Pillar of Light

by Gerald N. Lund

  He shook his head in wonder and discouragement. The latest estimate he had heard was that almost ten thousand Latter-day Saints were along the Missouri now, with another one or two thousand expected to arrive before snow came. How could they do it? How could they possibly care for that many people? And once spring came, however would they get them to the Rocky Mountains?

  Just then he heard the sound of horses and wagons and turned. Heber C. Kimball and his company were coming toward him on the road that led to Cold Spring Camp. That surprised Joshua a little. First, he had expected Brigham Young to be at the head. Second, he had thought this was to be just an exploration party. Heber had his full company with several wagons and all of his people. Then Joshua had a third surprise. Nathan was riding just behind Brother Kimball. At the sight of Joshua, Heber and Nathan both spurred their horses and rode up to join him.

  “Good morning, Joshua,” Heber called. “Looks like you’re ready to go.”

  He smiled and nodded. “I thought Brother Brigham was going with us to scout a location for our winter settlement,” he said.

  “He was, but he’s been ill since yesterday. He’ll try to follow us a little later in the day. Also, one of his oxen fell in a creek and broke its neck. He’s been getting the meat distributed around the camp.”

  “I heard that,” Nathan said. “There’s always something, isn’t there?”

  Heber nodded and reined around. “Well, brethren. Brother Woodruff left yesterday to see if he could find us a place, so I suggest we do the same.”

  As they wheeled their horses around, Joshua moved over to Nathan. “I didn’t know you were going with us.”

  “I’m not. I’m headed to the other side,” Nathan answered. “I’m a bishop, remember? I promised I would help some of my families come across the river today.”

  Joshua nodded. That made better sense.

  Heber had heard Nathan and was nodding. “And that’s the very kind of thing we hoped you bishops would do. Keep up the good work.”

  “It’s proving to be a fulfilling, though challenging, assignment,” Nathan answered.

  Heber nodded, then clucked to his horse. “Well, let’s be off. Tell everyone that as soon as we find a place, we’ll send word back.”

  “Come in, please.”

  Nathan lifted the tent flap and stepped inside. Sarah Rich, wife of Charles C. Rich, was there to greet him, holding out her hand and smiling warmly at him.

  “Good morning, Bishop Steed.”

  “Good morning, Sister Rich. How are you feeling today?”

  “Much better. I’m up and about, as you can see.”

  “And the babe?”

  “Doing fine. We’re both doing fine.”

  “Good.” He moved a little so that he could see the man lying on the bedroll in one corner. “And how are you, Charles?”

  “I am better too, thanks to my angel wife.”

  “Is it the ague?”

  “Probably.” He managed a laugh. “I guess misery doesn’t really care what the cause is, does it?”

  “Well put,” Nathan chuckled. He looked at Sarah. “I just came by to see how you are faring. We are taking some of the families across the river today, but I thought it might be better to wait a day or two until Charles and you are both feeling stronger.”

  “I think that would be wise. There will be—”

  There was a rap on the tent flap and Sarah turned around. “Yes, come in.”

  The flap lifted and a woman stepped inside. She let the flap drop again, surprised to see that there was someone else with the Riches. Nathan did not recognize her, but saw that she was distraught. Her eyes were red and swollen and lined with dark circles beneath them. Her face was pale; her hands trembled a little as she wrung them together.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I didn’t realize you had company.”

  “That’s all right, Sister Brookstone. This is Nathan Steed. He is our bishop.”

  She nodded and smiled faintly. It was gone as quickly as it had come. “I tried to find our bishop, but I don’t know where he is.”

  Charles Rich went up on one elbow. “What is it, Sister Brookstone? Is something wrong?”

  She stared at him for a moment, then put her hands to her face and began to weep. “My children are so hungry. We ate the last crust of bread yesterday. I have no money, no goods to trade. What am I going to do?”

  Sarah stepped closer to Nathan. “Her husband was one of those who went with the battalion,” she whispered.

  Sister Brookstone struggled for a moment; then she straightened a little. “I’m sorry. I know that you and Sister Rich have little of your own. I don’t know why I came to you. I—”

  “Who is your bishop, Sister Brookstone?” Nathan asked.

