Derek counted quickly. They were only shadows against the light of the street lamps, but he estimated there were ten or more—enough to be a serious problem. He turned to Wilford, not wanting the candidates for baptism to see his concern. “What shall we do?” he asked softly.
The Apostle’s face was grim but his jaw was set. “Why, we shall baptize them,” he said.
They had reached the small pool now, and the jeers and catcalls began in earnest. Derek saw that some of the women were fearful.
“Sister Bundy,” Wilford said calmly, reaching out his hand to the nearest one who had asked for baptism. “Shall we proceed?”
She looked around at the mean-spirited faces that half surrounded them; then her chin came up and she nodded. “Yes.”
“Go home, Mormons!” “Get out of our town, Americans!” “Leave our people alone!” “Get outta that water!” The mob swore and they cursed as Sister Bundy and then Brother and Sister Rook and Elizabeth Collett were baptized. The rowdies shook their fists in the air. From the slurred speech of some of them, it was obvious most of them had come here straight from the only pub in Hawcross. Derek shook his head. He had seen that enough in Missouri. Take a natural tendency to hate, stir in a generous share of hard liquor, add some encouragement from the local preachers to make it a religious “mission,” and you quickly had the recipe for anti-Mormon violence. It worked every time. The one fortunate thing was that courage was typically not a part of the mix. The group hung back, noting that Derek and the other brethren were not backing down.
But the mood of the rowdies was growing more threatening now. As Sister Collett came out of the pool and Wilford called for Benjamin Hill to join him, Derek saw one of the men in back raise his arm. It flashed against one of the street lamps in the distance, and there was a splash of water. “Take that, you blasted Mormons,” someone shouted.
Suddenly, arms were swinging everywhere.
“They’re throwing stones!” one of the women yelled, throwing up her arms to shield her head. They all turned their backs and held up their arms as rocks came pelting down. A few were larger rocks, but most of them were only about the size of the end of one’s thumb. But even that size stung sharply when they hit exposed flesh. The splashes and ripples on the surface of the pool made it look like a rainstorm was going on as the mob targeted the two men in the water, determined to stop the baptism. Derek saw two or three stones bounce off Wilford’s body and he flinched in pain. “Hey!” Derek shouted, holding up one arm to shield his head. He stepped forward, angry. This was more than just harassment now. But just then he saw a heavy black object flash against the light from a window. A rock about half the size of a man’s fist was arcing overhead. “Wilford, watch out!” Derek called.
Wilford jerked, ducking away. But it was too late. The stone caught him on the back of his head, just above and behind his left ear. There was a solid thud, a cry of pain, and Wilford staggered forward, nearly going down into the water before Brother Hill grabbed him and steadied him. The water was splashing all around them now.
“Here comes the constable!” Derek shouted.
There was a momentary flurry of excitement. “He’s lying!” “I don’t see no one!” “Let’s get out of here.”
Behind him, he heard Wilford’s voice. “Brother Benjamin Hill, having been commissioned of Jesus Christ. . . .” Stones still rained down into the water.
A rock thudded onto the ground next to Derek, and then the group of rowdies lost heart and fled. In moments, they were alone again.
“It’s a nasty bump,” Derek said, “but the flesh isn’t split.”
Wilford winced sharply as Brother Kington pressed his finger gently against the lump on Wilford’s head. “You’ll be smarting for a time, but I think it will be all right,” he agreed.
“I’ll be fine.
After the baptisms at Hawcross, Wilford and Derek had immediately left to go to the village of Dymock, a distance of about nine miles. In Dymock they went to the residence of Brother Thomas Kington, the man who, until his baptism nearly three weeks before, had been the superintendent of all the United Brethren congregations. It was late, but the Kingtons didn’t mind attending to the missionaries for whom they felt so much gratitude and affection.
Hannah Kington was watching anxiously from one corner. “Brother Woodruff, how can you go on with this kind of opposition?”
He turned slowly, then walked to where his coat hung on a chair. He reached and extracted a letter from the inside pocket. He looked at it for a moment, then smiled at their hostess. “This is how, Sister Kington.”
Both she and her husband were surprised at that. “What is that?” Brother Kington asked.
Wilford grinned at Derek. Derek grinned back. The letter had come just as they left Leigh to come to Hawcross. “It’s from Brother Taylor in Liverpool,” Wilford said, “and it contains wonderful news.”
“What?” Sister Kington asked.
Wilford was beaming. “They’re here!” he exclaimed.
“Who’s here?” the Kingtons asked as one.
“The rest of the Twelve. Brigham, Parley, Heber. They’re all here.” He looked upwards and his eyes closed for a moment. “They’re here,” he breathed. “They’re finally here.”
Sometime after midnight, in the early morning hours of April twenty-sixth 1839, seven members of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles had quietly gathered in the public square of Far West, Missouri. They had come at great risk. Their purpose? To formally begin their mission to England. Now, just twelve days short of one full year after that meeting, once again seven members of the Quorum of the Twelve assembled together. This time it was far across the ocean in a small house in the town of Preston, Lancashire, England.
