After we had gone on for some distance, we asked the Indian if the pony he was leading was gentle enough for us kids to ride. He assured us he was, so Ernest, I, Tamar, Mish and Mead all took turns riding the pony. The Indian seemed pleased to have us ride him, so he wouldn’t have to lead him, and we got a lot of fun doing it. Well, we drove into Fruitland just after sundown two or three days later. Father’s sister, Tamar, and his brother, William lived there. So we stopped at Aunt Tamar’s and Father took the other two families to Uncle William’s. Uncle William told Father that the people in Old Mexico were poor and jobs were scarce, and he would have a hard time in Old Mexico. He had better stop there, and that is what we did.”

That is the end of my Dad’s story about traveling from Huntington to Fruitland, New Mexico when he was 10 years old. He wrote the story when he was 86 years old---two years before he died. I am absolutely in awe of his memory of some of the small details of the journey. Another thing, he was only able to finish fifth grade. I really don’t know how much school he actually attended during those first five years. All things considered, he learned a lot in whatever amount of school he was able to attend. Karen and Eileen copied his stories as he wrote them and did not change word usage, spelling or punctuation. Some of his punctuation is a bit unusual but not bad. Of course, he did not stop learning just because he couldn’t attend more school. His spelling is quite remarkable. He loved to read and probably learned a lot of spelling because he did read a lot.

In the last paragraph of his story he mentions some brothers and sisters riding the Indian pony. Let me clarify a couple of things so you will know who belonged where. All three of my grandfather’s families were traveling together. Daddy’s brother Ernest was the oldest son of “Aunt Alice,” wife number three; Daddy and his sister Tamar were from my grandmother who was the first wife; “Mish” and “Mead” were daughters of “Aunt Susie,” wife number two. “Mish’s” full name was Artimisha—“Mish” for short. “Mead’s” full name was Almeda---“Mead” for short. I knew Uncle Ernest quite well. I also knew Aunt Mish well. I will be mentioning her more later. Aunt Tamar and Aunt Mead both died before I was born.

In one paragraph Daddy mentions “Cane” Springs. It is spelled Kane Springs. Also he mentions “Carlile.” I can’t verify it on a map because my maps don’t show it but I’m pretty sure I remember the place is spelled Carlisle. I can’t verify the spelling on any of the maps I have because it is not shown. I guess I should talk to some of the old-timers in the area and I will. I had a friend who married a man who lived at Carlisle/Carlile. It was/is a very small place.

I will be passing along more of my Dad’s own stories along with my stories of him. I have lots more stories. I will also be doing a tribute to my Dad inasmuch as Fathers’ Day is June 15th.

The only birthday this month is my sister, Grace. She will be 85 on June 27th.

I love you all.