  “William Draper.”

  “I know where he is camped. I shall take word to him immediately. In the meantime, if there is something I can do to help, I’ll—”

  Charles Rich pulled himself into a sitting position. “Sarah. Let Sister Brookstone have some of our flour.”

  Sarah swung around in surprise.

  He nodded. “We have about twenty pounds. Give it all to her.”

  “But . . .”

  Nathan was staring too. There was hardly any flour to be found. People were carefully husbanding what little they had until more could be purchased. And Nathan knew that even if there was flour to be had, the Riches had no money with which to purchase it. Charles’s announcement had stunned them all, including Sister Brookstone.

  “Let us trust in the Lord to provide for us,” Charles said softly.

  Sarah immediately nodded, turned, and went to a box in one corner. She opened the lid and brought out a sack that was two-thirds empty. Without hesitation she came to Sister Brookstone. “Here. Give your children some bread.”

  “But . . . ,” came the astonished reply, “but what will your children eat?”

  “The Lord will provide,” Sarah said, echoing her husband’s words. She smiled and pressed the sack of flour into the woman’s hands. “It’s all right.”

  Tears began to flow again, but this time they were tears of relief, of gratitude, of great joy. “Thank you, Brother and Sister Rich. God bless you for your generous hearts.”

  “God bless you, dear sister,” Charles Rich said.

  She turned and almost plunged out of the tent in her eagerness to return to her family. Sarah moved over and sat down beside her husband, and he took her hand. “Thank you,” he murmured softly.

  Nathan stepped forward. “I shall locate Bishop Draper and tell him about Sister Brookstone. I shall also see if I can find some flour for you.”

  Charles looked up. His eyes were calm and at peace. “Brother Steed, I know that the Lord will open up a way for us to live. Do not feel uneasy on our account. There will be a way opened up for us to have a loaf of bread in our home.”

  Nathan was deeply touched by such simple faith. “Perhaps I can be the instrument in helping that come to pass,” he said. He shook both of their hands, not trusting himself to speak further, and left the tent. For a moment he stood there, then bowed his head. “O Lord, if it be thy will, let the faith of this family be fulfilled. Help me to find them some bread.”

  It was past eight o’clock when Nathan finally waved good-bye to his last family and watched the ferry start across the river. He watched them go, too weary to move for a few moments. It would be dark soon, and he felt every hour of the day weighing in upon him. His feet ached; his back was sore; he had a rope burn from grabbing at a chest that had started to topple and a blackened nail where his thumb had been crushed by another box.

  He sighed, strongly tempted to tie his horse and then lie down in the grass and rest until the ferry returned and could take him across. But he resisted and swung back up again. Deeply discouraged, he turned the horse and started back toward the bluffs, headed for the campsite of the Rich family. Worse than the weariness was knowing that he had not kept his promise. He had found n
o flour for them. Tomorrow, on the west side of the river, he hoped to have better luck. If nothing else, his family would share their meager supply. But tonight he had nothing.

  He hesitated for a moment, seeing the shadows move against the tent canvas. He could hear the murmur of children’s voices. He shook his head, dreading what he was about to do, then rapped softly on the tent pole.

  “Bishop Steed,” Sarah Rich said in surprise when she saw who it was. “I didn’t expect you so late. Come in.”

  “No, I just wanted to report that—” He stopped. Through the open flap he saw the children seated by their father at a low table. There were cups and plates. But the thing which had stopped Nathan short was the sight of two nicely browned loaves of bread, one of which was half gone. There were also pieces of bread on the plates.

  Sarah Rich turned, not sure what had caught his eye. Then she smiled. “Yes, Bishop. Our table has bread on it. Come in. You need to hear what has happened.”

  Charles Rich got to his feet slowly and shook hands with Nathan. He still looked quite weak and somewhat drawn, but his color was good and he was smiling. “Surprised?”

  “I most certainly am. What happened? I haven’t been able to find any extra flour.”

