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Lette
Home! No price of toil and patience
Was too great for her to pay.
Danger, suffering and hardship —
Through them all she found a way.
Her indomitable courage
Banished doubt and conquered fear.
She was mother, wife, and partner —
Every inch a pioneer.
(From “The Women Who Pioneered the West,”
by Gene Lindberg).
FOREWORD
It is not unusual for one member of a family to stand out as the dominant one, the “leader,” so to speak, the
one who more or less shapes the course the others will follow. Such seems to have been the part Johannah
Bolette, third child of Niels and Maren Bertelsen, was destined to play. Born into a world of work and
struggle, fate was to decree that she play the same exacting role as a participant in the settlement of Utah.
Yet there were in “Lette,” from the beginning, many signs of an unusual personality — one that would be
able to accept heavy responsibility with courage and resiliency. She was a person of great independence,
engendered, more than likely, by the hard necessity to be independent, and while she shouldered the grueling
work of her childhood as a matter of course, she turned with relief from the long-embedded religious tenets of
her day to espouse a new and unpopular belief, the Gospel of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Joining the Church December 27, 1852, she became the first of Niels' children to be baptized. She it was, as
well, who made the initial journey to Utah, thus again blazing the trail for those who would follow. She was a
person who reached out for new ways, new meanings, new experiences. Throughout her lifetime she exhibited
this trait of independence. Yet her flights were in no sense an abandonment of her early affections, for we find
her always caring dearly for those she had left behind. The only instance we have been able to discover of her
shrinking from a change, a new experience, was when ill and no longer able to care for herself, (and possibly
sensing she would never return), she said a last goodbye to her beloved Summit and went to live with a
daughter in Idaho.
Lette's own words, presented in their entirety on the following pages, with added comments by her family
and others, bespeak great joy in the new religion, and in being a part of the “gathering” to Zion. They project
love and devotion for family and friend, and occasionally sparkle with the humor that had been such a
delightful part of her father's character. And sometimes her words are heavy with weariness, as though she
would have cast from her some of her terrible burdens, had it been possible.
It is almost with a feeling of awe, certainly of admiration, that one reads the story of Lette's life. The fear
she must have felt as she was baptized into the Mormon Church, knowing full well it would mean the scorn of
many of her associates; her courage in leaving family and country for a land new and unfamiliar; her
desperation when, expecting a child, she parted from the husband who meant at least partial respectability and
support in the new land; her fulfillment as wife and mother-friend and community stalwart; all these things
lend an astonishing poignancy to Lette's story. And to us, who see her from afar, she becomes a rich
combination of strength, tenderness, loyalty, service; of patience, tenacity, fighter and builder. In short, she
becomes another incomparable Pioneer Mother of the West.
Louise B. Pearce
INTRODUCTION TO PART I
The isolated situation of the Saints in Utah, welcome as it was after Illinois and Missouri, nevertheless
brought about great hardship for them because of the lack of important materials needed in the building of the
undeveloped land to which they had come. But Brigham Young was not one to flinch under the pressures of
such a simple problem as this — not after the trials of the Midwest and the problem-ridden flight over dusty
plain and craggy peak to the final sheltering arms of the Great Basin. Instead, he sent countless exploring
parties into all parts of the basin to locate arable land and valuable ores that would supply their ever-increasing
needs.
From one such exploration trip led by Parley P. Pratt in 1849-50, it was known that large deposits of iron
ore existed in southern Utah. The great need for nails, bullets, farm and household implements — many of
which items had had to be discarded on the Great Plains — made of the area a favored spot for early
settlement. Accordingly, a party of one hundred, led by George A. Smith, was selected to go into Iron County
to build a colony and establish an iron factory. Leaving Salt Lake City December 7, 1850, they traveled south,
the snows of mid-winter making each mile an adventure. Thirty-nine days later they arrived at the scheduled
site, and made their first camp on ground that would one day be the city of Parowan.
After helping with the beginnings of a settlement, Henry Lunt and others were chosen to build a
community still further south, one that would be closer to the iron deposits. In the fall of 1851, this small
company, enlarged and strengthened by the addition of the “Scotch Company,” proceeded in a southwesterly
direction to settle the “Little Muddy” Valley. Upon their arrival November 11, 1851, the building of a fort was
immediately commenced. Entranced by the lush growth of cedar trees dotting the hillsides, the deep snow in
the mountains to the east, the wide valley stretching to the north with Little Salt Lake nestling like a jewel in its
hollow — all portents to them of verdant fields to come — they named the place “Cedar Fort.” Their super-
human efforts to build an iron factory; their unexpected discovery of coal in the area, which led to the changing
of the name of “Little Muddy” to “Coal Creek;” their temporary defeat because of the cost and difficulty of
transporting the ore, are exciting stories too long to include in this personal account of a young Danish convert
named Bolette Bertelsen. Suffice it to say that soon after the initial settlement of Iron County, other
communities sprang up, two of which are vitally important to her story.
