Fire of the Covenant

by Gerald N. Lund

  “Is he an Apostle?” Reuben James asked in a loud whisper. Reuben had just recently turned fourteen.

  His father smiled. “Yes, son. He is one of the Twelve. He is also the president of the Eastern States Mission now. So he presides over the Church here.”

  “He’s more than that,” Sister James said. “Don’t you remember, Reuben? It was Brother Taylor who was in Carthage Jail with the Prophet Joseph. He was shot four times and wounded terribly.”

  “Really?” Robbie McKensie’s eyes grew very large as he stared at the man at the back of the room.

  “Yes,” Brother James said. “Actually, he was shot five times. But remember? As he was about to fall out of the window, one bullet hit his pocket watch and smashed it, throwing him back into the room. It saved his life.”

  Sarah was nodding now. Her family had been in the Church longer than the McKensies, and now she remembered Elder Taylor. He had spoken at their Worcestershire Conference when she was younger. “Papa, is it true that he still carries two of those bullets in his body even now?”

  “That’s right,” her father said. “They were never able to remove them.”

  Robbie’s mouth was agape. “Really?” he said again, his voice filled with awe.

  “Can you believe it?” Maggie’s mother said. “He was actually there that terrible day, and now he’s going to speak to us. Think of it, Maggie. Here we are in America, meeting with Latter-day Saints in New York City, and an Apostle of the Lord is about to speak to us. It’s a miracle.”

  II

  Tuesday, 17 June 1856

  For Eric and Olaf Pederson, much of what was going on around them was a great swirl of confusion. Eric thought they had been making grand progress on their English under the tutelage of Maggie McKensie, but now! People were barking orders, shouting out commands, speaking at what sounded like five hundred words a minute. Here and there a recognizable phrase jumped out at him, but most of it was incomprehensible.

  Yesterday he had been greatly encouraged and very much uplifted. On Sunday when the English Saints went into the city to join in the worship services, most of the Scandinavian group had stayed at Castle Garden, the emigrant center where they were temporarily housed. Knowing that the services would be in English, they stayed behind and began sorting through the luggage. Elder Ahmanson had gone into the city with the others, and Eric and Olaf had almost joined him. They changed their minds when Jens and Elsie Nielson had a bad experience with one of the emigrant officials because they couldn’t understand what he was asking them to do, and so the two brothers decided they had better stay. Ingrid Christensen also stayed to provide whatever limited translation services she could offer. When Maggie and Hannah, along with Sarah and Emma James, came back and reported that Elder John Taylor had spoken to the group, the three English students were deeply disappointed.

  Happily, yesterday President Taylor had come out to Castle Garden to meet the rest of the Saints. He spent a good part of the day giving them instruction and counsel. His style of speaking was careful and measured and much easier for Eric to follow. It had been a wonderful experience. With Elder Taylor came several newspaper editors and journalists, curious to see these emigrants who would be going to Utah by handcart in what the newspapermen termed the “bold experiment.” Eric had expected some contempt from such a group, or at least an air of condescension, but for the most part they had manifested friendly feelings for the group and had been quite complimentary on their overall appearance and the general spirit of the company. Curious that he and Olaf could understand some English, one of them had talked with the two Norwegians at some length.

  Today had not been so wonderful. More than seven hundred people had come across the Atlantic on the Thornton. Getting them aboard ship and sufficiently provisioned for the six-week voyage had seemed an enormous task. But now they had to get that same number—minus a few who had permission to stay in New York for a time—ready for a thousand-mile journey by railway car and steamboat. Railway cars had to be secured, luggage arranged for, tickets purchased, and people assigned. Food enough for the first day or two was brought in, but after that they would have to secure food at the various stops along the way. The Church agents assured them that this would be no problem, but it seemed to Eric that that was easy to say and perhaps not quite so simple to do. He tried not to think about it too much.

  At ten o’clock they loaded back onto a harbor boat with all of the luggage and left Castle Garden for the pier that belonged to the New York and Erie Railway line. This was where the railroad picked up the freight that would be carried inland. There things quickly went from pandemonium to total chaos. Each passenger’s luggage had to be weighed, for the limit they could take on the train was fifty pounds per adult. That was no problem for Eric and Olaf, who together didn’t have enough to make up fifty pounds, but for many it was a difficult and frustrating task. Everything had to be clearly labeled and secured for shipping. Heavier items were sorted out and left behind to be shipped by the Church agents in freight cars, then carried under contract by independent Church wagon companies that were also going to Salt Lake this season.

  The weather was hot and muggy, and tempers quickly grew short as the hours dragged on. The Scandinavians had a particularly bad time of it. They were not used to this kind of heat. Then to be jostled and bumped, yelled and shouted at—and frequently sworn at—by frustrated stevedores in a language they didn’t understand was not a pleasant experience. It took until seven P.M. before all of that was completed.

  Once again they loaded on board the harbor boat and sailed up the Hudson River a few miles to Piermont. Here, a short distance from the dock, was the railroad station. Here, according to their leaders, they would begin their journey across America by rail.

  It was eleven P.M. when they finally trooped off the harbor boat and made their way to the railway station—sweaty, grimy, physically exhausted, mentally beaten down, and ready for a chance to lie down and sleep.

