Fire of the Covenant

by Gerald N. Lund

  “I did,” Mary McKensie said. “It was very stirring. My, what a call to repentance that was!”

  Maggie looked at her mother. “Did I read that?” she said. None of what they were saying sounded familiar.

  “Now that you ask, no. The missionaries showed me the latest issue just before we left Edinburgh.”

  “I’m glad I wasn’t the one who wrote the letter to Brother Jaques,” Sarah said now.

  “Why?” asked Maggie.

  Sarah looked at her father. “You understand better who it was and why Brother Jaques responded as he did. Tell Maggie.”

  “Well,” Brother James said, lowering his voice a little so Brother Jaques wouldn’t overhear them. “Brother Jaques is married to one of the daughters of James Loader, a good brother in the Church. Brother Loader and most of his family went to America last fall. Brother Jaques and his wife couldn’t join them at that time but made plans to go this spring. They’ll be going over with Elder Martin’s group on the next ship.

  “Anyway, once the Loaders got to America, they settled in to wait. Then somehow they got word that instead of going to Utah by wagon, they would be going by handcart. It really upset one of the daughters—her name is Patience Loader. So Patience wrote to Brother Jaques and complained about the decision, saying that she didn’t see how their family could do that.”

  “So it was just the idea of going by handcart?” Maggie asked. “They didn’t change their minds about going to Zion?”

  Now Sister James came in, eager to help her husband with the story. “That’s right. But even so, it must have really upset Brother Jaques. So he wrote a letter back to Brother Loader. I guess he thought Patience was only expressing the feelings of her father. It was quite pointed.”

  “Quite pointed,” Maggie’s mother echoed. “It was very much a chastisement.”

  “But also very inspiring,” Brother James said quickly. “It’s quite the call to remember why it is we are going to America. That’s probably why Elder Richards decided to publish both letters in the paper. It’s a lesson to all of us about faith and commitment to our covenants.”

  Maggie turned away, supposedly to look at Brother Jaques again, but actually so her mother wouldn’t see her face. Was that why her mother had said nothing about the letters? Because she was afraid that Maggie would think it was a hint for her to develop a better attitude about going?

  Thankfully, Hannah changed the subject then with another question. “What about Elder Richards?” she wondered. “Is he going with us?”

  “Yes,” Brother James said, “but not yet. After he gets the last emigrants off, he and a few of the other missionaries will finish things up here and come on a fast-sailing packet ship. They will go to New Orleans, then up the Mississippi and Missouri Rivers all the way to Florence. It is much more expensive to go around that way but also much quicker. He hopes to catch up with us by the time we get to Florence.”

  “So are we going to New York?” Reuben James asked his father, who seemed to know everything about what was going on.

  “Yes. Then we’ll go by train and steamship to Iowa.”

  Robbie looked up. “Eye-oh-wah?”

  William laughed. “Yes. They say it is an Indian name. That is where the railroad ends. That’s where we will get the handcarts.” Suddenly he had a thought. “Or will you be going with one of the independent wagon companies?”

  They all looked at him blankly.

  “There are a few in our group, and also some on the next ship, who have sufficient means to buy wagons and teams. Brother Richards says they are going to form independent wagon companies. They call them independent because they will not be directly associated with us handcarters.”

  Mary McKensie laughed. “Handcarters. That’s a new term. I like it.”

  “So you’ll be with us, then,” Jane James said to her. “We’re certainly in no financial condition to purchase a wagon or team. Not with eight children.”

  “Nor are we,” Mary said. “If it weren’t for the handcart plan, we wouldn’t be going this year at all.”

  Maggie reached out and touched Sarah’s arm. “I’m glad,” she said. “If we’re going to have to pull handcarts, then I’m glad it can be with people we know.”

  “And people we like,” Sarah said, squeezing her hand. “It will make things so much nicer.”

