“You two grab hold of the horse’s tail,” Captain Martin said. “We can at least help pull you across.”
In two more minutes it was over. Aaron Jackson sat huddled on the ground as Elizabeth stripped off his shirt and put on a dry one. She had a towel, already quite damp, with which she rubbed him vigorously, trying to restore the circulation.
Captain Martin watched for a moment, the snow swirling around him. Then, seeing that Aaron was going to be all right, he straightened in the saddle and looked to the south. Most of the handcarts were across. The last two or three were now in the river, coming across as best they could. The river was alive with people moving across it, some with children on their backs, some pulling and dragging their carts, some just pushing across alone, no longer aware of where their families were.
“As quickly as you can, start moving,” Elder Martin shouted. “We’ve got to get to camp and get some fires started.”
“Thank you, Brother Martin,” Sister Jackson said, looking up at him, on the verge of tears.
The captain brushed that aside. “Watch for firewood as you go. There have been so many people pass through here, firewood is going to be scarce.”
With a wave he rode away, shouting at those who were standing around in half a stupor to get moving. Sister Jackson wrapped the blanket more tightly around her husband’s shoulders, then looked to Hannah and Ingrid. “We’re going to have to make a place for him in the cart. He can’t walk.”
They nodded and went around to the back of the cart, pulling things out and rearranging them as quickly as they could. Both girls were trembling and could barely move their fingers. They had now soaked every piece of clothing they owned. The skirts of their dresses crackled as they moved, already frozen in the howling wind. Their wet shoes slipped on the ground, which was now covered with half an inch of wet, slushy snow.
Finished, they turned around. Sister Jackson already had her husband on his feet. It said something about his condition that he offered not one word of protest as they helped him into the cart. They pulled the canvas around him as best they could.
“Martha Ann,” Sister Jackson said, “you get up there with Papa. Hold little Aaron on your lap and stay close together so you can stay warm.” She turned. “Mary Elizabeth. You’re going to have to walk with Mama. Come, take my hand.”
Moving as though their joints had rusted shut, Hannah and Ingrid moved to the front of the cart and prepared to get into the shafts. But as Ingrid bent over to pick up the cart, she cried out. “Oh, no!” Her hands flew up to touch her neck.
Hannah whirled. “What?”
“My shoes!”
Hannah stared, feeling suddenly sick. The new shoes that had hung around Ingrid’s neck for almost two full months now, that had become so much a part of her that they were like a coat or a shawl and were barely noticed anymore, were gone. “Where are they?”
Ingrid turned slowly, staring across the river. One hand came up to point. Tears welled up and began to trickle down her cheeks. “They’re over there.”
Hannah’s eyes searched until she recognized the little bush where they had stopped to wait for the crossing. For one quick moment through the storm she thought she could discern a bump in the snow beside the bush. She couldn’t be sure. It may have been a large stone.
“Oh, Ingrid!” she cried. She opened her arms and Ingrid fell into them and began to sob. It was the first time Hannah had ever seen her cry openly like this. “Maybe someone in the Hunt Company will see them—” She stopped. They both knew it wasn’t true. They were already hidden by the snow. In another hour no one would even notice the bump anymore.
Ingrid pushed away, wiping at her eyes with the backs of her hands. “We have to go,” she said. “I’m all right. It will be all right.”
Hannah was weeping, feeling as though her heart were breaking. “President Young will understand, Ingrid. He’ll understand.”
Chapter Notes
Bearing in mind that the Martin Company did not keep a consistent daily journal as did the Willie Company, it is more difficult to put together a detailed and accurate day-to-day picture of what was happening with them. As John Jaques himself wrote: “Thenceforth [after leaving Fort Laramie], until the close of the journey we were so fully occupied in taking care of ourselves that we had little time to spare to note details with exactness, and many notes that were made at that time were lost” (in Bell, Life History and Writings of John Jaques, pp. 141–42). But one thing is clear. Their situation only became worse as they approached the crisis brought on by diminishing rations, colder weather, and dying animals. All indications are that the Martin Company, with a higher proportion of the elderly, were having a more difficult time making their way.
No mention is made by those in the Martin Company about the letter from Elder Richards, but it is difficult to believe that he would send information about the supply wagons back to the Willie Company and not do the same for the Martin group. The author therefore has assumed that the same letter continued eastward by the hand of someone and eventually reached the Martin Company too.
It is John Jaques who gives us the detail about the decision to burn badly needed clothing and blankets on 17 October (see Bell, Life History and Writings of John Jaques, p. 144). Edward Martin was not a novice on the trail, neither was he foolish enough to think that they could go another four hundred miles in the winter season without suffering from the loss of those goods. That decision says much about how desperate their condition had become at that point. Tragically, it was only two days later that the first snowstorm swept out of the northwest and engulfed the two handcart companies.
As will be seen from later journal entries, this storm was the front end of a massive winter storm coming out of Canada that would cover a huge area of the country and last for several days. It caught the Willie Company at Ice Springs, just west of the fifth crossing of the Sweetwater. It caught the Martin Company at the last crossing of the North Platte, just as they were fording the river.
It is also John Jaques who describes the physical state of the Martin Company emigrants about this time: “In the progress of the journey it was not difficult to tell who was going to die within two or three weeks. The gaunt form, hollow eyes, and sunken countenance, discolored to a weather-beaten sallow, with the gradual weakening of the mental faculties, plainly foreboded the coming and not far distant dissolution” (quoted in Christy, “Weather, Disaster, and Responsibility,” p. 36).
