Angus M. Cannon and Family Called to Utah's Dixie

Angus M. Cannon and family

Called to Utah’s Dixie

[This report borrows generously from a document written by John M. Cannon’s sister, Aunt Ann M. Cannon about the life of her mother, Sarah Maria Mousley Cannon.]

On October 6, 1861, Angus M. Cannon and his brother, David H. Cannon with their families were called from the pulpit during General Conference to move to Southern Utah to assist in developing a community in the area, later named St. George.  They were just two of 309 families called the same day to settle in the Cotton Mission.

At the time of this calling to a mission by President Brigham Young to help settle Southern Utah the family consisted of Father, Mother, Aunt Amanda, Mina and Angus M. Cannon, junior.  The latter two were Aunt Amanda’s and father’s children, Angus being but a few weeks old.

A little Adobe home in Salt Lake City on the west side of the the block where the post office now stands was sold or traded for two covered wagons and necessary equipment and the family started out well provided for the journey into that “burned out,“ now glorious, country.

Father furnished the necessities, but each wife’s treasure chest supplied fine household materials grandmother brought across the plains by ox team.  In addition, they had crude pottery from the factory father helped to start; flour, sugar, dried corn, beans and seeds to plant to start their new vineyard.

In the company were father's sister, Ann Cannon Woodbury, her husband and two or three children; his brother, David H. Cannon and wife, Aunt Willie (mother's sister), their little son David; mother's brother, Lewis H. Mousley and wife, Aunt Mary, in addition to many others.

For about a month they traveled, most of the way through unbroken roads - possibly following Indian trails or those of the coyotes.  Into the floor of two covered wagons had been loaded the boxes, chairs, and utensils not needed on route and on top all these, on grandmother's live goose feather beds, slept the travelers.  On and on the wagons journeyed, from the colder north into the warm south.  The sand clung to the broad tires, lifted with them and fell in a soft spray as the wheels turned.  The lonely coyote slunk away as they drew near by day, but at night his weird howl filled the women and children with terror.  Sagebrush-- miles and miles of it; rabbit brush; occasionally a clump of scrub oak -the only live green on the landscape.  Then long, long stretches, with only the green-gray of the desert growths, perhaps a yellow stretch of wild mustard; now a pink glow from the rising sun; a dark green-blue shadow from a passing cloud; a low twitter of birds from their cacti-fortressed nests; the desert billowing on like the waves of the ocean; the purple mountains; the promise of a far flung shore.  Journeying thither vistas of a lake to lave their weary bodies proved a mirage.  It vanished as they drew near.  A city with white temple spire arising from the sands vanished also, but it presaged the future.

Black Ridge the trail ended.  The wagon-boxes were let down almost sheer cliffs by ropes; the women and children found a less precipitous place and climbed down, clinging to the rocks or to the hands of their husbands.  On again to the Rim of the Basin. How balmy the uncontaminated air; they seemed never to have breathed before – so deep the breaths!

Just east of the present town of St. George the company went into camp formation – the backs of all wagons turned inward, forming a circle.  Father knew he must make a more permanent camp for the birth of Mother’s child.  A little to one side he found a level stretch, cleared it, measured the size of his circular army tent and began to dig.  About two feet deep he made it.  His friends helped place the tent over the excavated circle.  It left a shelf all around the improvised room and the excavated two feet, added to the four feet of the tent, gave six feet to the lowest part of the sloping ceiling.  The circular tent was supported by a center pole, and gave the effect outside of a huge, bulging wigwam.

Life settled down.  The country was explored. Negotiations started with the Indians.  On the morning of December 24 Father was detailed with some others and went to seek the Indian camp, down the river toward what is now Santa Clara.  Thales Haskell and Jacob Hamblin were there as missionaries.  As the day progressed a storm threatened and the men were urged to stay.  Father said, “No, I’ll go if I go alone.” And he did.

As he reached home the storm broke.  Toward midnight Mother was taken ill.  Father called Uncle David and sent him for “Aunt Dicey Perkins,” the midwife.  She had gone up the river to attend someone eighteen miles away.  The team was hitched up and Uncle David started after her.  Father called Aunt Annie Woodbury and Sister Church.  They were both women with children.  Uncle David returned in despair.  The Virgin River was on the rampage –a seething, boiling mass, through which nothing could pass and live.  Prayer was their only resource in that agonized moment.