One arose where now stands the village of Enoch. To here, in the summer of 1851, came Joel Hills
Johnson, pioneer from Uxbridge, Massachusetts, who had been called by George A. Smith to take his family to
the green grassy meadows about six miles north of Cedar Fort and there build a stockade big enough to protect
the cattle from both Parowan and Cedar Fort. Here later came, also, Laban Morrill and the two Dalley
brothers, James and William, and their families. Situated picturesquely in a valley dominated by the red-hued
mountain to the east and the rippling, low-lying hills to the west, the place was first known as Johnson's Spring,
but after the erection of the stockade was called Johnson's Fort. Soon, seven families had settled there, and
though they returned to Parowan and Cedar for a time during the Indian uprising of 1853, they went again to
the fort in May of 1854.
And now, having briefly set the stage for the arrival of the leading lady of this chapter, we must turn to the
more interesting account of Lette, as told by herself and those who knew her best.
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PART I
My ancestors, as far back as I have any knowledge, were Danish. They were independent farmers and
belonged to the middle class – honest and industrious. My parents were also Danish, both born on the same
island, Lundo. Mother's parents were well-to-do people but disinherited her because she chose to marry my
father, a poor man who had always worked for his living, in preference to a rich man whom she did not love.
She lived happily with Father, never regretting the choice she made. They were Lutherans. That was the
national religion. Our family consisted of nine girls and one boy. I am third in the family group. We were all
busy, the children having to help in gaining a livelihood. I was born July 7th , 1835, at Skraper House near the
seashore in Staarup, Viborg Amt., Denmark. I commenced regular work at the age of nine, and went to live
with an uncle, helping with the chores on the farm, staying there one year. Every Friday I was obliged to
remain all alone in the house during the day and night while my aunt went to market the fish, my uncle being
out at his work, fishing. I still remember the terror I felt and the great trial it was to me. At the end of the year,
when my parents came for me, I was given one dollar, and Mother was given one sheep. Part of the time I had
gone to school, and had my board free, of course.
[When Lette was seven years old she went to stay with a lady who was a weaver. When the lady was
warping, or putting a piece of cloth in the loom, she had Lette help watch the spools of warp so that they did
not tangle, and also hand ends to her when she was putting the warp in the harness and reed of the loom. —
Sarah Ann Dalley Hulet.]
When I was ten, Father and Mother took a contract to harvest across the waters of the Limfjorden and left
me with the care of three little sisters. We were on a ranch about 3/4 mile away from anyone and had sheep
and cows to care for. That was quite a task for me, as the youngest child was but two years old. My parents
were gone a month and received thirty dollars. From that time until I was seventeen I worked out, but went to
school in the winter until I was fifteen. I would go to the priest to pass an examination in a religious way,
twice a week, and the rest of the week to school. This continued until April 1849, but as I couldn't be
confirmed until I was fourteen in July, I had the advantage of an extra year in school, when I was confirmed a
member of the Lutheran Church.
[The laws in Denmark were very strict about children going to school, and she got what was considered a
finished education. At the confirmation, she stood in line next to the granddaughter of the king. She was very
good in mathematics. After finishing school, she went to work in the home of the king's daughter as a
nursemaid. — Sarah Ann.]
When I was thirteen and worked out during the summer, I was sick all the time but had to work just the
same, herding sheep. I spent a wretched summer, dragging myself along after the sheep when I felt almost
unable to walk. When I was fifteen I received my diploma showing that I had completed all the work given in
the school at that time. Then I took a course in dressmaking and tailoring, which was a great benefit to me and
the community later in life. During the next two years, I was employed on a large farm doing all kinds of
outdoor and field work, harvesting and hauling grain, etc. During the winter, I helped to clean the grain after it
was threshed with a flail and the straw was cut in very small lengths about one inch long for winter use, and I
helped with this and everything else there was to do. During the evenings, I was sent to help with the weaving
and learned to do it very well. This also came in very useful later in life.
About this time, in November 1852, two Mormon elders came along and stopped at my mother's home. I
happened to be spending the evening at home and heard them preach. Mother and I both believed the message
they delivered. They were ill-treated in our town and were not permitted to preach again. But they managed to
hold a few secret meetings across the waters of the Limfjorden. My mother sent me a sealed note telling me
where they were to preach, and I managed to get there and hear them again, by travelling about thirty-five
miles.
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As an instance of inspiration which I know to be given us at times, I well remember when I received
Mother's note telling me of the Mormon meeting. I followed her directions, getting across the water with a girl
friend. From her home I was to go one mile, when I would reach the county road; from that I was to count
twelve mile stones, which would bring me to the village where the elders were to preach. I had never been in
this part of the country before and everything was strange to me. There were such bitter feelings against the
Mormons that to avoid any possible trouble, after reading the note very carefully, I tore it up. When I reached
the village mentioned, I found I had forgotten the name of the family with whom the elders were staying, and
where they were to preach. What to do I did not know. I stood perplexed, not daring to ask anyone. After
standing in doubt as to my next move, the thought came to me, ‘Shut your eyes and when you open them the
first home you look at will be the one.' I did so and when I opened my eyes, I looked across the ravine at an
adobe house, and started toward it. When I was about three feet from the door a woman came out dressed for
walking. I asked her if she would tell me where the Mormon elders were to preach. She answered, “They
were to preach here but decided to go to a place about one mile farther on because it is more secluded. I am
just going, come with me.” So I went with her.
