Oliver G. Workman, a Battalion man, without family, came to Salt Lake with others from California in the autumn of 1847, and there he met his brother Jacob and family and assisted in providing food. The following spring, flour became so scarce that it was very difficult for the needy to obtain even a moiety. Mr. Workman came to me twice and stated that he had tried to get a little and could not. I told him I had none to sell at any price, but I let him have a few pounds each time.
In a few days he came to me the third time and stated that he had tried to get a little flour until he was discouraged. He expressed his regret at being under the necessity of coming again but, said he, "What can I do? My brother's wife is famishing!" I remarked I had only a little flour left and I stepped into another room where Mrs. Young lay on the bed sick. I stated the case to her and asked, "What shall we do?" The question was quite as important to us as to Mr. Workman; but she replied, "We cannot see anyone starve. Divide the last pound." I weighed what I thought we might spare. It was seven pounds. As I handed the sack containing it to Mr. Workman he put his hand into his pocket, and without counting handed out a handful of gold. I again told him I had no flour to sell; that I would not exchange him a pound of flour for a pound of gold. He returned the gold to his pocket, and, as he turned to go away he was overpowered by his feelings and shed tears.
Soon after this occurrence myself and family were entirely out of food. It had been necessary to work my oxen very hard through the winter, and all my cattle were too poor for food. I heard of a man on Mill Creek who had a three-year-old steer which he was keeping for beef, with the design of going to California in the Spring. I succeeded in trading him a pair of large oxen by agreeing to give him one quarter of the animal after it was dressed. I drove the steer home, butchered it and hung the hide on the fence with the flesh side out. This furnished a feast for the magpies as they picked off what little meat remained on it. My share of the beef, with what little food could be gathered from other sources, kept us along for several weeks. During that time I made every possible exertion to obtain more food, but without success.
Circumstances again seemed desperate. I took the hide off the fence and put it to soak in City Creek. When it became soft and pliable I cut it into strips for convenience in handling. I labored on it about two days, scraping the flesh side clean and getting the hair off the other. After I became satisfied with its condition I turned it over to Mrs. Young. To prepare a meal, a piece of raw-hide was boiled until it became a glue soup, when salt was added to season. This being a native product was abundant while other condiments were as scarce as the food they were intended to season.
From the wreck of affairs in Nauvoo, Mrs. Young saved a favorite set of china. I never knew more need of an inviting table than in those days of glue soup. Mrs. Young decked it out in the most inviting manner possible; the center piece, a pan of glue soup, witha ladle for dipping and conveying it to our plates. The Lord was always asked to bless the scanty fare. We satisfied our appetites as best we could with a thankful feeling that we had that much to sustain life.
(From James A. Little, _From Kirtland to Salt Lake City_, pp. 170-174)
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