Without another word, he stepped into the crowd again and made his way back to Matthew. “Let us return home, Matthew,” he said, his voice heavy with discouragement. “I have wagons to load.”
As they walked away, Matthew looked over his shoulder. No one in the crowd moved. They stood in clusters, watching their leader leave again. It was as if they were watching their captain boarding the lifeboat and leaving them to sink with the ship.
“It is a wonderful testimony of their faith,” Brigham said in a low voice, “but we must prepare to leave.”
They walked on silently all the way to the edge of the bluff before Brigham turned around. Matthew turned with him. The crowd had not moved. They still stood there at the front door to the temple, their eyes fixed on Brigham, now nearly a block away.
For a long time, Brigham didn’t move. Matthew could see his mouth working, but he didn’t speak. Then there came a deep sigh, filled with pain, filled with surrender. “Look at them,” he said, not speaking to Matthew, but to the people. “How they hunger and thirst for the blessings of the Lord!”
“Would you like me to go speak to them again?” Matthew asked.
There was a slow shake of the head. Then, “Matthew, could I ask a favor of you?”
“Of course.”
“Would you go by the house and tell Sister Young and my family that I will be up here for a time? I’ll try to get down this afternoon to continue with the loading of the wagons.”
“Yes, Brother Brigham.”
Chapter Notes
The story of the conversion of Jane Manning and her family and of their arduous trip from Connecticut to Nauvoo, Illinois, is true (see
Women of Nauvoo,
pp. 19–20; also Linda King Newell and Valeen Tippetts Avery, “Jane Manning James: Black Saint, 1847 Pioneer,”
Ensign
9 [August 1979]: 26–29). Though the modern preference is to call African-Americans “blacks” and not “Negroes” or “colored folk,” in the nineteenth century the other terms prevailed, and the author felt to follow that convention here in order to be authentic to the times.
Brigham’s conversation with Matthew about Moses is not based on any particular known speech or any of his writings. However, we do know that there were times when he became greatly discouraged with the burden placed upon him. One entry in his history reads: “Unless this people are more united in spirit and cease to pray against counsel, it will bring me down to my grave. I am reduced in flesh so that my coat that would scarcely meet around me last winter now laps over twelve inches. It is with much ado that I can keep from lying down and sleeping to wait the resurrection.” (Cited in Susan W. Easton, “Suffering and Death on the Plains of Iowa,”
BYU Studies
21 [Fall 1981]: 435; capitalization standardized.)
On 29 January, Brigham Young received a letter from Samuel Brannan stating that while in Washington he had confirmed the intent of the federal government to intercept the Mormons and prevent them from leaving. With that discouraging news, on 2 February, Brigham called a meeting of the captains of hundreds and captains of fifties and announced that they would leave in a short time and asked them to be ready to leave on four hours’ notice. (See
HC
7:577–79.) The following day, Brigham went to the temple and found a large congregation waiting there for the ordinance work, even though he had previously announced there would be none. When they would not disperse, Brigham reopened the temple for endowment work. He records in his journal that 295 people received ordinances on that day. (See
HC
7:579.) He did not leave the next day, but stayed another two weeks. By then, nearly six thousand people had been endowed in the house of the Lord since the work had started on 10 December 1845.
Chapter 31
They’re going! They’re going!”
Young Joshua Steed came whooping up the middle of Steed Row, hollering at the top of his lungs, his breath puffing out like smoke from a railroad engine. A door opened and Melissa Rogers stepped out, dressed in a winter coat. Across the street, Benjamin appeared for a second or two at a window; then a few moments later he stepped out, putting on his coat. Mary Ann appeared right behind him, wrapping herself as well.
In five minutes every member of the family was there, Carl and Joshua included. The older children ran on ahead, but the rest walked together the five blocks south to Parley Street, then turned right toward the river crossing. It was a cold morning and there had been a hard frost. Puddles from the thaw of the previous day were now irregular circles of shining ice along the way. By the time they reached the west end of Parley Street, noses were touched with red, and ears tingling.