  “I’m tired, Mama.”

  Eric turned. The Nielson family was behind him and Olaf. Jens Nielson had Bodil Mortensen, the nine-year-old girl they were bringing to Utah for another family, on his back. Her head lay against him, and she looked like she was asleep. It was young Jens, who was five, that had spoken. He was dragging along, his feet shuffling on the cement walkway, his small valise dragging on the ground behind him. His shoulders were slumped and his eyes heavy.

  Elsie turned. She already had both of her hands full with their luggage. “Jens,” she said patiently, “we’re almost there. Then we can rest on the train.”

  “Here,” Eric said, handing his bag to Olaf. Then he knelt down. “Come on, Jens.” He patted his shoulders. “Would you like to ride on my back, like Bodil?”

  “Yes!” He ran forward and leaped onto Eric’s back. Eric took his small bag in one hand, then hoisted him up with the other. “Hang on, then.”

  “Thank you, Eric.”

  “It’s a pleasure,” he said to Elsie. “All of the children are so tired. It’s been a long day.”

  As they came around the corner of a long brick building, a warehouse of some kind, they saw the train. To Eric’s surprise, it was not that long. There was the steam engine and the tender filled with firewood. Next there were two passenger cars with windows. He could see people already filling the benches inside. Then the rest were freight cars—six in all—with a caboose on the end.

  Elsie slowed her step, dismay filling her face. “But Jens,” she said, “that’s not enough cars for our group. And look, they are already full.”

  Her husband was a little surprised too, but just shook his head. “Let’s be patient, Elsie. President Willie and his counselors know what they’re doing.”

  Eric certainly hoped so, for none of their group had started loading onto the train yet. How could only two passenger cars possibly take them all?

  Off to one side they saw President Willie and Elder Millen Atwood, his counselor, standing on a trunk so that they
were above the crowd. They were calling to the people and motioning for them to come in close.

  As usual, the Scandinavian group was near the end of the line. They had learned that it was easier to let the English speakers go first and then they could watch and get some idea of what they were supposed to do. So when Eric and Olaf and the Nielsons came up to where Brothers Willie and Atwood were waiting, it took only another minute or two before everyone was there.

  President Willie raised his hands and the crowd quieted. “Brothers and sisters, this is the New York and Erie Railway station. We have booked passage for all of you from here to Dunkirk, which is at the very western edge of New York State, about four hundred and sixty miles from here.”

  He paused, letting Elder Ahmanson translate that for his people.

  “Dunkirk is a port on Lake Erie. There we have booked passage for our group on a steamship to Toledo, Ohio, which is another two hundred and eighty miles. From Toledo we shall go by rail to Chicago, and from Chicago by way of the Chicago and Rock Island line all the way to Iowa City, Iowa. All together, it is about a thousand miles from here to Iowa City.”

  There were groans and exclamations of surprise. Eric looked at Jens and Elsie. “A thousand miles?” he mouthed. That was incredible. And that was only to get them to their jumping-off point. Just how big was this North America?

  “And how much farther once we get to Iowa?” someone called out.

  “Iowa City to the Salt Lake Valley is about fourteen hundred miles. And from there, of course, it will be by handcart all the way.”

  To a group that was already deeply exhausted, that was devastating information. An appalled silence settled over the crowd.

  “I know that sounds terribly discouraging right now, brothers and sisters,” President Willie said, forcing a smile, “but remember how fortunate we are. The railroad line to Iowa City was just completed this spring. That saves us an additional week or two over what others have had to do on their own.”

  When that seemed to settle them a little, he turned and looked toward the train. “As you would probably guess, we do not have the funds to purchase first-class or coach tickets for our group. That would leave nothing for food or for getting you equipped with handcarts. So what we have is what the railroad calls ‘emigrant cars.’ Those are the last six cars you see on the train.”

  “But,” a woman cried out, “they’re just freight cars.”

  “No,” Brother Willie said patiently. “They were freight cars. Now they have been outfitted with tiers of benches around all four sides, like seats in a circus tent. Each car will house about eighty passengers.”

  Every eye was staring at the cars now. Eighty! Eric felt his heart drop. Each car looked to be no more than thirty or forty feet long and maybe ten or fifteen feet wide. Could eighty people fit inside? Not “fit.” “Live!” Eighty people would have to live inside those cars. They would be their home for the next while. He shook his head, aware that little Jens was almost asleep on his back now.

  “I know what you are thinking,” President Willie said, speaking more softly now. “But we were fortunate to secure these. In the past some of our people have had to come in cattle cars. And those are not pleasant. Nothing but straw on the floors. Lice everywhere. A terrible smell.”

  “But where will we sleep?” It sounded like the same woman again.

  President Willie audibly sighed. “You will have to sleep as best you can. And the sanitary facilities will not be ideal. But brothers and sisters, it will be only two days and then we will board the steamship. That will be crowded, but you will have a place to stretch out and sleep and will have plenty of fresh air.”

  He waited. Perhaps it was good that they were all so exhausted, Eric decided. If they had been fresh and rested, there might have been much more protest. As it was, they just stared at the cars, wondering how they would manage.