  Sarah shooed one of the children off a stool and motioned for Nathan to sit down. He did so slowly, still unable to take his eyes off the bread. He wanted to reach out and touch it to make sure it was real.

  Sarah began. “As you might guess, I was greatly concerned when Mr. Rich asked me to give all the flour that we had to Sister Brookstone.”

  “Iwas concerned too,” Nathan said. “I’ve worried about you all day.”

  “Well, I decided I needed to have the same faith as my husband,” she went on. “So throughout the day I prayed that the Lord would open a way for us to live. Then about an hour or so ago now, I saw some wagons coming toward us. It was Brother Sidwell and Elder Ezra T. Benson. They were just starting on their journey east for their missions.”

  “Yes.” Nathan was aware that Brother Benson, the newest Apostle, had been called to preside over a mission in the East somewhere.

  “Well, we have known Brother Sidwell for a long time, and so he asked if he might stay the night with us. Elder Benson was staying with another family. We of course agreed, though I had no knowledge of how I might offer him any food.”

  She stopped, and Nathan saw in the lamplight that her eyes were glistening. She took a deep breath. “We had said nothing to him about our situation. We were simply visiting when suddenly he turned to Mr. Rich and said, ‘The Spirit tells me you are out of money, and whispers that I am to help thee.’ ” She smiled for a moment. “I remember that he spoke like a Quaker and used the word thee.” She stopped again, then with a catch in her voice added, “And then he handed us fifty dollars.”

  “Fifty dollars!” Nathan exclaimed.

  Charles nodded. “It was a miracle, of course. I turned to Sarah and said, ‘Now, you see, the Lord has opened up a way for us to get flour.’ ”

  Sarah came in again. “We were overcome with thanks. Brother Sidwell has gone to visit with another family. I wish he were here to tell this himself. But anyway, he then asked about our situation and we explained what had happened. He then went immediately to his wagon and got some bread. ‘We have enough for your needs tonight,’ he said. ‘But more important, we have learned that there is a wagonload of flour due by here either tonight or in the morning. We shall ask them to stop so you can purchase the breadstuffs you need for your family.’ ”

  One hand came to her mouth and she touched her lower lip, very emotional now. “So you see, we simply had to trust in the Lord.”

  Josh Steed stood as tall as possible and kept his shoulders pulled back. He didn’t mind the good-natured ribbing he took from his fellow soldiers about his youthfulness, but he sure didn’t want the paymaster to have any reason to question his right to his clothing allowance. Gratefully, he had matured early. His whiskers weren’t thick, but they were noticeable. He was almost as tall as his father now, nearing six feet, and he had inherited his grandfather’s broad shoulders and lean waist. His dark hair was thick and bushy, which also helped.

  “Next?” The paymaster was a young lieutenant with a neatly pressed uniform and well-polished boots. Beside him sat a sergeant. Everything about the noncommissioned officer looked dusty. He had large watery eyes, a nose that revealed too many mugs of rum, and a huge drooping mustache that looked as though it would be sucked into his mouth each time he spoke.

  “Name?” asked the sergeant.

  “Joshua Benjamin Steed, Company D, sir.”

  “Don’t call me sir,” he barked. “I’m not an officer. I work for my wages.”

  The lieutenant didn’t even blink. He had probably heard it a thousand times before.

  “Forty-two dollars,” the lieutenant said, after finding Josh’s name. He turned the book around. “Can you sign for yourself, son?”

  “Yes, sir.” He took the pen from its holder and quickly signed his name.

  The lieutenant shook his head. “Every one,” he said, half to himself.

  “Begging your pardon, sir?”

  He looked up at Josh. “So far, every one of you Mormons has been able to sign the payroll. Only about one in three of the Missouri companies can do that.”

  Josh nodded as he held out his hand and the lieutenant counted out the forty-two dollars. Josh didn’t like the Missourians and stayed away from them. They were a rough-looking lot. About every third or fourth word was a cuss word. Most smoked or chewed tobacco, and many used their money to stoke up on liquor at the store. The day before, one of them had buried a hatchet in his comrade’s head during a drunken brawl. The one was now in the brig, the other in the infirmary with no guarantee that he would live.

