Jane’s Silent Night
A fictitious story written with as much historical accuracy as possible
This story was written during the week of Christmas, 1999, by John L. Hoopes of Soda Springs, Idaho, after he read the book, ABear River Massacrewritten by Newell Hart, a 340 page book, now out-of-print, published by the Cache Valley Newsletter Publishing Company, Preston, Idaho, Copyright 1982, available through the Soda Springs Public Library, Soda Springs, Idaho. This book contains excerpts from the journals of many Mormon pioneers who lived in Franklin at the time, including William Goforth Nelson, son of Jane Taylor Nelson.
Jane Nelson[1] was finally headed towards her home near Beaver Creek[2]. It had been a long day. Up at the >peep of dawn[3],’ which at this time of the year came late, she had not really seen the sun all day. It was December 24th, 1862, a gray wintery day, with blowing snow.
Here the snow was so different than in Tennessee, where she was born[4], or Nauvoo, where she lived with her family until they were mobbed out, or even in Mountainville[5], where her beloved Edmond was the first to be buried in the graveyard on the hill. Here in Cache Valley[6], the snow was dry and it sometimes blew straight up, when the wind was right. It was cold out, judged by how fast ice would form in the dog’s dish. However, no one really knew how cold it was, because no one she knew in Franklin had a thermometer[7].
But Jane was done for the day and headed home. Riding Ol’ Port[8], her favorite gelding, on the pathway near the willows, she could now see the bend in the creek and beyondBher son Will’s comfortable log home, her home.
Jane was a widow woman of 58, and she lived with her son, William Goforth[9] and his family, consisting of his wife, Elvira, and three grand children. Although tired and cold, Jane felt something warm inside when she thought of how blessed she was to have such good children, grand children, and a warm home.
Jane glanced over her shoulder through the willows, over the icy creek toward the place where the Indians had been living. They had been camped there for several months, living in their wicky-ups[10], with their beleaguered squaws doing too much of the work. She felt so blessed that in her Mormon society, women were held in honor and the men did the heavy work. Having babies was women’s work that men certainly couldn’t do, and that was hard enough, especially with no doctor around. Jane’s mind was on having babies, as she had spent most of the day over yonder at the Hull’s[11], helping Sister Mary, deliver a healthy baby boy. Jane would go back the next day to take some nourishing porridge she would make from the wheat that wouldn’t be needed for seed come spring. It wasn’t just because of her previous calling in the Female Relief Society that Jane wanted to do thisBshe truly loved Sister Mary and wanted to be of help.
Just as she was coming within that last mile, heading toward home, Jane heard a woman’s wale, an Indian from where the sound was coming from. She had heard these cries before and they still caused a trembling in her breast, for she knew from having her own thirteen[12] children how things can go wrong.
But Presiding Bishop Maughan and Bishop Merrill[13], had warned the people to stay away from the Indian side of the creek, least they provoke a fight. It was expected of the Saints to feed the Indians when they came to your cabin begging for food. And it was Brother Brigham himself who said >it is better to feed the Indians than to fight them.[14]‘ But still Jane had heard this unmistakable cry, and it vexed her.
Just then, Jane heard noises ahead on the path she was to ride. She could not make out whether it was an animal, or perhaps an Indian, as there were more than the usual number coming over on the White side of the creek to beg for food. But perhaps it was a large animal, like a bear or an elkBwho didn’t care if it were discovered. Jane was a little anxious, but kept ridingBOl’ Port knew his way home and didn’t need encouraging.
Then, through the fog, Jane could see what was making the noise. A Buck Indian on foot with a dog following close behind, being led by a piece of buckskin. It seemed the Indians had the poorest of dogs; Jane heard they sometimes ate them, but this one was far to scrawny looking to even consider eating. The Buck was trying to get her attention, he was saying something, but she could not understand his words. From all appearances he was a Shoshone, one of Pocatello’s braves, who were known to be the worst of the Indians camped across the river[15]. Jane wasn’t sure what to doBagain she remembered strong counsel to stay away from those Indians. But from his voice she could tell the Buck was in trouble, something was wrong. As soon as she could clearly see his face, she had her thoughts confirmed. He struggled to say the words: AHelp Squaw, give dog.