There was already a crowd, as though they had come for a parade. But there were no bands, no marching soldiers, no clowns to run up and down and amuse the children. Except for the creak of the wagons and the soft plopping of oxen hooves on the frozen ground, and now and then a muted cry of farewell, there were hardly any sounds at all. Those in the wagons waved a limp hand from time to time when they saw someone they knew. Those lining the road watched mutely, knowing that this day signaled the finality of what was coming for each of them.
“Who is it?” Joshua finally asked Nathan quietly. “Who leads out?”
“Charles Shumway and his company.”
Joshua didn’t know him and said no more.
“How far will they go today, Papa?” Emily asked in a subdued voice.
“The first camp is at a place called Sugar Creek. It’s about nine miles west of here.”
“Is your departure date set for sure?” Melissa asked her father.
Benjamin nodded once. “Yes. We leave on the ninth. Five more days.”
The family fell silent again. When the last of the nearly two dozen wagons passed and the sound died away, the people silently turned and started back towards their homes. A heavy gloom seemed to settle over the city. It was February fourth, 1846. The exodus of the Camp of Israel had officially begun.
Wednesday, February 4th, 1846
As I write these lines with pen and ink by candlelight, I, Alice Samuelson Steed, sit alone in a tiny cabin down in what is called the “passenger deck” of the sailing ship “Brooklyn.” I am alone because all the rest of our company, two hundred thirty-eight Saints—seventy men, sixty-eight women, and one hundred children—are up top lining the rails and saying farewell to the United States of America. For a time I was with them, standing beside my beloved Will, but as I saw the white mounds of Staten Island and the bristling guns of Fort Lafayette pass slowly by, and knew that I was leaving my country behind, I could not bear the sight any longer. Who knows what this beginning day portends? Shall we land in six months’ time in Upper California or shall we perish in the sea? I feel that the Lord will watch over us, but it is a long and perilous voyage, and one cannot say with any certainty what the future holds.
I have decided to keep a daily journal of our experience. Perhaps someday I shall send it to my parents. I have written them every single week since our departure from St. Louis. There has been no response. So whether they read it or not, I shall write it as though I write to them.
We leave New York City about a fortnight behind schedule. The outfitting of the ship and the task of changing her from a merchant ship to a passenger packet took more time than at first was proposed. Sadly, the refitting has left conditions quite uncomfortable. Our quarters are terribly cramped, the floor of the deck above being no more than four feet above the floor of the deck below. We cannot so much as stand up straight, and have to scuttle about like crabs whenever we are down here.
I must say a word or two about Elder Samuel Brannan, who is the “first elder”—his choice of titles—for our company. I shall keep this journal secreted away, as I wish no one except for Will to read it. Elder B. is not yet twenty-seven years old, which makes him young to lead such an enterprise as this. He is only five years older than Will. He is dashingly handsome and dresses like a dandy. Always his clothes are meticulously cut and cared for. His hair is black; his eyes are dark and flash with enormous energy. When he speaks he tends to roar like an orator and can be very compelling, though I find him somewhat pompous and arrogant. He definitely holds an exalted opinion of himself.
However, I must also admit that he does have some remarkable leadership qualities. He is strongly faithful in believing we carry out the will of the Lord. Will says he is shrewd and quite beyond other men in managing detail and arranging things. He has the vision of a man possessed and the courage to carry it out. While others might have worried only about foodstuffs and other essentials needed on our journey, he has planned for the time when we arrive in California. In addition to the five-ton printing press we carry in the hold below us, he has collected enough agricultural and mechanical implements for a company about three times the size of ours. There are scythes, plows, hoes, forks, shovels, nails, glass, blacksmith’s tools, carpenter’s tools, millwright’s and cooper’s tools. We have seeds of numerous kinds, enough to plant our first crops when we arrive. He has brought books and slates enough to start a large school and food sufficient to keep us healthy for a year. We have two milk cows on board along with forty pigs. There are also crates of chickens and ducks to provide us eggs on the journey and a start of fowls in our new home.