I applied for baptism and the ordinance was performed that evening on December 27, 1852, being the first
of my family to be baptized. My employers did not find out that I was a Mormon for about two months, but
when they did I was immediately discharged. They found out I was a Mormon when I refused to eat blood
pudding, which was quite a delicacy in the European countries. They accused me of being a Mormon and
immediately discharged me.
I stayed at home and worked until May, then hired out doing all kinds of work, indoors and out, that
summer, and in November, 1853, went back home to get ready to leave for America. My uncle, John Larsen,
who had joined the Church, telegraphed that I might go with him. My sister, Lena (Johannah Helena), five
years old, and I with my uncle and his wife and some others, left Denmark sometime in December, 1853, and
left Liverpool on New Year's Day, 1854.
[When the ship arrived for that company of Danish Saints, it was a freight vessel. They were all put in the
hold like a bunch of cattle. Not being at all comfortable, they were nearly all seasick except Lette, who tried to
wait on all the sick people the best she could. The foul air in the close confinement was hard to take, so she
tried going on deck and sitting beside a big pipe to keep warm. The sailors, seeing a young girl alone, began to
get too familiar, so she quickly left her place and never ventured up there again. They were nine weeks on the
ocean. Their ship was the Jesse Munn.* — Sarah Ann.] *(Or the Ben Adams.)
I was very well (except for an attack of disentary caused by eating too many prunes — the only thing that
was palatable at my command, other food entirely unfit to eat) during the voyage, but helped those who felt
worse than I did. We landed in New Orleans in February 1854 and soon travelled up the river toward St.
Louis. The cholera broke out and a great many died. I helped wait on the sick and dying, and to prepare the
dead for burial. We couldn't always get boxes in which to bury the dead and many were merely wrapped in
sheets and put under the ground. That was a very sad, terrible time for us all. Our family was one of the very
few not suffering with the disease. We reached St. Louis about April 1, 1854. A great many died there also.
[During the several weeks they were encamped in St. Louis they were all very busy preparing for their trip
across the plains. Those who had means were buying wagons and equipment, oxen and cows for teams. Many
of the men had never driven ox teams, so the captain of the company advised the men to see that their
equipment was in good shape and then hitch the teams to the wagons and all be ready at one time to start as a
tryout. — Sarah Ann.]
[I too, have heard Lette relate the funny, but at the time very tragic experience of getting ready to make the
trek across the plains from St. Louis. The company of Danish Saints, unfamiliar with the mode of travel by ox
teams, could speak no English and the oxen could understand no Danish. When they finally learned how to
yoke them up and tried to start on the journey, the oxen were confused and went in every which way, to the
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bewilderment of all concerned. She called it their “fitout” while we in America call it an outfit. I've heard her
relate this incident many times and laugh till the tears streamed down her cheeks. — Rachel Dalley.]
We went up to where Kansas City now is and camped on the bank (of the Missouri River). In our
company was a man by the name of James Black, whose wife died of cholera at St. Louis. He began paying
attention to me, but I did not encourage him, as I disliked him, although I couldn’t tell why. He was good
looking and attractive in manner. In a way, I was dependent on my uncle, and he and his wife were very
persistent in persuading me to yield, although I repeatedly told them all I did not want to marry until I reached
Salt Lake City. This marriage was most unfortunate for me and resulted in great unhappiness, for as I became
better acquainted with him my dislike increased. Although he was a Mormon, he did not entertain the same
ideas in regard to living the principles as I did. He was also ill-tempered and jealous.
We travelled across the plains in Mr. Olson's company. I walked every step of the way, wading rivers,
climbing mountains, often tired and weary, but always glad my face was turned toward Zion. I would have
been happy but for my unfortunate marriage. We had a great Indian scare and exciting times with the buffalo
and finally reached Salt Lake City October 5, 1854, after three months of travelling.
[After they had been on their way for some weeks, they could see something ahead that looked like a big
forest, but it seemed to be moving toward them. Along toward evening, they discovered it was a very large
herd of buffalo, and the wagon train was right in their path. The masterful beasts had no idea of giving up their
trail, so they walked right in among the wagons. Those of the travellers who didn’t have a gun took a butcher
knife or ax with which to capture them. One old man had an ax, and seeing a buffalo with a broken leg, he
tried to get it, then the buffalo tried to get the man, who ran into camp with the animal following him. They
chased each other back and forth for quite some time before a man with a gun came to the old man's rescue.
Needing meat, the people decided to camp and take care of their “prize.” They got out their big kettles and
heated water to the boiling point. After cutting the meat into small pieces, they parboiled it then hung it up to
dry, a procedure which is called “jerking.” This “jerky” was a great help to them on their long journey. After
taking care of their meat, they continued on their way. As they neared Fort Laramie, the Indians became quite
numerous and seemed to be hungry. They lined up on each side of the road. The captain of the company told
the people not to take note if the Indians did beg for food, because they could not afford to feed so many out of
their short supply. He advised them to keep close together, but one old Danish woman who was leading a cow
got a few rods behind the company. The Indians took advantage of that and took the cow away from the old
lady, killed it on the spot and began eating it. They did not harm the woman. — Sarah Ann.]