What did this mean? Perhaps she should take it literally, help his Squaw and he would give her the dog. She did not see a Squaw and she certainly didn’t want that skinny dog. But he was intense, pleading, so unlike one of what she had heard about Pocatello’s braves.
Jane considered saying to this Indian, AI go home, get helpand then sending William out to see if he could learn more. Will knew how to communicate with these Indians far better than she did[16]. But it was still a half mile to home, and the Indian was beckoning her to go in the opposite direction, back the way from which she had just come.
It was late and Jane wanted to be home, near the warm hearth in their cabin, helping with supper. But she now felt something inside telling her that she should follow the Buck, see what was wrong with his Squaw that made him so upset. Then her mind connected the pleading of the Buck to the sounds she heard earlier, that of a woman in hard labor. Perhaps this was the Squaw, having trouble delivering her baby.
Jane’s mind then began to think about her own home and family, that tomorrow would be Christmas Day, that day when they would remember the birth of the Savior of the World. Born of a virgin in a dismal cattle stable, without a midwife or help, except for her husband. How could she, especially on a night like this, not offer help to another woman trying to deliver a baby.
So Jane waved to the Buck, saying, AYes, we go to Squaw. His pace quickened and they were on their way back to where the willows grew high. A little further they came to the place where there were big rocks, and the creek was shallow enough for the horse to cross without difficulty. Jane was a good rider and didn’t fear crossing the creek, but the Buck could certainly not cross without getting wet up to his breeches. The water would surely freeze on his legs before he could reach his teepee. But he didn’t hesitate, and in a minute they were on the Inidan side of Beaver Creek.
Now Jane was in Indian territory, being led by a Buck Indian, headed toward a lone wicky-up sitting beside a small grove of quaken asps[17]. She could hear the cries from within the wicky-up, not as loud as before the Buck came, and now a different kind of a soundBa resigned cry from a woman who was too hoarse to cry.
Jane had never been inside a Shoshone dwelling before, but thinking about the humble circumstances in which the Savior was born, she followed the Buck into his lowly hovel of poles, willows and wheat grass. There she saw six little papoose eyes staring from within. The oldest, a girl about four, seemed the least timid. The Buck brushed the papooses aside, saying something in Shoshone that made them try to hide.
There, against the far side of the wicky-up, on the other side of a smoldering fire, Jane saw a woman squatting against several animal hidesBas anxious as were her papooses about what was in progress. Looking at the sight made Jane want to cry and run at the same time. But she also felt a rush inside her. Now, through the smoke from the fire, Jane could clearly see, lying against the woman’s brown belly, a newborn baby, still tethered with the cord, and bloody. Then, peering below, Jane thought she could see little toes from within the womb opening. It was not enough that this poor Squaw had to endure childbirth alone, but she had been struggling with a second delivery, which, it appeared from all counts, was in serious trouble.
Jane knelt down Indian style in front of the Squaw. She pushed up her long sleeves and pulled her grey hair back, reaching into her apron pocket for a piece of muslin she knew was there. Feeling around the big pocket, she felt a little doll, about the size of a clothes pin, that had been carved from cotton wood. She had scraps of muslin to make a little dress for the doll. As she pulled out the muslin, the doll dropped into the cattails[18] on the floor of the teepee, just as the Squaw started moaning in an intense labor pain. Jane instinctively put the muslin around the little foot, found the other one, and held them both tightly. She pulled with all her energy, feeling a sudden burst of strength come from within. She felt warm and peacefulBand excited, all at once. The Squaw was now pushing with all her might. Out came the feet and then the legs. The woman, now so hoarse she couldn’t make much sound, moaned as she started panting. Catching her breath, Jane looked down at her own hands holding the little feet, against the cream colored muslinBshe couldn’t let go. Seeing her own dark, wrinkled hands, Jane thought of her own people[19].