  •••

  Nothing in his twenty-two years had prepared Eric Pederson for the experience called Liverpool, England. He and Olaf had spent their lives in a tiny fishing village on a Norwegian fjord. Everyone knew everyone else. Life was simple and moved at its own pace. At night the air was so quiet that sometimes you could hear the animals moving restlessly in the barn.

  Liverpool was cacophony, bedlam, riot, chaos. It was an endless sprawl of huge tenement houses going on for blocks in endless dreariness. The streets were so thick with horses and carts that even a cat took a risk to cross them. The air was heavy with smoke and haze and stank with odors that Eric could not identify. Everything seemed to be covered with soot. The streets were filled with garbage, and some ran with raw sewage in the gutters. The people were loud, brazen, brassy, rude, foul, and vulgar. Women flounced by in dresses with impossibly large skirts. Men passed in shirts so dirty you could not tell the original color. Children were as ragged as the mongrel dogs they played with. And here along the docks of the Mersey River, which made Liverpool one of the busiest ports in the world, it all seemed to be compressed into one horrendous and disturbing mass.

  Eric didn’t like it. He didn’t like anything about it. He turned to Elsie Nielson in astonishment. “Is this what Copenhagen is like?” he asked.

  She had a handkerchief to her nose with one hand while she tried to keep Bodil Mortensen in tow with the other. “No. It is nothing like this,” she breathed. “I can’t believe people can bear to live here.”

  Her husband grunted. Jens Nielson had his son Jens on his shoulders so as to leave his hands free to carry their bags. “Copenhagen has some places that are not very pleasant too, Elsie.”

  “How much farther, Papa?” the boy asked, tugging at his father’s hair.

  “Berth seventy-three,” Jens said, peering at the posts that supported the wharf. They were just coming up on one that had the number seventy tacked to it. “We’re almost there.”

  The Scandinavians, almost a hundred of them now, increased their pace a little, anxious to find their ship. Coming by both steamer and train, they had arrived in Liverpool two days before. That had been a shock. Would America be like this? Would Utah? If so, Eric wasn’t sure he could bear living in Zion.

  “There!” someone cried. “That must be it.”

  Up ahead were some tables in front of a gangplank that led up to a large three-masted ship. There was a small crowd of people gathered in front of the tables. They were obviously being checked in for boarding.

  A man in a suit and long overcoat saw them coming and broke away, coming swiftly toward them. Brother Johan Ahmanson had been the leader of the group coming from the Nordic countries. He was near the front, and when he saw the man approaching, he moved out ahead of the others. The rest of the group stopped to wait and watch.

  The two men shook hands warmly and began to speak. Eric heard a strange language.

  “Does Brother Ahmanson speak English?” Jens Nielson asked in surprise.

  “He must,” Eric replied, as surprised as Brother Nielson.

  “Good. I’ve been worried about how we shall understand what we are to do.”

  “Brother Ahmanson and his wife, Grethe, are good people,” Elsie said. “How did you come to know them?”

  “Elder Ahmanson baptized our family while he was a missionary in Norway,” Olaf answered.

  Eric started to add something but then saw that Brother Ahmanson and the other man were coming toward them now. When they reached the waiting group both men were smiling. “Brothers and sisters,” Ahmanson said in Danish, “I am very pleased to introduce you to Elder Franklin D
. Richards, president of the European Mission.”

  That sent a murmur of recognition and pleasure through the crowd. The Apostle’s name was well known to everyone. He raised a hand and waved, then turned and spoke to their leader. Elder Ahmanson nodded and translated for the rest.

  “Elder Richards says we are all to go to the first table. Don’t worry about what letter your last name begins with. I will be there to help you. There we will be checked in and given our assignments on the ship. Bring your personal belongings with you. The heavier baggage will be brought aboard by the sailors.”

  Elder Richards said something else and Brother Ahmanson nodded, smiling broadly. “He also says, welcome to Liverpool. Things are going very well here and we should set sail first thing in the morning.”