We hired a room (in Salt Lake City) from Bro. Christensen, one of the elders who had converted me, and
on December 27th I sought a divorce from J. Black, as he had become so insanely jealous I could stand it no
longer. The divorce was granted and I went on my way happy with the prospect of freedom and the ability to
earn my own living. I found work in Mr. Babbitt's family (Almon W.), and was treated well, but my happiness
was marred by the persistent efforts of James Black to get me to go back to him. When he was sure I never
would consent, he went to all the Danish people in the city and warned them against taking me in. This would
have been of no consequence to me, had I been able to continue to work, but the fact that I was to become a
mother in August and that Babbitts could not keep me as they were tearing down their room to build a new
house on the same spot, and that Sister Babbitt was expecting to be confined also, made it necessary for me to
go somewhere else.
Things looked dark for me, but I succeeded in securing a room from a lady who took care of me during my
confinement, a Mrs. Elsworth. When my little daughter, whom I named Eliza, was three weeks old, I knew I
must get work somewhere. I did not know which way to turn, nor what to do. No one wanted a woman with a
baby to tend. A man named Joel H. Johnson, a relative of Sister Babbitt, was leaving Salt Lake City for Fort
Johnson near Cedar Fort, Iron County. He wanted to marry me but I couldn't consent. He promised to take me
south with him and if I did not want to marry him when we became better acquainted, he would take me to
5
Sanpete where my uncle had gone. We started; there were other teams in the company, but just myself and
baby with him in his wagon. I couldn't talk to him because I couldn't talk much English, and more than that,
had no desire to talk to him. I never would have consented to ride with him had I not been in such desperate
circumstances.
We reached our destination on October 5, 1855, and he soon went to Fillmore to be chaplain in the
legislature. [Lette was somewhat disappointed on arriving at Johnson's Fort because there were such a few
families living there, six or eight at the most. However, she was an expert needle woman and could do all
kinds of fine sewing as well as make men’s clothing. — Sarah Ann.] I lived with his two wives that fall. I had
been very ill all the way down and my baby was also ill. We had taken cold and I had a gathered breast which
caused me terrible suffering. I was just recovering when Bro. Johnson came home. He demanded an answer
and I refused to marry him. He would not take me to Sanpete as he had promised, and told me I must leave his
home. So there I was again. A stranger in a strange land, homeless and friendless, not knowing what to do or
where to go. There was no chance to get to Sanpete, nor even to Cedar where I had an acquaintance. Very
little travelling was done, and that by ox team.
But the Lord never forsook me. He raised up friends in my time of need. The wife of James Dalley, who
knew of my friendless condition, came and asked me to dinner, and while there Brother Dalley told me I might
stay until I could do better. That sounded good to me. I was then able and more than willing to work, so I
continued in their home, doing the work like a hired girl, but received no wages, of course. I was glad to be of
use, as Sister Dalley was not well. In addition to the housework, I spun wool, made yarn and knit stockings.
Sister Dalley had three children at that time.
After living in the family from January until September 1856, I consented to become a permanent member.
Brother and Sister Dalley and family and myself started for Salt Lake City, where I became his second wife.
We received our endowments and were married October 9, 1856. Three weeks were required for the journey,
returning by ox team as we had gone.
[While on this trip they were terrified by a wild bull running in between the oxen that were hooked to the
wagon. The incident caused the women to faint, but resulted in little other damage. They started with the
intention of going to the Endowment House, but found that it was not completed. They feared they would have
to return without having the privilege of going through, but word was sent out to the people of Iron County
(who were up there waiting) to come on the 9th of October and receive their endowments and be sealed. Father
took the two women and with them was among the first to be permitted to go through. He had his wife Emma
sealed first and then Lette Bertelsen; both were sealed to him on the same day. — Sarah Ann.]
[Lette was actually James Dalley's third wife. He had been married in England to Sarah Ann Bishton, and
to their union had been born a daughter, Ann Elizabeth, who died in infancy. After his conversion to the
Gospel, James left his wife in England and started for Utah, hoping to prepare a home for her in the new land.
The first news he received after landing in America was that his wife had died. — Louise B. Pearce.]
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*
INTRODUCTION TO PART II
Johnson's Fort had been built in a low part of the valley where the snows of winter and the runoffs of
spring had made of it rather a swamp, at best a meadow, and there was little surrounding land that could be put
into crops. The fort itself was snug, however, with thick twelve-foot-high walls enclosing an acre of land and
providing a common “back” for the little cabins placed within. A community well was dug in the center, and
6
in the northwest and southeast corners were two-story bastions from where the alert watchman could view the
entire valley, and seeing in the lowlands or creeping from the protecting hills a suspicious group of Indians,
could give the alarm that would bring the other men running with their guns, from which vantage point they
could rout in seconds, usually, the bold red men. It was in the fort on August 24, 1857, that James' and Lette's
first child, a daughter, was born. They gave her the name of Emma. Two-year-old Eliza now had a little
half-sister to call her own.