            But Aunt Amanda wept and wrung her hands;

            “The doctor said she could never survive another childbirth.”

“Why didn’t he tell me:” Father demanded.

“She forbade him.  She forbade us all.”

Father lost no time.  He called Sister Church and Aunt Annie.  He blessed them, set them apart and sent them in to help my mother and her child.  The little group waited and prayed as never before.  That unseen power made those willing hands so skillful!  The presence of angels stirred the air.  The hosts of Heaven drew near and awaited..

Christmas Morn George was born at six o’clock – the first white boy in that country:  And Mother lived and smiled.  Once again “Peace on earth, toward men!”

That day they danced upon the green and sang praises to the God who had succored them.

“At this time, St. George was just a desert spot lying below red sandstone cliffs on the north and the wandering, sandy Virgin River in the South.”

One historian has said that at that time (in 1861) the journey from Salt Lake to St. George was harder than the journey from Nauvoo to Salt Lake City because the former was over dry, rugged desert while the Nauvoo journey followed the water ways.

In the six years Angus lived in St. George, he was made a member of the Committee to locate the City of St. George.  He was elected Mayor and reelected for a second term.  He was the first Marshall of the area and helped to organize the Dramatics Society and played a part in the first production.

He was on the committee to organize the St. George Public Library, the first public library in the State of Utah. To buy books, citizens were asked to bring a quart of molasses that was sent to Salt Lake City to be sold.

Along with this activity, he helped to organize the public school system.

His brother, David, was called to serve a mission to the Moquis Indians with Jacob Hamblin his first year in the valley.  He was called as the assistant to the first Temple President when it opened in 1877.  This was the first operating temple in the West.  Latter he was called to serve as the temple President and served in the temple for 45 years consecutively.

Another Christmas in St. George, by Ann M. Cannon

Another Christmas in Saint George

By  Ann M. Cannon

I have told you of the first Christmas in Saint George when my Brother George was born in an improvised bedroom made of a wagon-box.  Perhaps you would like to hear of another Christmas in what was then that faraway land.

The family still lived in Saint George and consisted of father, mother and her son George, and Amanda and her children Mina and Angus.  Father was a very active figure in the little town.  At one time he was County Prosecuting Attorney. At another time Mayor, and always he had a butcher shop, the only place in town where meat could be purchased.  The butcher shop still stands, I think, on the east side of father’s lot, near the line between his place and Uncle David's.  A three room adobe house with cellar (a very important place in that hot country) had been built near the center of father’s lot, facing south.  (it still stands as a part of our Cousin Woodruff Cannon’s residence.) From the front door a grape arbor had been planted running south to the gate.

The country was still wild and new, only the little town and a few acres around it having been cultivated.  Father was often out of town.  He was always in the thick of things.  Once when he was away the supply of wood ran low. Mother was worried.  There was the big wood pile, but the logs were too heavy for either of the two women, and the children were small.  Suddenly she missed George, a child of about three years.  She ran out into the yard, not at all reassured by the sound of a loud Indian chant or song, coming from the public square to the west.  Turning her eyes in that direction she saw a tall Indian buck, singing at the top of his voice, and a small child holding his hand and leading him toward her.  It was George.  She ran to meet him, with her heart palpitating.  As they approached, the Indian opened his hand and showed the child's tiny white hand in his big, red palm.  The words “Twidge neepooch” (too little) were upon the Indians lips as he followed, or was pulled by the child toward the wood pile.  The child showed him the axe and watched while he cut a big pile of wood.

Such Indians were much appreciated, but they were not the only kind that called.  And when the others came they demanded what they wanted - the best of everything the home afforded - bread, sugar, etc.  After having entertained one of the demanding groups, Mother missed the big butcher knife that was so essential a part of father’s butcher business.  She searched everywhere but could not find it.

The good Indian, whose services George had enlisted to keep track of mother and the little group came the day after the knife had disappeared.  Mother told him about the loss.  He asked many questions and then he held up three fingers saying “sleeps” thus indicating three days.  At the end of that time he reappeared with the knife.