  “Next table,” bawled the sergeant. “There you’ll get your equipment. Muskets are being issued by the sutler at the store.”

  “The sutler?” Josh echoed tentatively.

  The sergeant pointed. “The storekeeper. It’s that building there.”

  Josh nodded and walked swiftly to the next line.

  One hour later, Josh Steed had gained about thirty pounds in weight. The rifle, a flintlock musket, was huge, weighing between twelve and fifteen pounds. The barrel was long and had a large bore. The powder magazine was designed to hold enough black powder to shoot a one-ounce ball a full mile. With the rifle he was given a cartridge belt hooked to a leather strap designed to be worn over the left shoulder. The bayonet and its scabbard were attached to a similar belt that went over his right shoulder. One of the men told him that the Mexicans called such an outfit a bandolier.He was surprised at how much comfort the solid weapon gave him as he hefted it onto his shoulder.

  They were also issued a wide white belt of thick leather upon which was fastened a canteen that held three pints of water. The belt, which they received strict orders to keep clean, was the only “uniform” that everyone got. Each man got a bedroll, a knapsack in which to carry his clothes and other necessaries, and a small cotton haversack that could carry a day or two of rations. The knapsack went on the front, the bedroll went on the back, and the haversack was tied to the belt. When fully “dressed,” the man was covered from neck to waist and also carried the musket in his hands.

  He checked everything once more to make sure he had put it on as the others around him had, then turned to go and join Derek and some others who waited near the fort store.

  “Soldier!”

  He snapped around at the crisp command. Another lieutenant was eyeing him up and down. “Yes, sir?”

  “Do you have everything you’re supposed to have?”

  Josh checked quickly, doing a mental check as well. “I think so, sir.”

  The man walked around him slowly, then nodded. “Very well. Carry on.”

  “Yes, sir.” As the officer walked away, Josh threw back his shoulders proudly. The man had called him soldier. Not son. Not boy. Soldier!Grinning widel
y, he strode with sure and confident steps over to join the rest of his brethren in the Mormon Battalion.

  “Uncle Derek! Aunt Rebecca!”

  Derek looked up in surprise. Rebecca turned from where she was reading a Bible story to Christopher and Benjamin by the light of the fire.

  Josh ran up to them. He had come from the direction of the main parade ground.

  “What is it, Josh?” Rebecca asked.

  “We have visitors.”

  “Visitors?” Derek echoed. “Here?”

  “Yes. Three of the Apostles and Elder Jesse Little.”

  Derek stood quickly. “Which Apostles?”

  “Elders Parley Pratt, Orson Hyde, and John Taylor.”

  “But,” Rebecca said, closing the Bible now, “I thought they were going to England.”

  “They are,” he said right back. “But they are going by way of St. Louis, so they stopped here to see how we are faring.” He paused for breath. “There’s going to be a meeting.”

  Parley Pratt was near tears. He held up the bag that was now stuffed full of money, the money that represented a substantial portion of the battalion members’ forty-two-dollar clothing allowance. “Brethren and sisters, I don’t need to tell you what this will mean to your families and to the Church. While Elders Taylor and Hyde have been addressing you, I have counted the contributions you have made. I hold here five thousand eight hundred and sixty dollars.”

  That brought cries of amazement and several low whistles. That was a staggering sum.

  In a low and husky voice he went on. “We have determined that Elders Taylor and Hyde will continue to Europe in company with Elder Little, who is going back to preside over the Eastern States Mission. I shall, however, take this money to President Young at Council Bluffs. May the Lord bless you for your generosity and consecration. May he protect you as you now prepare to march to Mexico to fight for your country. God bless you, brothers and sisters. It is an honor to be numbered among such men and women as you.”

  Chapter Notes

  As shown here, the Mormon emigrants who arrived at Yerba Buena were welcomed warmly and treated fairly both by the military commander, Commander Montgomery, and by the locals in the small village that was there (see “Voyage,” pp. 64–66; SW,pp. 71, 73, 75–76).