James and his families remained at the fort for five years, during which time James and Laban Morrill had
been investigating the higher land to the east. To a point known as the summit between Cedar Fort and
Parowan, where the soil was deep and rich, they moved in the early spring of 1859, and took up squatter's
claims. “The town site was beautiful, nestled close to the hills with an elevation a little higher than any valley
in Iron County. A small stream fed by mountain springs furnished water. The melting snow in the spring thaw
sometimes sent the stream on the rampage. There was plenty of water in the spring. What the farmers couldn't
use ran on down to the Little Salt Lake.”1 The town was appropriately called “Summit,” and here, on April 15,
1859, in a cellar which the expectant father had covered with brush and dirt, was born to James and Lette a
son, Joseph B. Dalley, the first child of Summit.
All the first homes were dugouts, but they were warm and cozy. Soon, log houses were built and later
adobe, frame and brick houses. “While the Indians were still hostile, the people made high mud walls and built
their houses close together. They prepared to build another fort, but never finished it because the Indians
became more friendly.”2
1
Lillian Dalley White
2
Sarah Ann Dalley Hulet
7
“Farming and stock-raising was their means of support. Surplus stock found ready sale to the cattle
buyers. And the mines in Nevada and the Silver Reef furnished a ready market for their produce. The Sabbath
Day found everyone young and old all dressed up in their Sunday best, at the little old church for Sunday
School and Sacrament Meeting. They believed in the old adage, ‘Bring up a child in the way he should go and
he'll never depart therefrom.’”3
“The old-time social with games, singing and dancing, interspersed with picnic — molasses cake, squash
pie, or sometimes hot salt-risen bread and butter and molasses — will never be forgotten, when everyone
young and old had a jolly good time. Dances were presided over by one of the bishopric and always opened
with prayer. Brother Allen's opening prayer was ‘Lord we come before Thee now to have a bit of fun.' Isaac
Farrow, who was standing near his brother Obidiah, was called on to dismiss a dance. He started out to ask the
blessing on the food, then stopped and said, ‘Oh! I can't, Obidiah, you...’” 4
There was plenty of spruce and balsam in the hills south of town, and with their dependable oxen it wasn't
hard to get it out and brought down with which to build their houses. There was also an abundance of pinion
pine and scrub cedar for firewood. Soon there were over 20 families in the little town where James and his two
wives, Emma and Lette, settled down to begin in earnest the serious business of living. They planted apple,
peach, apricot and plum trees, currant and gooseberry bushes, and each family had sheep, a few cows for milk
and butter, and a few bees to further qualify their little area as a Land of Milk and Honey.
The first real home James built was of logs and consisted of five rooms all in a row and connected
together. Emma and her family occupied the two large rooms at the west end, and Lette. with her growing
family, occupied the next two. The last room at the east end was occupied by another wife whom James
married in 1861. Each wife maintained her own household, and the yard in front of the little establishment was
smooth and solid, with each family taking pride in keeping their portion neat and clean. Each had their own
flower garden out as far as the fence, as well, and no child thought of trespassing on the garden of another.
“James used to raise a lot of corn which sold for a good price. One day he told his wives they could have
all the corn they could husk and shell in a day. So they rounded up their children, and how they all worked. By
noon James was afraid he wouldn't have any corn left if they kept at it all day, so he told them he'd give them
each five dollars if they'd quit, to which they reluctantly consented. James had thirty living children, and at one
time six of them were attending the Brigham Young Academy.
Our pioneer motor power was our faithful old oxen. No matter what the job — hauling wood, saw logs,
lumber from the mills, plowing, reaping — the faithful old ox was the poor man's best friend. We had no
high-powered motor tractor, combine, reaper, or thresher. With hooks, sickles, scythes and cradles we scythed
our hay and cradled our grain. The grain was tied into bundles and laid around a pivot, heads in, on a clean
dirt floor, then two yoke of oxen hitched tantrum were driven round and round on the grain 'till it was removed
and the chaff and grain was scraped into piles. When a favorable wind came up, it was taken up in buckets and
dribbled out on a wagon cover or sheet, the chaff was blown away and the wheat sacked.
3
Joseph B. Dalley
4
Lillian Dalley White
8
Those Dalley women, wives of James Dalley, were not afraid of work; thrift was written into their very
lives. One day a company of men bound for the California gold fields camped near Summit. They had heard
of those wonderful homemade wool socks and were anxious to get some. So Emma, Lette and Thrine, always
ready to make an extra dollar — for dollars were few and far between in those days — went to work spinning
the yarn, and then how the needles flew. All night long by the light of Tallow candles ‘knit two, purl one,'
until the desired number of socks were done.”5
Here, in Summit, the things Lette had learned in her native land became indispensable.
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PART II
I (now) commenced my life's work in reality. I have borne fourteen children, doing all my own work with
no conveniences of any kind. In addition to raising the children mentioned, I raised a motherless girl, Adena
Nielsen, from the time she was nine years old until her marriage, with the exception of one year when she left
me to live at different places. At the end of the year she came back and asked me to take her back. She was
very wild when a child, but improved very much, becoming an earnest worker in the church. She was
counselor in the stake M.I.A., and president of the Relief Society. She is now (1918) the mother of six
children, and a good housekeeper. She seems grateful to me for what I did and taught her.
