Set down in his 71st year by Charles Andrew Hickenlooper in Salt Lake City, 1 February 1933.
Re-typed from a xeroxed typescript copy 28 July 2004.
During the year 1893, my nephews George and Joseph Wade became very sick with typhoid fever. Their brothers John, Moses, and Andrew, and a sister, Sarah Jane Quinlan, had all died just a short time before with that dreaded disease.
William Crandall and I were staying with them one night. The doctor came during the evening. Before leaving, he told us that Joseph could not live, that there was no chance whatever for him, and that George had about one chance in one hundred.
About two a.m. George seemed to be in great pain and distress. We administered to him. While our hands were upon his head, I felt as if an electrical current entered the ends of my fingers and ran to my shoulders. When we removed our hands, he brightened up and said, “Uncle Charley, the pain left my head and went into your fingers, and it is all gone now.”
We praised our Heavenly Father and took it as a sign that he would live. From that time, he began to improve very fast and is alive today and the father of a large family.
We also administered to Joseph; he had a better night than usual and was finally restored through faith and prayer to live and raise a family of children.
Note: Joseph Davis Wade (born 11 Feb 1864) and George Wade (born 30 Jan 1869), were sons of Edward David Wade and Belinda Hickenlooper.
The following is, to my mind, an incident of healing through faith in the power of God. It occurred during the winter of 1894 in the home of my nephew, Monroe Wade, at Liberty in Ogden Valley.
Louie, ten-year-old daughter of Monroe, was very sick with typhoid fever. The doctor had been to see her and said he could give no hope for her recovery. Her parents felt they could not give her up. So the father went to the nearest telephone at Eden, phoned his brother Bishop Wade, and explained the situation. “If you and Charley will come and administer to her,” he said, “we feel that she will live.”
Bishop Wade was sick at the time, so he sent for me and said, “I am too sick to make the trip. I hate to ask you to make it alone over the mountain in this blizzard. But if you will go, I will exercise all the faith I can and send my blessing with you.”
“I will go, Bishop,” I said.
“Take my overcoat–it is fur and will protect you–and my sealskin cap, and God bless you.”
I started about eight o’clock with my best saddle horse. I got along very well until I reached nearly the summit in North Ogden canyon. The wind was coming over the mountain at a terrific rate and was drifting the snow in the road. My horse floundered in the deep snow and finally was able to go no farther. I then tramped a trail a short distance and led him that far and would then tramp again. In that way I finally reached the top.
I arrived about eleven p.m. at Monroe’s home. He and I administered to Louie, and she seemed to improve from that very moment. In a short time, she was fast asleep and during the night slept fairly well.
Because her parents were so very tired, I insisted on their going to bed. For two or three days I stayed and helped them. Louie is still alive and, I understand, is the mother of a large family.
Note: Louie Isabelle Wade was born 15 May 1887, daughter of James Monroe Wade and Isabelle Crandall. If this happened in 1894, she was a little younger than 10. Charles Andrew Hickenlooper was counselor to Bishop Wade. The horse may have been Dime, his favorite.