With another intense pain, the Squaw pushed and Jane pulled. It was then that Jane noticed the oldest papoose behind her, she had been so quiet. Jane smiled as the little girl’s head dropped. In her little hands Jane could see the wooden doll the girl had found among the cattails. Jane was going to give that doll to her own four year old grand daughter, Elvira[20], but now, how could she take it from the little papoose.
Another grown and a big push, Jane pulled again, and now the arm pits, shoulders and then the head came. Both women cried togetherB the Squaw’s travail was finally accomplished!
With the muslin, Jane wiped and cleared the baby’s mouth. Turning it over she saw it was a girl. Lifting her gently and rubbing, the baby moved, then made a loud cry, as to announce her own birth. After making sure both babies were now warmly covered with rabbit skins tucked up against their mother, Jane dried the Squaw’s forehead and held a cup to her trembling lips. The cup was brought over by the girl, whose little hands also still grasped the doll.
Jane did not know how long this ordeal had taken. She was drained herself and would like to have rested, but she must leave and go home before Will would worry about her. Making sure the babies were okay, Jane stood and took one last look around the teepee. The Buck was sitting by the door gazing out at the white sky, softly chanting in Shoshone. The two little papooses had fallen asleep on the old bear skin rug in their corner, but the oldest was now talking to her mother and bringing her more tea. It was time to go home.
As Jane walked past the Buck, he rose to see her out. Ol’ Port was standing nearby and as she approached, he shook the newly fallen snow from his broad back. Jane climbed up, as she had done so many times, now thinking about crossing the creek again. The Buck was now pulling the dog, who had been tied to a nearby bush. The Shoshone brave was saying something, but Jane turned and gave Port a gentle kick. Turning to the Buck, she said, Ano want dog, I go home.
The Buck seemed to know what she meant and turned toward his wicky-up. Jane rode to the creek and found the shallow place near the willows, nudging Port to cross. As she heard the icy water splashing against Ol’ Port’s legs, Jane felt another warm, peaceful feeling come over her. As they reached the other side, Jane thought again about what the bishop said about staying on her side of the creek. She would not tell him, she would not tell anyoneBshe was not one who talked much about her private business. The night was so silent, so peaceful.
Within a short while Jane was riding up to the log cabin. Will’s family was inside, Elvira had finished the supper dishes and asked Jane if she had eaten at the Hull’s. Jane said she was satisfiedBand she was.
Later that night, after the Christmas story from St. Luke had been read, and as she knelt beside her bed to give thanks, the same warm feeling came over Jane again. William’s soft whistling downstairs at once changed to audible words, ASilent Night, Holy Night. Yes, Jane Taylor Nelson prayed, it was truly a silent night, a holy night, for which she was thankful to have been needed.
[1]. Mormon Pioneer, Jane Taylor Nelson, 2nd great grandmother of Margaret Elaine Russell Hoopes, mother of the author.
[2]. Beaver Creek is near Franklin, the oldest town in Idaho. Beaver Creek runs into the Bear River, which runs south into the Great Salt Lake.
[3]. A common phrase also used by a contemporary, Elijah Nicholas (Uncle Nick) Wilson, a Mormon pioneer, in his autobiography,AThe White Indian Boy,1985, Fenske Printing, Inc. Rapid City, SD.
[4]. At Tamis Valley, Williamson County, Tennessee, on 1 Jan 1805.
[5]. Later named Alpine, Utah. Edmond was the first person to be buried at the cemetery there.
[6]. These Mormon pioneers were living in the northern part of Cache Valley, formed by the Bear River, who thought they were living in Cache County, Utah, but were actually living in Washington Territory, which four years later became Idaho Territory.
[7]. It can get 20 degrees below 0 degrees F. in this part of Idaho during the winter months.
