Copied from Memoirs of My Life by John Charles Fremont, Vol I, 1887, pg 431.

There is at the southern end of the lake a large peninsular island, which the Indians informed me could at this low stage of the water be reached on horseback. Accordingly on the 18th I took with me Carson and a few men and rode from our encampment near the southeastern shore across the shallows to the island—almost peninsular at this low stage of the waters—on the way the water nowhere reaching above the saddle-girths. The floor of the lake was a sheet of salt resembling softening ice, into which the horses’ feet sunk to the fetlocks. On the island we found grass and water and several bands of antelope. Some of these were killed, and, in memory of the grateful supply of food they furnished, I gave their name to the island. […]

Returning to the shore we found at the camp an old Utah Indian. Seeing what game we had brought in he promptly informed us that the antelope which we had been killing were his— that all the antelope on that island belonged to him— that they were all he had to live upon, and that we must pay him for the meat which we had brought away. He was very serious with us and gravely reproached me for the wrong which we had done him. Pleased with his readiness, I had a bale unpacked and gave him a present—some red cloth, a knife, and tobacco, with which he declared himself abundantly satisfied for this trespass on his game preserve. With each article laid down, his nods and gutturals expressed the satisfaction he felt at the success of his imaginary claim. We could see, as far as an Indian’s face lets expression be seen, that he was thinking, “I went to the White Chief who killed my antelope, and made him pay for it.” There is nothing new under the sun.

[This man may be a relative of Wanship or otherwise linked to him. Wanship’s son and his family spent the winter of 1840-41 on Antelope Island.]