  •••

  Because they were together in line at the check-in, not only were the Jameses and the McKensies assigned to the same deck—the lower of the two passenger decks—but they ended up in adjoining berths. The bunks, or sleeping berths, were about six feet long and four feet wide, and two adults or three or more children were expected to sleep in one bunk. Maggie McKensie and Sarah James decided to bunk together, as did Hannah and Emma. Maggie’s mother and Robbie would share a third bunk. The rest of the James family were distributed between three other berths.

  There were two sets of bunks along each bulkhead, one above the other, with the lower being about two feet above the floor. Tables bolted to the deck in the center of the room were equipped with benches, likewise fastened down. These were used for various purposes during the day. For meals they were equipped with attachable leafs with raised edges so the dishes did not slide off as the ship rolled and pitched.

  Maggie learned very quickly that they were fortunate to have been assigned to the lower deck. Because it was where the ship’s hull was a little wider, each passenger got slightly more room than they did on the deck above. Also, the part of the ship below the waterline stayed cooler. As warmer air always rises, the upper deck was hot and the air stifling. It wasn’t as light down below, but it was definitely more roomy and pleasant for those lucky enough to be assigned there.

  Robbie set off immediately to explore with Reuben James. Both boys were ecstatic to be on board a real oceangoing sailing ship. After unpacking their personal belongings and getting them “stowed” into small wooden lockers—not much more than boxes built into the bulkheads—Emma and Hannah decided to do the same. Sarah had to help her mother with the three little ones, and so after a few moments Maggie went back up on deck.

  It was a hum of activity. Dockworkers were moving back and forth carrying the heavier trunks and baggage of the people down into the belly of the ship. Sailors were checking the rigging or starting to nail boxes and crates to the decks so as to secure them for the rolling motion that would surely come.

  Maggie moved quickly over to the rail so as to get out of the way. She had chosen the dockside of the ship and looked down on the three registration tables. The lines for the closest two tables were now down to the last two stragglers. But a large group of people was gathered around the first table. In a moment, as strange sounds floated up to her, she realized that this was the Scandinavian group. Elder Richards and another man, a tall man with a commanding presence, were standing behind the table helping to sign people in. The other man was acting as translator and the process was very slow.

  At least I don’t have to learn a new language.

  It came in a burst of gratitude as she realized what a difference that would make. These people would have to make this challenging journey without being able to understand instructions and commands, participate in worship services, or converse with others besides those in their own little group. What a difference that would make in their experience!

  Now other little things jumped out at her from the crowd below that added to the realization that she, Maggie McKensie, was one of the luckier ones. A younger man, probably in his early twenties, was helping his wife toward the gangplank. She moved slowly and laboriously, and Maggie saw that she was heavy with child. Heavy with child! The husband’s face showed concern. The woman’s was filled with exhaustion and pain. Maggie shook her head in wonder. How far had they come in this condition? What if this woman’s time had come on a train or on a ferryboat? Was the pull of Zion even more powerful than the concern for a woman’s travail? Maggie didn’t have to respond to that. The answer was just before her.

  Waiting at the table was an old woman with perfectly white hair. She leaned heavily on two canes, waiting for a person who had to be her daughter to help her get checked in. How in the world would she manage in a handcart company? Maggie wondered. There was another blessing she had not really considered before. She was young and strong and healthy.

  At the first table, waiting their turn, she noticed two young men who stood close together. Though the similarity was not striking, she guessed they were brothers. For one thing, they both wore beautiful matching hand-knitted sweaters, even though the day was quite warm. Made by a mother or a sister or an aunt, she guessed. The one young man looked slightly older than she was; the other was about Hannah’s age. Curious now, she looked around for the rest of their family. There was another couple right behind them—quite a striking couple, actually, for the man was tall, but his wife was tiny and petite, a good foot shorter than he was. They were speaking to the brothers, but after a moment of watching, Maggie decided they were not of the same family. The two boys must be alone.

