BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF JANE SANT
On the banks of the River Mercy or nearby stood a little English cottage. Here lived John Sant, born 11 January 1811, and his wife Mary Shaw born in 1813. John was a boatman– he owned a bay mare and a river boat. He earned a living for his family of 12 children, himself, and his wife by freighting from Liverpool up the River Mercy to the towns and settlements upstream, for the large merchant ships could not navigate upstream in those days. The seventh child born to those goodly parents on 8 March, 1846 at Middlewich, England, was named Jane. As Jane opened her steel gray eyes she brought a great love, comfort, and happiness into that home. She had a very pleasant disposition, great personality, and always a pleasant smile. She went to nursery school at a very young age and due to her quick ability to learn she was kept in school while her other brothers and sisters were sent to work in factories to help earn a living for themselves and their family. Jane made friends in school and thus gained favor with the school masters. When the fee for her schooling came due, she was not turned out of school but kept on going. The family belonged to the Church of England, and Jane, while very young, was made a class leader in her hometown. She was blessed with a sweet voice and took part in many community gatherings due to this.
The missionaries from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints visited the home and converted the family. After much planning and preparation and saving they set sail for America on 16 April 1860, on the old sailing vessel Brooklyn and they arrived in New Orleans in June of 1860. As they left the Liverpool Harbor the family sang “Yes, My Native Land I Love Thee.” Margaret, an older sister, and Jane had to do cabin work to help pay the passage way. Jane was very sea sick and the family as well. She often spoke of the fear of being fed to the fishes. Jane and her family joined a company coming to the west and a returning missionary, David Mustard, hauled the Sant family’s food and clothing across the plains. While they- the father, mother, and children-- had to walk. With what means they had left they bought a cow for milk, some eggs, bacon, and flour.
While out on the long weary trip they walked day after day in the hot sun and dusty roads; where the wagon wheels and oxen went they cut deep ruts in the desert. The dust from the wagon train could be seen for miles. Jane being not too strong one day lagged and when the wagons were driven into a circle to form a corral for the oxen at night and to guard them from the Indians, who were on the war path at this time for it was during the late Civil War. When supper or evening meal was prepared, Mother Mary said: “Where is Jane?” All looked at each other and Margaret who helped drive the cows of the camp said: “O mother, she was ill and faint and the last I know of her she had lain down by some bushes along the road. She must have gone to sleep or still worse, fainted with fatigue and weariness.” All were excited for the Captain of the wagon train had warned them that very morning that they were to stay close to camp for they were in Indian country and there were bands that were on the war path. Father John rushed to inform the Captain of Jane’s absence. While he was calling for volunteers to go back along the trail other men began to prepare for an Indian skirmish, for they supposed the Indians might have stolen Jane as was frequently known to have happened to former immigrants coming west. Father John with a prayer in his heart and on his lips, started back, for it was now growing dark. Mother Mary called her other children close together and knelt by the wagon and if ever the hearts of a family and prayer was poured out to one’s Maker, this little group of Saints surely did seek God our Eternal Father at this time. Others of the camp prayed there under the stars in an untamed wilderness for the girl, or child as she seemed, and for her deliverance in safety. In the meantime the sun had gone down behind the western plains and Jane had lost consciousness, but the coolness of the evening and the blood-curling howl of the wolf aroused her. Imagine this city-raised girl’s fear as she awakened and sensed what had happened, for many were the stories she had been told about the wolves, the Indians, and what had really happened to others who had crossed these desolate plains to get to Zion. John was praying and crying out “Jane, my Jane, answer me.” Above the long drawn out wailing howls that were piercing the air, there came a loud voice, and she arose and tried to run towards the direction of the welcome sound when from weakness and fear she fell just as her father had spotted her form in the fast growing darkness. He caught her up in his arms though she was now blooming into a young lady, and started back to camp with his burden of love. They had not gotten far when the men from camp came to their rescue and aided them on their way. When Mary saw her poor sick child she fell on her knees with John and the family, offering prayers of thanks for Jane’s safe return.