Sometimes the Indians brought pine nuts and offered them in exchange for things they wanted.  “Biscuit” was one thing that they always asked for, but sugar was the thing most eagerly sought.  Our pioneers’ supply of sugar was always limited but the Indians desired it more than anything else.  The squaw would hold the corner of her shawl for the sugar to be poured into it, then would tie it into a knot.

A squaw would come and help with the washing which was done out of doors.  She would dip up water from the red stream and pour it into a barrel to settle.  Washing machines were unknown.  The tubs were placed on the ground and the woman bending over them rubbed the clothes clean on a washboard.  Then the clothes were put into a large pot and boiled over a wood fire.  The children loved to watch the flames curl up around the outside of the big, black kettle.  It was altogether primitive.

This year as Yule-time approached father was away again.  It is hardly probable that this was the occasion when he went with others to see what had happened to Dr. Whitmore and his companions and found them dead and buried there by Indian renegades.  And yet it might easily have been that time.

The two mothers at home did their best to prepare for Christmas.  There were cookies made in the form of animals; ginger-bread men, women and children; homemade molasses candy; and each child had a tin cup filled with pine nuts.  There were balls for the boys made from rags wound tight and sewed as they were rolled to keep them hard; then, to hold them firm, stitched with any bright color available.  Mina had a new calico dress with small brown and an orange colored dot in it.  This new dress was made in a county so far away from stores.  It, or rather the material for it, had been purchased from people en route to California at one dollar a yard.

All preparations in readiness, the two mothers decided they must have a Christmas tree for the three kiddies.  Aunt Amanda stayed with the children and Mother sallied forth to the hills to find a tree, a hatchet in her hand.  Her search led her to the “sugar loaf”, a red sandstone pile of rocks in the northern foothills.  She found a small, perfectly-shaped tree, suited to her purpose.  At the first stroke of the hatchet a young Indian buck sprang up and confronted her.  She had not seen him as the lay in the shadow of the rock nearby.

They faced each other; she apparently without fear, though her heart beat fast.  After a long searching stare he held out his hand for the hatchet.  Should she surrendered it, thus placing herself entirely at his mercy?  Or should she refuse?

She decided to smother her fear.  Still holding him in her gaze, she handed him the hatchet.

He looked searchingly at her as if to read her very soul, then cut the tree and carried it home for her.

Father returned.  The children, not sated as the children of today, loved their humble toys.  And that Christmas day all yielded thanks to the God who had gone before them into the wilderness.  Once again peace dwelt in their little world, and good-will toward all men.

Early Cannon Family Life in St. George

Early Cannon Family Life St. George

A compilation of data collected from several of Beatrice Cannon Evans’s Documents.

 In the 1860’s, St. George was just a desert spot lying below red sand stone cliffs on the north and the wandering, sandy Virgin River on the south.

John M. Cannon, the second son of Angus M. Cannon and Sarah Maria Mousley Cannon, was born on September 24, 1865 in the little three room adobe house on the northeast corner of First South and Main Street. 

This small, adobe house was not the typical mud hut of the southwestern desert but a stepping stone to better things which the industrious pioneers with purpose, faith and ideals would build wherever they settled.  It was not a make-shift dwelling of the incompetent.  It was an achievement in the planting of a new community in which “the builder also grew.”  It was built with faith and high purpose in answering Pres. Brigham Young’s call in 1861 to pioneer Utah’s
Dixie and required uprooting themselves from a comparatively comfortable state in Salt Lake City.

 The Angus M. Cannon cottage had three rooms.  The living room ran the length of the west side of the house.  Bedrooms for each of the two wives were located on the east.  The living room had an open fire place which was used for cooking, also for heating during the mild Dixie winters. There was a cellar which was so necessary in that hot climate when no refrigeration was available.  There were no screens to shut out the swarming flies.  Washing was done out of doors in water which was heated in a huge pot over a bonfire.  The clothes were hand rubbed on a ribbed metallic wash board.  Incidentally this method was still being used in St. George when I spent some months there in   1 919.  Even then the water was so full of silt it had to be “settled” before it could be used for any purpose.