[8]. Not actually known to be the name of the horse Jane rode, but other pioneers, e.g., the Merrill Family, had horses named APort,after Porter Rockwell, personal friend of Joseph Smith and a famous guide/gunslinger, who the Nelsons would see again on Jan 26, 1863, when he came with Col. P. E. Conner for the infamous battle (massacre) at Beaver Creek, later named Battle Creek, during which about 400 Indian men, women and children were slaughtered by the U.S. Army.
[9]. William Goforth Nelson was one of Jane’s sons living in the Franklin area and the one whose name appears on the brass plaque, along with Jane Nelson, across the street from the LDS Church in Franklin, Idaho, honoring the first settlers of Franklin. Jane’s other sons living in the area were Thomas, who settled Bloomington, Edmond, who hauled wounded soldiers back to Ft Douglas, and Joseph Smith Nelson, who later served as the Sheriff of Franklin and Cache Counties for many years. William Goforth Nelson also later served for 16 years as the Bishop of the Franklin Ward.
[10]. Spelling used by William Goforth Nelson, who also described the dwellings of the Shoshones.
[11]. An actual neighbor family, Thomas and Mary Benson Hull, also one of the first Mormon settlers in Franklin. After the massacre of the Indians, which happened about a month later, the Hull family took in a little Shoshone girl whose parents had been killed by the Soldiers, who was the same age as the papoose in the fictional story, whom they named Jane (because they did not know her Shoshone name) and raised to maturity. Jane Hull married George Heber Riley and became the mother of ten children.
[12]. All born before she reached Utah.
[13]. Merriner Merrill was then serving as the bishop of the Franklin Ward. (He later became an apostle and moved to Arizona.) The APresiding Bishopof Cache Valley was Bishop Peter Maughan. It was later when more stakes, with Stake Presidents, were organized that the term APresiding Bishopwas discontinued except for AthePresiding Bishop serving in Church headquarters in Salt Lake City.
[14]. Brigham Young actually said this, as recorded in several historical documents, including AThe Bear River Massacre.
[15]. According to E.N. Wilson, who lived with the Shoshones for two years as a young man, Pocatello’s band of Shoshones was the Aworst of the bunch. There were other Indian chiefs, including Bear Hunter, Segguish and Lehi, whose people were all camped in the area.
[16]. It is mentioned in ABear River Massacrethat Jane’s son, Joseph Smith Nelson could speak fluent Shoshone.
[17]. A common name for quaking aspen trees, used by E.N. Wilson and others in contemporary writing, which grow along the banks of Beaver Creek in northern Cache Valley.
[18]. Shoshone teepees had floors of small rocks covered with soft cattails, as documented in AThe Bear River Massacre.
[19]. Jane Taylor’s people had originally come from North Carolina and there are some Nelsons who believe that she may have had Cherokee ancestry, but this has not yet been proven. The Cherokee people were also from North Carolina, but by the 1860's had been driven on the ATrail of Tearsto western states, including Oklahoma. This fictitious story hints that Jane Taylor may have had Indian ancestry, but there is nothing in any document yet found by the author that substantiates this. In an article written in 1999, cousin Rodney Nelson states that his grandfather, Price Williams Nelson, Jr., Jane’s grandson, stated that his grandmother (Philomelia Smith Lake or Jane Taylor) was a half-breed Cherokee and one of the darkest Indians he had ever seen. Photographs exist of Philomelia, but not of Jane Taylor. Philomelia, a relative of Joseph Smith, does not appear to be dark or have Indian features in her picture, which leaves Jane Taylor as the half-breed. Perhaps this could be proven if a picture of Jane Taylor Nelson could be found and if she were dark and had Indian features. However, there is a photograph of Jane Hull, a half-breed Shoshone Indian, printed in AThe Bear River Massacreand she is not dark nor appears to have Indian features, so looks can be deceiving.
[20]. Elvira Nelson, the fifth child of William Goforth and Elvira Nelson, was born 18 Jan 1858 at Mountainville (later called Alpine) Utah. She died 23 Sep 1863 at Franklin, about nine months after this story takes place.