The prairie schooners rolled on and in a time as things were moving along all-right and everyone was looking far ahead they saw the dust of another wagon train coming to meet them. On passing, as ships at sea pass in the night, one teamster called “Jee, Haw,” and drew his ox teams to stop by the Sant wagon. If I can only paint a true picture of the man with my pen you will look into the sparkling, black eyes of a young westerner carrying a bull whip over his shoulders, clad in a full buckskin suit, fringe down on each side of the pants, and a beaded design on the front of the waistcoat, his dark hair a bit long as the westerners then wore it, curled back over the ears, a broad smile on his face and these black, sparkling eyes that have been the family’s inheritance for all the future generations. He, Nathan Smith, of Utah, had been called by Brigham Young to go back to the Missouri River, for that was as far as the railroads came at that time. He was bringing the material that was needed to help build the Salt Lake Temple and the great LDS Tabernacle, and also make it possible for the poor Saints to get to Zion. He was to get much needed merchandise and then take care of as many Saints as he could by having them ride on top of the load. So, Nathan Smith was heard asking, “Is this the John Sant family from England?” “Yes, sir,” answered John, Jane’s father. “Well, sir, I have a letter from your son George, he is on his way to meet you and is bringing some food for the family, but why take your time, for his letter will explain.” As he came forward and came nearer to the small group who were all ears and waiting with great interest to every word, Jane and Margaret drew near, as Nate handed over the letter he looked into the hazel eyes of Jane–her eyes were so understanding.
Page missing, see “A True History of Jane Sant” for complete story.
her father, who held the Priesthood and the authority to marry. Margaret, Jane’s sister, was married the same to Charles Williams, there in Smithfield, Utah. From there they went to the Endowment House in Salt Lake City, where they were married for time and all eternity.
At Smithfield they built a log cabin where the one LDS ward meeting house now stands near the bank of the Smithfield Creek. The first plowed furrow ever made to take water out of the creek for irrigation was made by Nathan, and by George Done, his brother-in-law, with a plow and ox team, so well-trained that Nate was often asked to make a survey and make the plow furrow so water would follow the same around the mountain sides and across country. Nate was with the organized minutemen of Cache Valley for the protection of the settlers against the Indians. They lived in Smithfield, Utah, for an umber of years, where four of their children were born, before moving to Banida, Idaho, where the remaining eight children were born. In Smithfield they were active in Church and civic affairs.
Jane was a great teacher and leader, and all who knew her loved her. Many of the younger generations remember her as “Our dear Sunday School Teacher.” In politics she was learned, and could tell anyone the government rules, laws, and organizations. She wrote on woman’s suffrage, and added a great deal to the passing of the law to allow women to vote. She wrote poems on the theme of love, and kindness of mothers to children. Everyone who met Jane Sant Smith loved her.
Just Nate, Jane, and four girls were left on the old farm. Mother Jane now did a great deal of nursing. As she grew older and things were not going well, she sold her home. She moved to Cleaveland, Idaho, with the help of her children, and made her home there. Nathan bought himself a little home in Oxford, Idaho, and lived there, but they were never the same. There was never a day passed that these two didn’t yearn for the other. Jane built a little house on a lot her son, Nathan, gave her. She had the Cleaveland post-office in her home for a number of years. This post office served all the people in the lower end of the valley. She always had extra room in her home for people who might be traveling and especially for politicians who came during election years. She boarded school teachers for years. Her little home burned to the ground and nothing of her life’s long living remained. Her records and writings were all burned. The memories of her will be cherished forever. Jane Sant Smith passed away from a stroke 6 February 1918, at Maria Smith Prescott’s home in Cleveland, Bannock County, Idaho. Her funeral was held in Cleveland 9 February, and she was taken and laid to rest by the side of her husband, Nate, in the Smithfield, Utah cemetery. Her greatest love was of her family and of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. She had many a position of trust throughout her life.