If I stopped here, every mother of a family would know just how busy I had been, but in addition I have
been in attendance at 400 births — as midwife and nurse. [Lette was the first midwife in the area to use
anesthetics. At the time, the doctors were against its use, but at one birth she told the husband to leave the
house until the baby was born, then she gave the woman the anesthetic. — Susannah May Grua.] I never lost a
case, but two babies were born dead. To attend to this work, into which I had been forced through necessity of
circumstances in our pioneer life, there being no one who would do it, I have been called from my washing and
other work, from the harvest field where I often helped, from my own children who needed my care. But what
could I do? Could I refuse to go, and thus leave a woman suffering and perhaps dying for want of assistance?
I was called once in the middle of a cold night when my own baby was but three weeks old. I knew I was
risking much, my baby so young to be taken out in the cold. To this day I wonder if I did right, for my baby
took cold and died in less than a week. If I had not gone, perhaps the other baby and mother, also, might have
died, But I have always grieved about my baby's death and cannot feel reconciled. I was always called upon
when there was sickness, and also to lay out the dead. [After her fourteenth child was three years old, there
wasn't a child born or a person died in the town without “Aunt Lette Dalley” being present. — Sarah Ann.]
Because of my knowledge of dressmaking, tailoring and weaving, I had that to do for others, because no
one else knew how. [She could card and spin the wool from the sheep's back and then weave the yarn into
cloth. There was only one other woman in the community who had any knowledge of weaving. She knew a
very little about warping, but did not know how to calculate how many threads it took to make a piece of cloth
a yard wide, so sometimes got a very narrow piece or a piece too wide for the loom. Lette taught her how to
count her ends and how to calculate for the width and length of a piece of cloth. So, ever after that, she was
the one who taught the others or did the warping and putting of the threads in the loom. Her knowledge of
tailoring was very useful too, because she made suits of clothes for most of the men in the community, after
having manufactured the cloth from the wool. She was an expert buttonhole maker. Nearly every woman in
5
Joseph B. Dalley
9
town came to her to get their men's and boy's shirts cut out. She was so proficient at cutting and fitting men's
clothing, as well as ladies' dresses, she taught anyone who came to her, and there were a great many. — Sarah
Ann.]
There was no pay for all this, but sometimes people would exchange work with me, and I usually got a
little pay of some kind for tailoring. For many years I made no charge for my services at confinements, but
later I charged two dollars, which I seldom got. However, I spent all one night up in the hills in a wickiup full
of Indians to wait on a squaw. At one time I took the oxen and went and got a load of wood, coming home the
proud possessor of some good wood. [I have heard Lette tell of being called out in the midnight hours to attend
women in confinement. On one such journey, jostling over rough roads in the seat of a wagon, ate knit a pair of
men's sox. — Rachel.]
In 1875 Sister Emma Dalley died leaving eight children to my care, and a baby which my sister, (Thrine)
took. She had married Brother Dalley in 1861. I then had a family of fifteen children in my care and still
continued my public work.
[In 1875 Father made adobes and built an adobe house with four rooms downstairs with space for two
rooms upstairs into which Aunt Emma moved in the spring with her family of ten children. In October of the
same year she gave birth to her fifteenth child, whom they named Melissa Tryphena, and the mother (Emma)
passed away, leaving eleven living children, two of whom were married. The family lived in the adobe house
for some time until Father got Mother's (Lette's) house built of adobe. Aunt Emma's family lived by
themselves for some time, but later on, when the other adobe house was finished, they most all came to live in
the other home, making in all about twenty in the family. Albert lived with Aunt Threna for awhile, but finally
came to be with the rest of the boys. Everything went on with very little, if any, friction. There were four of us
girls to do the housework — Betsy, Ann, Hattie and Sarah. Two of us would be in the kitchen at different
times of the day. We did all of the cooking and washing of dishes except getting dinner, which Mother did.
When we went to school everything went like clockwork. Mother was a wonderful manager.
On the 9th of October 1877, Mother Lette gave birth to a pair of twins, a boy and a girl. They were very
tiny, premature babies. The girl seemed the stronger of the two, so Mother took the boy in bed with her to care
for. The nurse was taking care of the tiny girl, who was named Juliette. The boy was named Julius Sylvester.
For the lack of proper care, Juliette died in a few hours after birth, to the sorrow of the whole family. Julius
was a very tiny, frail child. He was sick with a fever and Mother had done everything she knew to do for him,
so she knelt down and prayed and begged the Lord to give her wisdom to know what to do for him. She was
impressed to dip a bed sheet into cold water and wrap him in it, which she did. She then covered him with a
dry blanket. The fever broke and from that hour he recovered and grew to manhood and is now (1954) a
patriarch in the L.D.S. Church.
In two or three years, another son was born to Mother. He grew to be a very talented musician. These two
sons have given much service to the community and church where they have resided. Both graduated from the
University of Utah. — Sarah Ann.]
In the year 1873, James Dalley, my husband, became postmaster. I was his assistant, doing all the work.
