Brave Boy

Taylor Centennial Stories,  p. 219   Original source: “BRAVE BOY”

When Louis Decker was about twelve years old he herded sheep for his father. One day he begged his mother to let his younger sister Inez go with him. The sheep were grazing and scattered when he saw Indians approaching in the distance. He ·quickly hid his sister and told her to keep quiet, then proceeded to go around the sheep in the direction of the approaching Indians. They said, “Hungry.” He took his knapsack from his shoulder and handed it to them. They all got a biscuit, all six of them, which left no lunch for the children. The Indians said, “We want sheep.” Louis said, ”No you cannot have any.” One of the men dismounted and said, “See gun”, and took hold of the end of the barrel, but turned loose as Louis cocked the trigger and said, “I’ll shoot.” “Brave boy”, this Indian said, as he got on his horse and the men rode on their way.

Cookies for the Indians

Taylor Centennial Stories, p. 111  Original source: COOKIES FOR THE INDIANS — by Orpha Jackson

On a trip from St. Johns to Eden, when Mary Lovinna was seven years old, her family was met on the road by the fierce Apache Chief, Geronimo. Her father, John Henry Plumb, told May, her older sister who was frightened and pale, to give the Indians some cookies. The father had May tie on her mother’s white apron and put cookies in the apron and walk down the wagon tongue between the horses and give the cookies to the Indians. May did this without hesitating. The warriors refused to take the cookies until Geronimo did. When he had taken some and nodded to the others then they did too. They took their turn riding in front of grandfather’s team and taking the cookies until they were all gone. Then the braves went on their way. So did the Plumb family.

The Gospel at Gunpoint

Taylor Centennial Stories, printed p. 105–106

Original source: MISSIONARY EXPERIENCE — of James Jardine Shumway

While on my mission, my companion, Brother Andrews, and myself, were instructed by the mission President, to go to a small saw mill town in Garrett County to administer to a daughter of Brother Knott, a member of the church. Brother Knott had requested the missionaries to come as soon as possible. Two other missionaries on assignment to another town, traveled part of the distance with us. At the forks of the road, the other missionaries took the road leading to their destination and Brother Andrews and myself proceeded on our way. It was decided that we four would meet at the forks of the road the next morning.

Trudging up the hill carrying our bags was no easy job, but in due time we arrived at Brother Knott’s home. We found him standing in the doorway anxiously awaiting us. The purpose of our visit was attended to and then, Brother Andrews asked to borrow the shoe repair material. Taking it, he went out on the porch to mend his shoe. Brother Knott’s home was located on the side of a hill and was in full view of the men working at the sawmill.

Brother Andrews had been at his mending only a short while when the men at the mill noticed him. They had previously ordered missionaries to never come again. Tuey quickly gathered together and came in a rough manner to the home. When they found it to be other missionaries they left.

We retired early and Brother Andrews went right to sleep, but for some reason, I didn’t feel sleepy. Soon I heard men and horses crossing the large wood bridge en route to Brother Knott’s home. My first thought was of the mob. By the time I had dressed, the mob was at the door making demands for the missionaries. Brother Knott met me as I came down ,the hall. “Brother Shumway, do you men handle guns?” “Yes, we have at home.” Then Brother Knott quickly said, “I have guns and we can stop the mob.” I said, “No, Brother Knott. We are not here to fight, but to preach the Gospel.”

We called Brother Andrews who was still sleeping. He dressed and we stood at the front door wondering what to do. By this time the mob was furious and was almost about to break in the door. I turned to Brother Knott and said, “You open the door and I will go out and talk to them, trusting in the Lord to guide my words.” Brother Knott reluctantly did as I asked. I stepped through the doorway and spoke.

“We are not the missionaries you ran out of town awhile back. Let us rest for the night and we will leave the first thing in the morning.”

The mob yelled, “You’ll go now!”

So we were forced to walk in front, surrounded by guardsmen and horses. We walked under a black flag. I said. “I don’t like to walk under a black flag.” One man called out. “That’s too good for you d— Mormon Missionaries.”

At the point of guns in our backs we were then forced to walk. Across the big wooden bridge and through the town we led the march. Sneers and curt remarks were made and neighbors calling from their doorways. “Have ya got them?” Then the mob answering in unison. “Yes. we got them.”

At the outskirts of town we were ordered to halt. The mob held a consultation and then three men came forward and stood close to us. They warned us not to come again. for we would never get away alive.

I had no fear. Amid their jeerings. warnings and threats I bore testimony to them of the truthfulness of our Gospel and that God lived. Brother Andrews verified my statements.

We were told to march forward. double quick. We walked away and had gone only about three yards when three shots were fires at us. By the hand of the Lord we were unharmed.

Water for a Wounded Brother

Taylor Centennial Stories, printed p. 2  Original source: Excerpt from the James Pearce account

In the fall, he was called again with ten men to go on a mission to the Hopi Village. This was a perilous adventure. The Navajos, hostile over the killing of three of their members, proposed to take the lives of three pale faces. George A. Smith Jr. was killed and the rest of his party narrowly escaped. At this time James Pearce proved his great bravery by carrying his perishing comrade a cooling drink. Quoting Pearce: We heard the shots up at camp and mistrusted (feared) that George A. Smith Jr. was killed. When the Indians drew away we could see him try to get up but fall back each time. We knew that he was badly wounded. President Hamblin called for volunteers to take the wounded man water, ‘You’re not afraid to go, are you, Jim?’ he said to me. “Oh, yes, I am,” I said, “But I will go. I took the water out and gave Brother Smith a drink,” This Samaritan act nearly cost him his own life, and the whole party would likely have perished but for the old pack mule stampeding just at an opportune time and scattering his pack all over the ground. The curious Indians stopped to gather up the spoils and the party was able to escape.