On the banks of the River Mercy or nearby stood a little English cottage. Here lived John Sant, born 11 January 1811, and his wife Mary Shaw born in 1813. John was a boatman– he owned a bay mare and a river boat. He earned a living for his family of 12 children, himself, and his wife by freighting from Liverpool up the River Mercy to the towns and settlements upstream, for the large merchant ships could not navigate upstream in those days. The seventh child born to those goodly parents on 8 March, 1846 at Middlewich, England, was named Jane. As Jane opened her steel gray eyes she brought a great love, comfort, and happiness into that home. She had a very pleasant disposition, great personality, and always a pleasant smile. She went to nursery school at a very young age and due to her quick ability to learn she was kept in school while her other brothers and sisters were sent to work in factories to help earn a living for themselves and their family. Jane made friends in school and thus gained favor with the school masters. When the fee for her schooling came due, she was not turned out of school but kept on going. The family belonged to the Church of England, and Jane, while very young, was made a class leader in her hometown. She was blessed with a sweet voice and took part in many community gatherings due to this.
The missionaries from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints visited the home and converted the family. After much planning and preparation and saving they set sail for America on 16 April 1860, on the old sailing vessel Brooklyn and they arrived in New Orleans in June of 1860. As they left the Liverpool Harbor the family sang “Yes, My Native Land I Love Thee.” Margaret, an older sister, and Jane had to do cabin work to help pay the passage way. Jane was very sea sick and the family as well. She often spoke of the fear of being fed to the fishes. Jane and her family joined a company coming to the west and a returning missionary, David Mustard, hauled the Sant family’s food and clothing across the plains. While they- the father, mother, and children-- had to walk. With what means they had left they bought a cow for milk, some eggs, bacon, and flour.
While out on the long weary trip they walked day after day in the hot sun and dusty roads; where the wagon wheels and oxen went they cut deep ruts in the desert. The dust from the wagon train could be seen for miles. Jane being not too strong one day lagged and when the wagons were driven into a circle to form a corral for the oxen at night and to guard them from the Indians, who were on the war path at this time for it was during the late Civil War. When supper or evening meal was prepared, Mother Mary said: “Where is Jane?” All looked at each other and Margaret who helped drive the cows of the camp said: “O mother, she was ill and faint and the last I know of her she had lain down by some bushes along the road. She must have gone to sleep or still worse, fainted with fatigue and weariness.” All were excited for the Captain of the wagon train had warned them that very morning that they were to stay close to camp for they were in Indian country and there were bands that were on the war path. Father John rushed to inform the Captain of Jane’s absence. While he was calling for volunteers to go back along the trail other men began to prepare for an Indian skirmish, for they supposed the Indians might have stolen Jane as was frequently known to have happened to former immigrants coming west. Father John with a prayer in his heart and on his lips, started back, for it was now growing dark. Mother Mary called her other children close together and knelt by the wagon and if ever the hearts of a family and prayer was poured out to one’s Maker, this little group of Saints surely did seek God our Eternal Father at this time. Others of the camp prayed there under the stars in an untamed wilderness for the girl, or child as she seemed, and for her deliverance in safety. In the meantime the sun had gone down behind the western plains and Jane had lost consciousness, but the coolness of the evening and the blood-curling howl of the wolf aroused her. Imagine this city-raised girl’s fear as she awakened and sensed what had happened, for many were the stories she had been told about the wolves, the Indians, and what had really happened to others who had crossed these desolate plains to get to Zion. John was praying and crying out “Jane, my Jane, answer me.” Above the long drawn out wailing howls that were piercing the air, there came a loud voice, and she arose and tried to run towards the direction of the welcome sound when from weakness and fear she fell just as her father had spotted her form in the fast growing darkness. He caught her up in his arms though she was now blooming into a young lady, and started back to camp with his burden of love. They had not gotten far when the men from camp came to their rescue and aided them on their way. When Mary saw her poor sick child she fell on her knees with John and the family, offering prayers of thanks for Jane’s safe return.