Later my son Joseph B. Dalley took the office. He was called on a mission and I had all the work to do during
his absence. It was at this time that I had a controversy with the government which caused me a great deal of
worry. A government inspector caused it all because of his meanness. Just before, another inspector had
visited the office, staying all day and night, making a thorough examination and pronounced everything all
right and himself perfectly satisfied. The other man came determined to make trouble, as he did with many
others. He announced that I had made mistakes in cancellation, and so reported it. The Postmaster General
wrote that I must refund $715.00. I knew I had done nothing of the kind and determined not to pay it. My
husband was in the penitentiary at that time, on a charge of unlawful cohabitation for religion, and I had the
convictions to fight it alone, for I was determined to fight and not yield to such an unjust charge. So I found
10
out where the inspector was who had pronounced everything satisfactory and wrote to him in Ogden. He
answered that he was sorry, but I must fight it alone, but he was willing to testify in my favor. He also told me
that Thrillkill was put out of office for this and other similar cases. After writing to all the officials from the
Postmaster General to the postmaster in Salt Lake, to whom the case was referred, and worrying myself nearly
to death, I wrote to the postmaster in Salt Lake and told him that I was ready to go to court and for him to
proceed. That ended the matter, for which I was extremely thankful.
I have had some very pleasant times at postmaster's conventions, one in Ogden in 1910, and at two in
Provo. I experienced the novelty of being waited on, taken on excursions, banqueted, and generally received
marked attention. That I very much appreciated and enjoyed. I was the oldest postmaster present, had served
the greatest number of years (35), and had come from the greatest distance to attend the convention, so I was
particularly honored, and given a gold medal which I value highly, bearing this inscription: Mrs. Lette B.
Dalley, a token of regard from Utah Postmaster's Association, Ogden, Utah, July 9, 1910.
In 1896 I started a store with very little capital to commence with, and was very successful, enlarging my
stock each year and paying promptly for my goods. I was doing well when my daughter Ann came home, a
widow with six children, and I gave her the store to run. She was not adapted to that kind of work and gave it
up in a few years. My daughter Eliza (Black) wrote, asking if she should come and take care of me. I wrote
and told her to come if she wished and could leave her home. So she came from Mexico in 1909 to live with
me, bringing three children. I did not need her help at that time, my health was good, however I turned over
everything to her, put her in charge of everything, thinking that when I did need her she would be the one to do
that. She was very good and kind to me, and had she lived I would have been comfortable with her, but she
died unexpectedly, and things have not been very pleasant for me since.
My parents came to Utah in 1863 and settled in Sanpete, where Father died. I afterward brought my
mother home to live with me, when she was 82, and took care of her until she died in 1894 at the age of 87.
She was buried in Summit. When I knew my folks were in Sanpete and I had not seen them for so long, I was
so very anxious to see them that Brother Dalley said I might go if I could get a chance to get a ride. This was
in 1861. He had no money to give me, nor to pay anyone to take me. I found that I might go with a man who
was taking a load of oats to Payson. Brother Dalley gave me 24 pounds of lead which he thought I might
dispose of, so I started out with my baby, leaving three children at home. It was a very uncomfortable,
unpleasant trip. The discomforts were forgotten in the joy of seeing my people in Sanpete, and my children
when I reached home. I disposed of the lead and instead of getting something for myself, I got two spinning
wheel heads which were very useful. I had such a hard trip and was so worn out with travelling as I did, that
we always spoke of it as my first “pleasure trip.” I brought my sister Thrine back with me. She later married
Brother Dalley.
My pleasure trips have not been so numerous, I might state, unless going north to Provo with loads of wool
fourteen times might be dignified by that title. I used to dispose of the wool and get part cash, then I would go
to Salt Lake and get supplies for the family. On one such trip I nearly froze to death, and was so numb that in
going for coals to another campfire I was unable to follow the right direction and might have wandered off and
died had not a camper noticed me and set me right. In those early pioneer times necessity was often the mother
of invention, and we became expert in contriving to get along. We made soap by leaching cottonwood ashes, a
substitute for lye. Often the ooze plant was used instead of soap. We colored our home-raised wool and
home-woven cloth with rabbit brush flowers for yellow. By combining that with indigo blue, we made green.
We brought madder root growing in the fields. which made a god red color. For preserves, we boiled carrots in
beet juice; it was good. too. We could get our salt by going to Little Salt Lake near Beaver.
Gradually conditions improved, and life became more easy as conveniences became more common. Our
homes also grew from one-room log huts to more pretentious and more comfortable dwellings. [Quite a few
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travelers passed through the town of Summit and most of them stayed with Mother, some for a night, others for
weeks and months. Mother always welcomed them and received very little in exchange. — Sarah Ann.]
The last few years — I am 82 now — my eyesight has failed to some extent, and I find that the spirit of
temple work for the salvation of the dead has taken hold of me. I can spend my time in that way, feeling that I
am accomplishing a great deal of good; I realize the importance of it.
I was first counselor in Relief Society from 1873 to about 1880, was then chosen president and served in
that position for twenty-one years, which I enjoyed. But I find more real satisfaction in working for the dead
than I did for the living. The Gospel has always been the influencing power in my life. Without it I feel that I
could not have endured the many trials I have passed through. I now am anxious to spend the remainder of my
life in doing good for the dead. I feel that I can no longer serve the living. I have nine children living and hope
that they live the Gospel and appreciate the sacrifices of those who have made it possible for them to enjoy the
many advantages and comforts that the pioneers knew nothing of.
An instance of divine protection: I went to Richfield, as my sister was dying (Nicolena Marie in July
1905). After her death I was persuaded to remain two weeks to take care of my niece in her confinement.