It was a happy time of reassembly. Friendships and bonds forged in times past were now renewed. News from America was greeted by Willard Richards and Joseph Fielding like water after a drought. In the case of Derek and Matthew, it was a happy family reunion. As part of the gathering, a conference of all members in the British Isles had been called for the fifteenth. Important business would be sustained there. But equally important were the items to be dealt with by the Quorum of the Twelve in private meetings. Brigham had come. It was time to get to the business of running a mission in a foreign land. Thus, in the next three days, between conference and council meetings, numerous items of business were decided on and approved.
The first thing that needed doing was to ordain Willard Richards to the Quorum. The Lord had designated him as an Apostle in a revelation in July of 1838, but at that time he was still in England. Until his fellow Apostles crossed the sea to reach him, he couldn’t be ordained. Acting now with the majority of the Quorum present, they ordained Willard, officially giving them their eighth quorum member, a clear majority. As they finished, someone noted that there were more Apostles in England at the moment than there were in America.
Next, the brethren formally sustained Brigham Young as President of the Quorum.
It was unanimously decided to immediately write to America and ask Joseph to send twenty more missionaries.
Various priesthood ordinations were performed, including the calling and ordination of a patriarch “to perform patriarchal blessings on the fatherless.”
Brigham Young proposed that arrangements begin immediately to print the Book of Mormon, a hymnbook, and a monthly publication in England, a concept that was greeted with great rejoicing by the Saints. Wilford Woodruff suggested the publication be given the name The Latter-day Saints’ Millennial Star. Elder Parley P. Pratt was chosen as its editor.
All of that was well and good and important for the work of the kingdom, but something else was to have a far greater and more lasting impact on the Church. To this point, many of the Saints converted during the first mission and the continuing labors that followed wanted to emigrate to America. America was where the Prophet Joseph and the Church were. America was Zion. America was the land of opportunity. For people who suffered e
xtreme poverty and widespread unemployment, America was like a paradise in their minds.
Joseph Fielding had strongly discouraged any emigration. Though he was president of the mission, and therefore the Church’s presiding officer in England, he didn’t feel that he could approve such a thing without the sanction of the Quorum of the Twelve. But now the Twelve were here. It was their decision.
From the beginning it was not a question of if, only when and how. The Lord had called his people to gather. Currently, they were gathering to Nauvoo. The only thing causing hesitation on the part of the Twelve was considering how to do it wisely. Fearing they might unleash a tide that could not be controlled, the brethren moved cautiously. Those who were ready to leave immediately could do so, they decided, but without making a lot of public announcement about it. No one with means should go without also assisting the poor to do the same. The Church would immediately begin raising funds and preparing the way for others, especially those too poor to get passage on their own.
They were cautious, but there was no mistaking the message. The center of the Church was in America, and if it was at all possible, the British Saints should go to America.
Never one to let grass grow under his feet, two days following the final day of council meetings, Parley Pratt preached to the members in Preston. This time, it wasn’t the restored gospel that was the topic of his sermon. This time he spent one hour talking about the country in which the gospel had been restored. When he finished, he had one very excited congregation of Latter-day Saints on his hands.
Derek and Matthew walked out with Jenny Pottsworth and her mother. They had barely cleared the hall, when Jenny reached out and grabbed Derek’s arm. “Is it really like he says it is?” she burst out.
“Aye,” Derek said soberly, “and more. Words cannot fully describe America. Only the eye and the heart can experience it.”
Matthew smiled at Derek’s eloquence. “England is a pretty wonderful place too,” he said nobly, “but America is so big. You can’t imagine. For example, Nauvoo is only about a third of the way between the Atlantic and the Pacific Oceans, and yet it is a thousand miles from New York City.”
Jenny’s eyes grew large. England was an island nation. It was no more than four hundred miles from north to south, not counting Scotland, and there was a place not far north of Preston where the country was less than a hundred miles across. A thousand miles! It was almost impossible for her to imagine.
“But it’s more than the land, Jenny,” Sister Pottsworth was saying. “It’s where the Church is.”
“I know, I know.” Jenny’s eyes were dancing with excitement. She turned to Matthew. “How much did your passage cost?”
“It was eighteen dollars steerage.”
“Eighteen dollars?” Sister Pottsworth mused. “How much is that in pounds?”
“Roughly four pounds.”
Jenny’s face fell as she looked at her mother. “How much do we have saved now, Mum?”
“Barely five.”
“Oh.” The excitement died in her. They had been saving whatever they could, the both of them, since the day Derek and Peter had left for America. With only five pounds, it would be another year at least, maybe more.
Matthew watched her and felt her disappointment. He liked this pugnacious English girl. Her spunk and zest for life reminded him of his Jennifer Jo in many ways. “Look,” he said, “you can’t give up hope. Brigham has asked Brother Taylor to go to the shipping lines when he gets back to Liverpool. He expects we’ll be sending hundreds of passengers to America. He wants Elder Taylor to negotiate a better price.”
