Elizabeth Hoopes

Elizabeth Adelide Hoopes Allen was the daughter of Warner and Priscilla Hoopes. It was always their belief that this daughter was the first child born in a humble covered wagon, of the hundreds of Mormon Pioneers who were driven from their homes in Missouri. The incident occurred in Pottawattamie County, Iowa, on September 8, 1847. Her early life was spent in the moving and wanderings of this much maligned people.

Mr. Hoopes was a shoemaker by trade; and a good one at that. Every old boot, shoe or bit of leather obtainable was made up for his own and his neighbors families. His services were always in great demand, and he accepted leather for his work. Thus he kept his own well shod.

Mr. Hoopes took his family into Buchanan County near St. Joseph, Mississippi, in 1855. His wife was in very poor health, and it was hoped that she might improve. Most of those early pioneers could turn their hands to many kinds of work. Here Warner became a charcoal burner, and as there was great demand for charcoal from the blacksmith shops and furnaces, he became quite prosperous.

Even in this part of the world we found a strong sentiment against the Saints and their religion. One night we entertained an Elder McGaw who had stopped at our place on his mission to England. He told my father that he felt impressed that he, my father, should remove his family immediately to Florence, Nebraska, and there prepare to immigrate to Utah. He repeated the advice that night and again the next morning.

After he started away, he returned and advised him to go right away and leave his family to dispose of the property and follow later. My father was loath to leave his prosperous situation and heeded not the council. About a week later a non-Mormon family was burned in their house and the Mormons were accused of committing the deed. Four of the brethren were arrested, but were proven innocent and released. However, that decision of the court did not satisfy the hellish mob, which then made plans to kill them.

They were warned by a friend, but my father didn't believe any harm would befall him. The sheriff of Buchanan County called for my father and offered him protection, and yet he refused to accept, for he "knew of no enemies," he said. But after a few days when he had reconsidered, he began to feel a little uneasy. One night he felt he had better not be found at home. Consequently he left for the woods in the back of the house, with the understanding that should friends come my mother was to call him; if enemies should come she was to blow the dinner horn, signifying the he should hasten farther into the denseness.

Some time during the night, my mother was awakened by some voices outside. She listened and recognized the voices of the mob making plans to take my father away. After they had stationed their guards at the doors and windows with the intention of shooting him down, should he attempt to escape, she arose, and taking the dinner horn blew three loud blasts.

The leader of the mob, thinking it was a signal for him to return, wrestled the horn from her and blew it repeatedly. Finally my mother told him that the longer and louder he blew the horn, the farther and faster my father was going in the opposite direction. The mob grew more angry, but she told them that if they had come like gentlemen she would have called him and he would have returned. Furiously they took to the woods where they hunted all night for father and Mr. Lincoln, but all without avail.

The next day they returned and tried to persuade my mother to give up that "terrible religion", saying that if she would do so, herself and the children would be well cared for. The following night my father and Mr. Lincoln returned and were taken to prison by the Sheriff for protection from the mob. They remained there for ten months, and were then proven innocent and released. Thus the money my father had accumulated was spent for layer fees and we were reduced to a state of poverty. However, mother was energetic and made willow baskets for us children to sell to help sustain our lives. Our last cow was sold to pay our steamboat fare to Florence, Nebraska, where we waited some time for my father to join us.

SOURCE: In Our Own Words: The Lives of Arizona Pioneer Women, by Barbara Marriott