When coming home, I stopped at Junction City to rest with relatives. The stage went on in the night and I was
to go the next night, having paid my full fare. But while having supper with Lyman Johnson's family, Lyman
suddenly looked up and said, “Aunt Lette, it has just occurred to me that I would better take you in the
morning. You are getting too old to travel that way in the night.” I told him I should be very grateful as I
dreaded that part of the journey up through that dreadful canyon in the night, so I stayed overnight and he took
me to the next stopping place the next day. When we reached there, we were told of the terrible flood which
had come down in the night, and of the struggles of the stage driver in the water. He had barely saved himself
and some of his load. Had I been with him it is quite probable I should have been drowned.
Father Dalley died May 3, 1905, at the age of 82 years. For two years he had been helpless. The last 18
months he was unable to walk a step. He was also very nervous and unable to speak, so nervous his bed had to
be changed three or four times during the night. He would have no one else wait on him, so I resigned my
position as president of Relief Society, and gave up every other public demand and devoted myself entirely to
him. This was very wearing on me, and in thinking of it now, I do not know how I endured the constant
nervous and physical strain. My sister Thrine died January 31, 1914. So I am the only one left of the older
generation in Summit and am 83 years old (1915). I now have had 64 grandchildren and 81
great-grandchildren; a few of them are dead. (End of autobiography.)
*****
***
*
THE END OF THE JOURNEY
In her later years, as she has indicated, Lette spent a great deal of time in St. George doing temple work.
On one occasion, while on her way to the temple, she stepped in a hole and hurt her leg. Gangrene developed
and her leg was finally amputated. Her son, Arthur T. Dalley, tells a most touching story of this tragic event,
and proposes a conflicting reason for the injury: “... when she was nearing the age of 80, as I remember it, she
went up into Idaho to visit some of her family at Jerome. Railway travel at that time was quite primitive.
Mother was taking a night trip and told the conductor when she wished to get off, as well as having a ticket just
to this point, but the conductor forgot and carried her far beyond her station, then let her off at a lonely station,
cold and desolate, where she had to wait till next morning. Here she almost if not quite froze her feet. Not
being a doctor I cannot say for sure this was the cause, but at least not long afterward she got gangrene in one
foot and had to have her leg amputated just below the knee. She was in the Cedar City Hospital at the time
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with Dr. MacFarland in charge, when he decided an amputation was imperative. He also made another
extraordinary decision, that she could not stand an anesthetic, and proceeded to do the amputation in the raw,
as was customary in the dark ages. But her son, Julius S. Dalley, for sometime had felt an urge to go and visit
his mother, not having heard anything from her for such a long time, so he took the mail truck and went to see
how she was faring, and discovered the cruelty she was being subjected to. He told the doctor to desist from
such cruel practice and to give her an anesthetic, whatever the cost in danger, which he did, and Mother rallied
beautifully and recovered, and lived on to the age of 86.”
Lette died January 26, 1922, at the home of her daughter, Emma Pratt, in Jerome, Idaho, and was buried
in the Jerome Cemetery. The little cemetery in Summit, where lie James, Emma, Thrine, Eliza, Maren and
many others who pioneered the high little valley, seems strangely lacking without Lette whose strength and
courage played such a vital part in the inception and development of the tidy community and its surrounding
area.
IN APPRECIATION
The Bertelsen family's debt to Lette is great, not only for the only recorded information we have about
Niels and Maren, but for her autobiography which presents a thrilling first-hand account of her exciting,
turbulent life, and also provides answers to some of the inconsistencies found in stories of the other children.
Much credit must go to Mrs. Josephine Jarvis Miles, at whose home in St. George Lette spent a great deal of
time after James' death. Mrs. Miles copied Lette's words as she spoke them during the winter of 1918. Lastly,
our thanks to all the good relatives who have contributed added information to the history. Their names appear
at the end of their contributions.
Following are the children of JAMES DALLEY, born December 20. 1822, and JOHANAH BOLETTE
BERTELSEN DALLEY, born July 7, 1835:
NAME DATE OF BIRTH MARRIED TO DATE OF DEATH
Eliza Black Aug. 16, 1855 Albert Farnsworth May 16, 1917
(Adopted by James)
Emma B. Aug. 24. 1857 Lehi Pratt Sept. 9, 1947
Joseph B. April 15, 1859 Annie Maria Jones July 27, 1955
Nelson B. Feb. 22, 1861 Mary Crosby Jones Aug. 21, 1947
Ann B. Feb. 7, 1863 Lehi Pratt April 23, 1957
Uriah Fullmer Oct. 6, 1865 Nov. 6, 1865
Sarah Ann Oct, 14, 1866 Sylvester S. Hulet Dec. 29, 1954
David B. Feb. 6, 1869 March 28, 1871
Arthur Theophilus July 21, 1871 Parthena Hyde & June 19, 1947
Julia Amunsen
Jesse Porter Dec. 29, 1873 Lavina Taylor
Edward B. May 14, 1876 Aug; 17, 1876
Juluis Sylvester Oct. 9, 1877 Rachel Woolley Oct. 29, 1953
Juliette B. Oct. 9, 1877 Oct. 10, 1877
Erastus B. March 11, 1880 Margaret Pryer June 1958
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