  “Brother Atwood and I have to return to New York to attend to some unsettled business. We are asking Brother Levi Savage to take charge now. We will take an express train to Dunkirk when we are through and meet you at the docks.” He looked around. “Are there any questions?”

  No one raised a hand.

  “All right. Elder Savage has your tickets and your car assignments. Good luck, brothers and sisters. We’ll see you in Dunkirk.”

  III

  Friday, 20 June 1856

  Maggie found Hannah and Emma James near the front of the Jersey City steamship, leaning over the rail staring down into the water of Lake Erie. She pushed her way through the crowds until she reached their side.

  “Hi,” she said, moving in beside Hannah.

  “Hi. Did you finish?”

  Maggie nodded. “It’s all done.” She pulled a face. Scrubbing out their quarters down in steerage had left her a little dizzy. The air was thick and foul and gave her a headache whenever she was down there for very long. Previous passengers were not as concerned about keeping the quarters clean as were the sister Saints. With about seven hundred people in their company, President Willie and his counselors had booked all of the steerage space and put the women and children there. The men had been forced to sleep on the open decks. Immediately the sisters had set to work, much to the pleased surprise of the steamship’s crew, to clean out their quarters. They were doing it in shifts, and Maggie and her mother had taken the first turn along with Sister James and Sarah. Hannah and Emma would go down in a few minutes to take advantage of this “opportunity.”

  Maggie grabbed one of the steel posts that supported the deck of the ship above them. She leaned back, breathing deeply. “That air is wonderful,” she said.

  “I can’t believe they let that compartment get as bad as it is,” Hannah said, wrinkling her nose. “I hate it down there.”

  Emma turned on them. By nature Emma was the optimist, always cheerful, always bright, always trying to see the best side of things. “Well, at least we have a place to lie down when we sleep.” She was sixteen now and about six or seven months younger than Hannah.

  “Yes,” Maggie agreed. Her body still ached from two nights of trying to sleep on the narrow benches of the “emigrant cars,” with soot and cinders pouring in through the windows, and the violent rocking. Along one of the stretches, the engineer had opened the throttle and nearly run the train off the track. That had been in the middle of the night and frightened everyone so badly that no one slept until morning. They learned later that the engineer was from Ohio and was a virulent anti-Mormon. When he learned he had a load of Mormon emigrants, he determined that he was going to “drive the Mormons to hell.” It had been a very long two days. The steamship was filthy, but Emma was right. The steamer was a welcome change in at least one way.

  It was a beautiful day. They had boarded the Jersey City at six P.M. the previous evening and sailed shortly thereafter, but dark had quickly settled over the Great Lakes and they had not been able to see much. Now the sky was clear and the morning sun was warm off the water. Moving along at about ten miles per hour, the ship created its own breeze, which made the temperature just about perfect.

  “It seems so strange after the ocean,” Hannah said. “It’s so calm.”

  “Brother Savage said that in a storm the Great Lakes can get pretty rough too, but it sure doesn’t seem that way now,” responded Maggie.

  Off about two or three miles to their left, the shoreline of Ohio was slipping slowly past them. It was a deep green, broken only occasionally with a house or building. Maggie watched it for a minute or two and then remembered something President Willie had said as they were boarding. “We are going to stop at Cleveland in a little while.”

  “Yes,” Hannah said, “that’s what Elder Atwood said too.”

  “They say that Kirtland is only a few miles from there. Wouldn’t you love to go and see the temple?”

  Just then Sarah James slipped up behind them and put her arm around Maggie. “What temple?”

  “The Kirtland Temple. It’s not far from Cleveland, where w
e’ll be stopping for a while.”

  “Do you think we could go see it?” Emma asked eagerly.

  Maggie shook her head. “I heard some others ask, but President Willie said that first, it is too far away. The boat is going to stop for only a short time. Second, the leaders are going to have to work as quickly as possible just to buy more supplies for us. There won’t be any time for side trips.”

  They nodded at that. Purchasing food sufficient for their numbers was an ever-present challenge for their leaders. Coming across New York, it hadn’t been quite so difficult. Each place where the train stopped, a whole growing market designed to provide food for the rail travelers was springing up. But coping with seven hundred passengers at once often tested the local resources. In several places the agents bought up all the bread the village had to offer. Twice they had been favored by the “butcher boys,” food vendors who worked on the trains themselves. They sold bread, cheeses, and various smoked and dried meats, but most of the emigrants could not afford to purchase much at those prices and had to be content with what the agents procured.

  “When do we reach Toledo?” Sarah asked.

  “Tomorrow morning about nine,” Maggie answered. She had been favored to sit beside President Willie and Elder Atwood for a time this morning and had plied them with these very questions.

  “And then back onto the trains?” Hannah said in a despairing voice.

  “Yes. We go first to Chicago and then to Rock Island, Illinois. That’s where we cross the Mississippi River.”

  “I’m anxious to see that,” Emma said. “They say it makes any river in England look like a trickle of water.”

  “I’m anxious to see it too,” Maggie said, “but not because it’s big. Because it means we are almost to Iowa City.”