Will is at times greatly concerned about Elder B.’s judgment, however. Elder B. can be brash and quite unreasonable, especially if he feels he is right. The refitting of the ship and the stocking of it took about $16,000. Somehow he managed to raise this staggering sum. Will learned just a few days ago that while he was in Washington, Elder B. made a deal with Amos Kendall there. Kendall is the former postmaster general of the United States. Elder B. agreed to sign a contract—in the name of the Church, mind you—with Kendall and his agent. The contract states that once we get wherever we are going, every evennumbered unit of land or town building lot acquired by the Mormons will be deeded over to them.
We’ve only been married a short time, but this was the first I had seen Will truly angry. It was frightening in a way, but also I loved him all the more when I saw how indignant he was. He told Elder B. that he had no right to bind the Church to such an outrageous contract. Elder B. just pushed it aside, claiming that it was the only way to get Kendall to use his influence in our behalf. Kendall claims to have the president of the United States as a silent partner in this contract, and, according to Elder Brannan, if we had not signed, the president would stop the Mormons from leaving Illinois. Will does not believe that, but Elder B. airily dismisses any objections.
Enough about Elder B. Things shall be fine. He is good to the people and has inspired us all to undertake this “grand adventure,” as he calls it, in the name of the Lord. And the people are wonderful. Most are from New England, but some are from the southern Atlantic coast states as well. There has been some murmuring—especially when people saw the conditions under which we must live for the next six months—but all in all our spirits are high.
Will has astonished me and many others in another way. He has come alive with the thoughts of being at sea again. In some ways he is like a young boy. He amazed the sailors as he scrambled up the rigging like a squirrel and helped them secure the sails. He is—
I must close now. Will is calling down and saying that we are passing Sandy Hook, the last spit of land before we head into the Atlantic Ocean. He wants me to come and be with him and bid farewell to our beloved country.
James Frazier Reed was an aristocrat, not only by bearing, which was plain for anyone to see, but also by blood, if there was any truth to the tales told about him. When Peter casually asked about him at the office of the
Sangamo Journal,
where Peter now served as copy editor and typesetter, he quickly got an earful. The Reeds were wealthy, Mr. Reed having prospered greatly as a merchant, railroad contractor, and furniture manufacturer. Though he had been born in the north of Ireland, they said he descended from Polish nobility and that the family name had originally been Reedowsky. He had come to America as a boy, and when he was in his twenties he had moved to Illinois. He served in the Black Hawk War with another of Sangamon County’s more well-known citizens, the lanky and affable lawyer and state legislator Abraham Lincoln.
There were two primary reasons James Reed was talking about joining the Donner brothers and going to California, according to the town gossip. First, the whole of the Mississippi Valley was undergoing economic hard times and his business ventures had faltered somewhat. Second, his wife was in ill health (a semi-invalid, some said) and he hoped that California’s wondrous climate—“even in December and January vegetation is in full bloom,” the accounts claimed, “and December there is as pleasant as May here”—might improve her health.
The semi-invalid part worried Peter a great deal. If that was true, having another person along who was limited in physical capacity might be seen as too much of a burden to deal with. On the other hand, perhaps someone who had physical challenges of her own might be more inclined to show understanding and favor toward Kathryn.
Peter had been tempted to try and get an interview with Mr. Reed alone, to see how he would respond to the idea of a tutor before introducing him to Kathryn. But that seemed underhanded to Peter, and, more important, it made him feel like he was being disloyal to Kathryn. So they came together.
As they approached the gate of the Reeds’ home, a finely built two-story brick Georgian, Peter let the wheelchair roll to a stop. The yard was fenced with wrought iron and had what in the spring must have been spectacular flower gardens.
“I will walk from here, Peter.”
“Kathryn, I—”
“I won’t try and hide the wheelchair from them, Peter. But I will not have you wheel me up to the door.”
He nodded, knowing that her showing that she could get around quite well on her crutches would likely work in their favor. He untied the crutches from the back of the chair, braced his foot against the wheel, and helped her up. She got herself firmly planted, gave him a brave smile, then bowed her head and closed her eyes for just a moment. He saw her lips move slightly and heard a soft murmur. Then she looked up. “All right. I’m ready.”