The prairie schooners rolled on and in a time as things were moving along all-right and everyone was looking far ahead they saw the dust of another wagon train coming to meet them. On passing, as ships at sea pass in the night, one teamster called “Jee, Haw,” and drew his ox teams to stop by the Sant wagon. If I can only paint a true picture of the man with my pen you will look into the sparkling, black eyes of a young westerner carrying a bull whip over his shoulders, clad in a full buckskin suit, fringe down on each side of the pants, and a beaded design on the front of the waistcoat, his dark hair a bit long as the westerners then wore it, curled back over the ears, a broad smile on his face and these black, sparkling eyes that have been the family’s inheritance for all the future generations. He, Nathan Smith, of Utah, had been called by Brigham Young to go back to the Missouri River, for that was as far as the railroads came at that time. He was bringing the material that was needed to help build the Salt Lake Temple and the great LDS Tabernacle, and also make it possible for the poor Saints to get to Zion. He was to get much needed merchandise and then take care of as many Saints as he could by having them ride on top of the load. So, Nathan Smith was heard asking, “Is this the John Sant family from England?” “Yes, sir,” answered John, Jane’s father. “Well, sir, I have a letter from your son George, he is on his way to meet you and is bringing some food for the family, but why take your time, for his letter will explain.” As he came forward and came nearer to the small group who were all ears and waiting with great interest to every word, Jane and Margaret drew near, as Nate handed over the letter he looked into the hazel eyes of Jane–her eyes were so understanding.
Page missing, see “A True History of Jane Sant” for complete story.
her father, who held the Priesthood and the authority to marry. Margaret, Jane’s sister, was married the same to Charles Williams, there in Smithfield, Utah. From there they went to the Endowment House in Salt Lake City, where they were married for time and all eternity.
At Smithfield they built a log cabin where the one LDS ward meeting house now stands near the bank of the Smithfield Creek. The first plowed furrow ever made to take water out of the creek for irrigation was made by Nathan, and by George Done, his brother-in-law, with a plow and ox team, so well-trained that Nate was often asked to make a survey and make the plow furrow so water would follow the same around the mountain sides and across country. Nate was with the organized minutemen of Cache Valley for the protection of the settlers against the Indians. They lived in Smithfield, Utah, for an umber of years, where four of their children were born, before moving to Banida, Idaho, where the remaining eight children were born. In Smithfield they were active in Church and civic affairs.
Jane was a great teacher and leader, and all who knew her loved her. Many of the younger generations remember her as “Our dear Sunday School Teacher.” In politics she was learned, and could tell anyone the government rules, laws, and organizations. She wrote on woman’s suffrage, and added a great deal to the passing of the law to allow women to vote. She wrote poems on the theme of love, and kindness of mothers to children. Everyone who met Jane Sant Smith loved her.
Just Nate, Jane, and four girls were left on the old farm. Mother Jane now did a great deal of nursing. As she grew older and things were not going well, she sold her home. She moved to Cleaveland, Idaho, with the help of her children, and made her home there. Nathan bought himself a little home in Oxford, Idaho, and lived there, but they were never the same. There was never a day passed that these two didn’t yearn for the other. Jane built a little house on a lot her son, Nathan, gave her. She had the Cleaveland post-office in her home for a number of years. This post office served all the people in the lower end of the valley. She always had extra room in her home for people who might be traveling and especially for politicians who came during election years. She boarded school teachers for years. Her little home burned to the ground and nothing of her life’s long living remained. Her records and writings were all burned. The memories of her will be cherished forever. Jane Sant Smith passed away from a stroke 6 February 1918, at Maria Smith Prescott’s home in Cleveland, Bannock County, Idaho. Her funeral was held in Cleveland 9 February, and she was taken and laid to rest by the side of her husband, Nate, in the Smithfield, Utah cemetery. Her greatest love was of her family and of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. She had many a position of trust throughout her life.
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