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Rebecca Burdick Winters [was] a worthy successor and guardian of the family legacy. Indeed, she played her part so nobly that her name has become known all over this broad land of ours -- it has become a symbol for that type of sacrificing, patient and unafraid pioneer mother, without which the west could never have been won.
After the death of her father [April 1846], his family were among those unable to leave Nauvoo with the main body of the Saints. They were in the "Battle of Nauvoo" that summer, and helped erect breastworks for defense in the streets. Rebecca's son, Oscar Winters, 21 (father of Sister Grant), was stationed on the firing line; while his mother and a group of anxious women watchers gathered on a porch, listening eagerly to every sound of the conflict. One present wrote of this group: "The anguish and suspense of those dreadful hours can never be told in words. And I will never forget the unflinching faith and courage of that devoted group of women. They never thought of fleeing or turning away."
Surprised at the vigor of the defense, the mob called for a truce, and the Saints in Nauvoo agreed to leave the city in three days.
Another year or so of hardships passed. During the winter before they started across the Plains, "she had strong premonition that she would not live to accomplish the journey, and when friends would be talking of the joys they anticipated on reaching the valley, she would say, 'But I shall never live to see them.'"
At first the company with which she traveled proceeded prosperously, until about half the journey was over. Then cholera appeared in camp. Many sickened and died.
It was on the morning of August 15, 1852, as they were about leaving the camp ground, that Sister Winters went to a tent containing the sick, and as she looked in she threw up her hands; the sight that met her was appalling to her sensitive nature, for she beheld the dying agonies of a neighbor and a friend; she had not felt well through the night, and from that moment she was stricken down.
The company of Ten, to which she belonged, had traveled but a short distance, when it was found necessary to go into camp again, that something might be done to ease her sufferings. Willing hands worked with their might, but by the noon hour her spirit had taken its flight, her journey was ended, and they laid her to rest by the pilgrims' pathway.
There could be no coffin to shelter her form, but into the deep grave a bed was lowered, and, after being suitably robed and tenderly wrapped, she was laid therein. Then the few boards that could be spared from the wagon were placed across the vault and the grave was covered; thus making one of the precious milestones that mark the way to Zion.
From a broken-down emigrant wagon near-by, a tire was taken, and cut in two. That some memorial of her resting place might remain Brother William Reynolds sat up through the night, and with a chisel marked upon the tire:
"REBECCA WINTERS, AGED FIFTY YEARS."
When her husband saw it he prophetically exclaimed: "That name will remain there forever!"
Long she lay by the Oregon Trail, With sagebrush growing above her head, and coyotes barked in the moonlight pale, And wagon-trains moved on by the dead. (Anne M. McQueen: The Oregon Trail, composed for Rebecca Winters)
AN UNTARNISHED LEGACY
The railroad was pushing its way westward, and in 1902 surveyors for the Burlington Route stumbled into a clump of sagebrush directly in the path of their line. Kicking aside the scrap of wagon- tire, they read thereon the pathetic memorial of the emigrant tragedy. "Turn back," said the leader, "we cannot desecrate the last resting place of a Pioneer Mother." So they made a detour of several miles to leave the grave in its peaceful solitude.
The story of that lonely grave and name caught the spirit of the country. It became a mecca for those who would pay tribute to mothers of the pioneers, just as we remember the grave of the Unknown Soldier. The railroad put up a neat fence, and her family erected a suitable monument over the re-discovered resting place, bearing this inscription:
In Memory of
REBECCA BURDICK
wife of
HIRAM WINTERS
She died a faithful Latter-day Saint, Aug. 15, 1852, aged 50 yrs., while making that memorable journey across the plains with her people to find a new home in the far distant Salt Lake Valley. She gave her life to her faith, her reward will be according to her works. This monument was erected in 1902, her centennial year, by her numerous descendants in Utah.
And so her story -- her legacy -- became a sacred heritage to her children and her children's children. But not for them alone is that message. To us, to the whole wide world she has left a heritage, that message, carved firmly upon her lone pillar in the desert, which she so exemplified in her life and death -- a message of faith and hope to every toiling and suffering soul amid the sorrows of life. (Archibald F. Bennett, _Saviors on Mount Zion_, pp. 95-6)