Saga of the Sanpitch Volume 13, 1981 - Sanpete County

My dear husband, Jens Larsen, son Lars and I, Anna Jensen Larsen, were converted and baptized into
the Mormon Church in 1863 by a fine, young missionary, whom we called "Elder Mortensen," who called at
our home in Stoherup, Denmark.
As did most converts at that time, we yearned to immigrate to Zion; thus we sold our home,
furnishings and livestock to get enough money to make the long trip. It was very hard to see strangers moving
into my home—using my treasures. There was one thing I could not part with, a wedding gift from my mother:
a cut-glass lump-sugar dish.
We set sail early in the year of 1864, across that wide, forbidding ocean. Soon a storm hit, battering the
ship with waves as high as a tree, wind shrieking madly as it tore at our clothing. Many became ill, some died. I
felt crushed with anxiety.
"Do you think we will live to see America?" I asked Jens tearfully.
"It seems that God has forsaken us".
But as we knelt to pray, asking God's help through our trouble, a calmness came over me, I knew He
heard our prayers; that He loved us and would lead us safely through the storm.
After weeks of sailing, we sighted the beautiful shores of America, but little did we realize that our
voyage was only beginning, that the hardest part lay ahead. We had scant knowledge of the English language
and found it hard to communicate.
We traveled many miles in a covered wagon, over mountains and valleys, through cities and villages
until we reached St. Joseph, Missouri. There we had to prepare for the long, hazardous trek west. Our money
was nearly gone now. There was scarcely enough left to buy supplies, nothing to buy a sturdy wagon and team
of oxen. There was one hope left (how I feared and wept at the thought): the backbreaking, hand-blistering
hand cart.
We had no choice but to discard all unnecessary goods, and clothing to make room for much needed
food. I refused to part with my mother's gift, the cut-glass lump-sugar dish, so wrapping it snugly in my extra
change of clothing; I tucked it safely away in the cart.
At last we began that long, hot pilgrimage across the plains to Utah territory. Lars, being a strong,
healthy boy of nineteen, did more than his share of the work, pushing the cart until his hands were raw.
One mile- two miles- I must not stop. Twenty miles- thirty miles- only a thousand yet to go. We
watched our food supply dwindle and our health fail, but still we plodded on.
Jens complained of a headache, and then a raging fever consumed his wasted body. One morning I
realized that my beloved husband would never live to see Zion, and that night I was forced to tell Lars, "My
son, your pa is leaving us."
There was no time to mourn, I knelt once more by the lonely grave of my loved one, and then choking
back sobs, I took my turn on the cart. We sang "Come, come, ye Saints, no toil or labor fear," with heavy
hearts. When it seemed that our burdens were too heavy to bear, we asked God's help; then we felt His
sustaining love and courage was renewed.
We ate Sego roots and berries. Sometimes Lars was lucky with a snare, catching a fat rabbit; but we
even ate wood-chuck when nothing else was available. We drank herb tea, steaming hot from our campfire,
said a prayer and pushed on.
At long last we reached the Salt Lake valley, only to be directed to Sanpete, over a hundred miles
farther south to the settlement of Manti. We spent some time there, but Lars thought we should settle
permanently at Ephraim, ten miles north where other Danish immigrants were congregating. They called it
"Little Denmark." Oh, how sweet to hear our native tongue again; what bliss to reach the end of the line.
Ephraim was a beautiful sight to me- We Were Home!
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