Despite these inconveniences, the traditions of gracious living remembered by Grandma Sarah were never lost. Her table cloths might be threadbare but they were always folded after the approved manner of her mother.  The house was also one of order and beauty.  Flowers were a necessary part of Sarah’s living.  She voluntarily leveled the large family lot by moving countless loads of soil which she carried in a bucket hung by a rope slung over her slim shoulders.  She weighed only ninety points.

The depth of the rise she made on the southwest corner of the lot can be estimated by the stone retaining wall of eighteen inches or two feet which still remains.  Grandma also planted an arbor of grapes leading from the street to the south entrance of the cottage.

Her children remember the basin of water she always had ready for their grimy little feet.  Inside plumbing was out of the question.  Her brother-in-law, David, who lived next door east, said she was as “cheery as a little bird.”  Also she had a keen mind.  Her children could depend on her spelling as on a dictionary.  In one of Angus M.’s letters he commented that if Sarah were there his spelling would be better.

The house was set back from the street and opened on the south to a path leading to the entrance on the street.  Over this path the energetic Sarah had planted a grape arbor.  She told of feeding these grapes to John and of his enjoyment of them. 

Sarah took an active interest in the more numerous children of her sister Amanda.  She sometimes nursed Amanda’s son, Lewis, at the breast.  He was born soon after John.  The affection between Sarah’s and Amanda’s children continued throughout their lives.   

The older brother, George, had been born nearly four years previously on the old “camp site” east of the town while it was being laid out.

John’s age would not permit him to remember this period, but Uncle George M., who was about six years old when they left there, told me he recalled sitting in the grass in front of the house as a troop of Indians, mounted on their ponies and armed with their bows and arrows, rode boldly up.  They halted, stood in line as in a drill and let heir arrows fly into an even row in the grass at the edge of the lot as if to demonstrate their prowess and give a good scare to the inhabitants.  They then retrieved their arrows and rode proudly on.  However John was only two when the family returned to Salt Lake to live, the father being released from his mission because of the “Tropical fever” which afflicted him every summer.

Eighteen sixty five marked the beginning of the Black Hawk War which was a time of terror in many outlying places in Utah.  Whenever an uprising of the Indians threatened, all available men were mustered into service to drive the Indians from the towns where they were killing or pilfering.  Settlements in Kane County had been abandoned.  The Indians also raided Pine Valley in Washington County, capturing a band of horses.  St. George fared better than some other places.

Later in life while traveling in southern Utah, John Bennion wrote in one of his letters of the war- like Navajos and that only people of faith would pioneer there.

To the Cannons Long Ago, by Lark

To the Cannons long ago,

Brother Brigham said, “You go

To the southern land of cotton

Where you’ll surely be forgotten.

Angus, Sarah and her sister

Went down in the sun to blister.

Carpets and draperies were no more.

Sarah swept a bare earth floor.

Angus’ wives received his pity.

All rushed back to Salt Lake City.

Angus’ brother, David H.,

Stayed to labor with the saints.

With grit and love they built a temple

Where the faithful could assemble.

Full one hundred years from then,

Another David came again.

Air conditioning now invented,

The heat was not so much lamented.

David gave his trademark squint,

“We will call it Tonaquint.”

For thirty years we can relate,

We’ve stayed and played at Number Eight:

Dreams of Shakespeare after midnight,

Soaking in December sunlight,

Running, biking, red rock sanding,

Trekking up to Angel’s Landing.

To Sandy Hollow for splash and dunking,

In rocky caves we went spelunking.

Sleeping mornings long past daybreak,

We awoke to Grandpa’s pancakes.

Yes, in all the land of Dixie,

We have lots of family history.

Pulsiphers, Terrys, Smiths by dozens,

Bastians, Johnsons—many cousins!

From 18 50’s to twenty-eleven,

This has been our part of heaven.

As our family grows but grander,

We know each will want to wander

To the red rock, loved by all.

But the space is getting small.

But the Lord’s love never ends.

He has space for us and friends

For Tonaquint Number Twenty-Three

Now belongs to you and me.