“But remember,” Derek said, always the realist, “eighteen dollars was just from New York to Liverpool. Then there’s the getting on out to Nauvoo. You’ll have to either sail around to New Orleans, then go by riverboat up the Mississippi, or get land passage from New York. Either way will take more money.”
Matthew acknowledged that with a nod, but pressed on with his point. “But Brigham is asking that those with means help those without. If you have five pounds already, you’re better off than many. You won’t have to wait as long.”
Jenny’s eyes brightened again. “Do you really think so?”
Now Derek was nodding, feeling a little guilty for being a wet blanket. He and Peter hadn’t waited until they had sufficient means. They had just gone and made it work. His mind was racing now, thinking about the possibilities. “There’s a group who want to go immediately,” he said. “They’ve been asking permission to go for some time now. They’ll probably leave immediately, by June for sure. There may be others who could go sooner, but Brigham wants to be ready to send a large group by September, a hundred and fifty, maybe two hundred. He’s instructed Matthew and me to begin the preparations. Part of our task will be to see if we can raise funds for those who can’t pay their own way.”
Now Jenny was fairly dancing. “So it’s possible that we might be on our way as early as September?”
“Yes,” Matthew said eagerly. “You continue to work hard and keep saving your money, and Derek and I will see what we can do to find someone who might help you.”
With a squeal of joy, Jenny threw her arms around Matthew. “Oh, would you?” she cried. Then instantly she realized what she had done. Backing away, blushing furiously, she turned to her mother to try and cover her embarrassment. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful, Mum? September! Can you imagine that?”
Sister Pottsworth’s eyes were shining. She nodded slowly. “September. Yes, let’s plan for September.”
They had lined up along the railing of the New Orleans Queen while the big riverboat was still two miles south of Nauvoo. Now the dark mass of land jutting westward and making the great river detour around it was visible through the rain. There were eleven of them, all told—Nathan and Lydia and their three children, and Carl and Melissa and their four. No one else was out on the deck. The weather was too cold and wet, and no one else seemed to be headed for Nauvoo.
Emily looked up at her father, her cheeks rosy red from the stiff breeze blowing across the decks. “Papa?”
He leaned over so he could be heard over the constant roar of the great paddle wheel behind them. “Yes, dear?”
“Will Grandma and Grandpa Steed be there to meet us?”
“I don’t think so, Emmy. They have no way of knowing which boat we’ll be on or exactly which day we’ll be arriving.”
Young Joshua had gone through this same conversation the previous evening with his father. “They may not have even gotten Papa’s letter yet,” he explained patiently to his sister and the three Rogers boys beyond her. “So they may not know we’re coming at all.”
“But that’s all right,” Nathan added. “We don’t live far from the boat landing. We’ll be there in just a few minutes.”
Lydia was peering through the rain. The shore was close enough now that details were beginning to be visible. “Look,” she said, tugging on Melissa’s arm, “there’s the Old Homestead. That’s where Joseph and Emma live.”
Suddenly Nathan was leaning forward, squinting. “My heavens, Lydia, would you look at that. Look at all those new houses.”
She was staring too. Where there had once been only the Old Homestead and a few scattered cabins, now there were a dozen or more homes. Most were log cabins, but here and there were some nicely built frame houses as well. And beyond that, where they couldn’t see beyond the trees that lined the banks of the river, there were dozens of plumes of smoke.
Carl was staring out at the approaching city. “You said everyone was moving here as quickly as they could. I guess they need homes.” He grinned suddenly, almost shyly. Carl was typically a quiet man and not much given to showing his feelings, but now he couldn’t hide the excitement. “And if they need homes, they’re gonna need someone to freight in lumber and stuff for them.”
Melissa was holding little Sarah, but she reached out with her free arm and slipped it around his waist. “And food and clothing and a h
undred other things,” she said happily.
“Some of which they’ll have to come to the store to buy,” Lydia added smugly. “Our store.” She laughed merrily, then reached down and scooped Elizabeth Mary into her arms and hugged her tightly. “Oh,” she cried, “we’re almost home. I think I am even more excited than you children.”
An island came between them and the east shore, blocking their view for a few minutes. Then as they passed it they could see the steamboat landing dead ahead. The roar of the great paddle wheel dropped off sharply, and the ship began to turn slowly to the right, toward the shore.
Then to their surprise, people began appearing. A series of lean-tos had been built at the land’s end of the dock to provide some shelter from the weather. Now a dozen or more people were streaming out from behind them, waving and calling out.
Suddenly, Emily was hopping up and down and shouting. “It’s Grandpa! It’s Grandpa!”
“And there’s Joshua and Caroline!” Lydia cried. She grabbed Elizabeth Mary’s hand and started waving it wildly back and forth. “And there’s Grandma! Do you see Grandma, Joshua?”
“Yes,” he called back. He was searching the children’s faces. “And there’s Savannah.”
“And Rebecca and Jessica,” Nathan threw in. “Looks like the whole family has come out to see us. Somehow they must have known we were coming today.”
Something in his voice made Lydia turn. He was grinning so broadly it looked like it might split his face wide open. “What?”
Pillar of Light Page 242
