Massacre at Mountain Meadows

Completing my work in St. George on a recent business trip to Washington County, I felt compelled to deviate slightly from driving my customary route home. The purpose: to visit the little valley just south of Enterprise called Mountain Meadow. Less than 48 hours earlier, I had finished reading the latest book on the events that made these isolated meadows famous—or infamous I should say—and felt there was some lesson for me to learn by going there. Another reason for my planned visit, although at the time I was reluctant to admit it: I needed to seek peace and reconciliation for myself.

It seems that even those not well versed in Utah history know something about what is commonly referred to as the Mountain Meadows Massacre. It is a topic that will probably never be put to rest as yet another book on the subject attests. Written by Ronald W. Walker, Richard E. Turley, and Glen M. Leonard, Massacre at Mountain Meadows was published in August, 2008; the latest in a string of books and articles that have appeared almost continuously since that dreadful day in the fall of 1857.
My purpose here is not to review the new book, other than to say it is well written and so extensively researched and documented I daresay it should be hard to find fault with—but many will. That is the nature of this volatile subject. (I will also comment however, that I believe Massacre at Mountain Meadows, as well as other recently published books such as Rough Stone Rolling by Richard Bushman, reflect a new era of transparency when it comes to accessing and publishing archival LDS Church History. Judge for your self: these are not sanitized volumes.)

Proceeding north from St. George on State Highway 18, I passed through the little town of Veyo; famous in Southern Utah for two things: the nearby volcano, and a swimming pool!
As a kid, going to Veyo to swim was almost as good as going to Disney Land, and we went every chance we could. I wondered if the sign was still there: We don’t swim in your toilet so don’t pee in our pool. Yeah, like that was going to stop us! To us little boys, it was more of an invitation than a warning. There’s not much more to Veyo nowadays than there was 50 years ago but the pool is still there and probably still popular.
Veyo is about 70 miles from Cedar City, the town I was born and raised in. My ancestors were among the earliest settlers of Cedar City and surrounding towns like Parowan and Paragonah. Cedar City, Parowan, and Paragonah are mentioned often in Massacre at Mountain Meadows; so often that I began to sweat as I read, fearing that on the next page, one of my relatives would be mentioned. None were—at least that I recognized—providing yet another reason for me NOT to brush up on my genealogy!

Arriving at Mountain Meadow and hiking the short trail to the overlook, a cold breeze greeted me and I couldn’t help wonder momentarily if spirits of the deceased still haunt the area on the winds. Yet the valley was tranquil, and my thoughts of ghosts passed. Within moments I felt at peace but my guilt was only partially appeased. Though perhaps not directly related to the perpetrators of the atrocities committed at Mountain Meadow, they were still my people, members of my church; a part of my heritage by association if not relation. These men, women and children had come West to build Zion; a place where they could live, worship and prosper in peace. The Fancher-Baker party also consisted of men, women, and children: families emigrating west to fulfill their dreams of a better life. On September 11, 1857, the dream ended for the emigrants from Arkansas. For the church and militia members from Iron County responsible for the tragedy, a nightmare began that would torture them the rest of their lives.

How could one group of good people even think of slaughtering the other, let alone carry it out? This was the question that consumed my thoughts as I read the book and later traveled to Mountain Meadow.
In the Appendix to Massacre at Mountain Meadows, the name of every documented victim is listed, as are the names of those known to have participated in the crime. I had hoped to review the list of the dead at the monument in Mountain Meadow as these people had become very real to me from my reading.

There is a modest rock cairn monument at the site of the siege in the south end of the meadow. An American Flag flies overhead. Because of deep snow, I was not able to approach the monument to read the plaques. It was just as well. I returned to my car and resumed my drive home. Now another question troubled my thoughts: what would I have done had I been a member of the Iron County Militia in 1857 and had been ordered to Mountain Meadow? Colonel Dame, the commander of the Iron Military District was the LDS Stake President. Major Haight, leader of the Second Battalion, was the Bishop of the Cedar City Ward. Obedience is the first law of heaven.
The events concerning Mountain Meadows make an excellent case for the separation of church and state.

Sometimes in life, the perfect storm of circumstances combine to affect an outcome; whether evil or good. As the authors of Massacre at Mountain Meadows point out, “In the early 1800’s the United States could be a violent place, particularly for racial, ethnic, and religious minorities.” (Preface, p. xiii) I’m sure the American Indians, Mexicans, and Mormons living at the time would agree. In my opinion, there was plenty of hypocrisy as well. The first sentence of the text introduces Brevet Major John Henry Carleton. In April, 1859, Carleton was issued an order that included burying the bones of the victims of the Mountain Meadows Massacre. In a scathing report to his superiors, Carleton cursed “those damned Mormons” for what they had done and basically called for their extermination. Then for the next several years, using scorched earth tactics in many instances, he and his men proceeded to massacre Indians by the scores in the name of Manifest Destiny.

Hindsight is a wonderful analytical tool. In the case of the Mountain Meadows Massacre, it is evident there was plenty blame to go around. As is so often the case, a few bad apples can spoil the whole bunch—or at least make it appear that way. I believe the converse is also true and that was the lesson for me in this little adventure: a reinforced desire to be the good apple, to forgive, and to have the courage to prevent evil rather than accommodate it.