  Again she felt a flash of gratitude. She had left James behind, but she had her family. And now she had found a friend. Why weren’t these two brothers with their family? Were they orphaned? Or perhaps they were the only members of their family who were Latter-day Saints. She could only wonder.

  As she scanned the crowds, she had differing thoughts and feelings. She saw human beings of every kind—tall and short, rotund and skinny as a reed, the old and the young and everything in between. There were blue eyes, brown eyes, green eyes. There were blonds, brunettes, redheads, grayheads. Directly below her, a woman sat on a box, a baby at her breast. Here and there the wealthy—or at least the well-to-do—stood out from the others by the finery of their dress. One woman with long, elegant gold necklaces and a dark green silk dress directed a manservant, who staggered beneath what Maggie assumed was a trunk of the woman’s clothing.

  Maggie shook her head as a parable from the New Testament came to her mind. The Savior had said that the kingdom of heaven was like a net, bringing in fish of every kind. Well, here was the living proof of that.

  “Maggie! Maggie!”

  She turned. Robbie was racing toward her from across the main deck. Reuben James was right behind him. They slid to a halt right in front of her. Robbie’s brown eyes, always large and round, now looked enormous. “Guess what, Maggie!”

  “What?”

  “The first mate—he’s the second in command on the ship—anyway, the first mate let Reuben and me go up and see the wheel.”

  She nodded, holding back a smile. “I didn’t think ships had wheels.”

  He looked disgusted. “Not that kind of wheel, Maggie. The wheel that steers the ship.”

  She feigned surprise. “Oh, that wheel.”

  “Yes. We even got to turn it, didn’t we, Reuben?”

  Reuben James nodded gravely.

  Robbie rushed on. “This is so wonderful, Maggie! Come on, Reuben, Hannah said we can see down to where there are rocks in the bottom of the ship.”

  “They call it ballast,” Maggie called after them as they darted away.

  Robbie said something but it was lost in the noise of the crowd. Maggie smiled, feeling a wisp of envy. Oh, to have that kind of zest!

  After a moment, she decided that she would be wise to organize her things while the ship was still docked and steady rather than waiting until they were out to sea. She turned and went below.

  II

  Friday, 2 May 1856

  To get more than seven hundred peopl
e all on the main deck at one time required utilizing every inch of available space, but they had done that. Shortly after sunup the call had gone through the ship, asking that all passengers come up topside. To the surprise of many, they found that they were anchored in the main channel of the Mersey River. A tugboat had pulled them away from the Bramberly Moore docks at first light so that another ship could take their place. But they needed to wait one more day for a doctor to come aboard and inspect them so he could certify to the American authorities that there was no smallpox or other contagious diseases being shipped to the New World.

  As they gathered on the deck, the ship’s captain, whose name was Collins, invited Elder Willie to come up on the fo’c’sle where the people could see and hear him better. Elder Willie was to be their group priesthood leader on the voyage. Spirits were high as they pressed in to hear him better. Though they hadn’t sailed yet, in a way their voyage had begun. Most of the emigrants were settled and unpacked. The quarters had been cleaned thoroughly in anticipation of the inspection. There was a great eagerness evident on the faces of all.

  Maggie turned as someone came up behind her and touched her arm. It was Sarah James.

  “Good morning,” Maggie said. For most of their lives Maggie and Hannah had shared a bed, so sleeping with someone was not unusual for Maggie. But the berth that Maggie and Sarah now shared was only two-thirds the width of a bed, and often during the night the two of them bumped each other. Then, just before dawn, Maggie had quietly slipped out of the berth and finally fallen asleep in one of the wooden chairs. To Maggie’s astonishment, Sarah wasn’t bothered at all. She had slept like one of the stones used for ballast.

  “What time did you get up?” Sarah whispered. “I didn’t even know you were gone.”

  Maggie shook her head in wonder. “Where did you learn to sleep like that?”