Though the Martin Company did not keep consistent records, one event is mentioned in virtually every diary or later account written by members of the company, and that is the last crossing of the North Platte River. The storm alone would have been a crisis of enormous proportions, given the weakened state they were in; but to have it hit when they were soaking wet and already chilled to the bone is almost beyond comprehension. That any survived is a miracle. That most did is almost inconceivable. One tiny glimpse of what they suffered is offered by Josiah Rogerson, Sr., in an account published much later in the Salt Lake Tribune. He said that “the results of the wading of this river by the female members of our company was immediately followed by partial and temporary dementia, from which several did not recover till the next spring” (in Turner, Emigrating Journals, p. 118).
Aaron Jackson was very sick at this time and stayed behind as Elizabeth took her three children across the river. When he tried to make it on his own, he came only partway before collapsing on a sandbar. In the novel, Hannah and Ingrid go to his aid. In actuality, Elizabeth was traveling with her sister, Mary Horrocks Leavitt, who went back to help Aaron and then later helped Elizabeth pull him in the handcart to the camp. Someone on horseback also came to help and carried him across the river, according to Sister Jackson’s later account (see Kingsford, Leaves from the Life of Elizabeth Horrocks Jackson Kingsford, pp. 5–6).
Patience Loader, sister-in-law to John Jaques, whose father, James Loader, had died at Ash Hollow, wrote a detailed account of her experie
nce and describes the crossing in some detail. “We traveled on until we came to the last crossing of the Platte River. Here we met the wagon company. They were camped for the night. We of the handcart company had orders from Captain Martin to cross the river that afternoon and evening.” In the wagon company was a man they knew who offered to help.
His heart went out in sympathy for mother and us girls when we told him that dear father was dead. He felt sorry to see us having to wade the river and pull the cart through. He took mother on his mule behind him, telling her to hold fast to him and he would return and bring the cart through the river. This we did not know he intended to do so we started to cross the river pulling our own cart. The water was deep and very cold and we were drifted out of the regular crossing and we came near to drowning. The water came up to our arm pits. Poor mother was standing on the bank screaming, as we got near the bank I heard her say, “For God’s sake some of you men help my poor girls.” Mother said she had been watching us and could see we were drifting down stream. Several of the brethren came down and pulled our cart up the bank for us and we got up the best way we could. Mother Loader showed great wisdom by carrying in her basket dry stockings to put on the family after they had waded streams, and on her body she wore extra underskirts for the same purpose. Mother took off her underskirts and apron and put on us to keep the wet clothing from us. . . .
When we were in the middle of the river I saw a poor man carrying his child on his back. He fell down in the water. I never knew if he was drowned or not. I felt sorry that we could not help him but we had all we could do to save ourselves from drowning.
We had to travel in our wet clothes until we got to camp [on the north side of the river]. Our clothing was nearly frozen on us and when we got to camp we had very little dry clothing to put on. We had to make the best of our poor circumstances and put our trust in God that we take no harm. It was too late to go for wood and water. The wood was too far away. That night the ground was frozen so hard we were unable to drive any tent pins in and the tent was wet. When we had taken it down in the morning it was somewhat frozen so we stretched it open the best we could and got in under it until morning. (In Bell, Life History and Writings of John Jaques, pp. 145–46)
Book 5
The Rescue
October 1856
My faith is, when we have done all we can, then the Lord is under obligation, and will not disappoint the faithful. . . .
. . . If there had been no other way, the Lord would have helped them [the handcart companies], if He had had to send His angels to drive up buffaloes day after day, and week after week. I have full confidence that the Lord would have done His part; my only lack of confidence is, that those who profess to be Saints will not do right and perform their duty.
Brigham Young, discourse given in the Tabernacle, Salt Lake City, 16 November 1856
Chapter 21
Great Salt Lake City
I
Saturday, 4 October 1856
It was a glorious day. After about a week of rainy, overcast weather, Indian summer had returned in all its splendor. The sky was a deep blue with only a few puffy clouds over the western mountains. There was a slight breeze coming off the Great Salt Lake that kept the air temperature just below seventy, which was perfect for working vigorously.
David Granger stopped, the pitchfork poised for its toss up onto the hay wagon. He let his eyes slowly move across the whole sweep of the mountains that formed the eastern wall of the Great Salt Lake Valley. Just two weeks ago, standing in this same field, he had looked to the mountains, searching for the first signs of color. Then he had seen only a few isolated splashes, as though some painter had accidently flicked his brush on a broad canvas of greens and summer browns. Now the whole mountain was ablaze with orange, reds, and yellows. From the Point of the Mountain down near Draper on the south to the hills around Ensign Peak on the north, it was like some incredible mural spread out by God just for the looking.
“What ya looking at?”
He turned and squinted up at his younger brother. Alma was atop the growing pile of hay, using a smaller fork to spread it around as David fed it up to him. Alma was fourteen, just entering that time of life when he was growing so fast that neither his stomach nor his mother’s sewing could keep pace with it. He was skinny as a fence post, freckled from the tip of his head to the ends of his fingers, and impudent as a red squirrel guarding a horde of acorns. A shock of auburn-blond hair exploded on his head, completely untamable by brush or comb.
“Nothing.” He tossed the hay up, making Alma jump out of the way rather than get hit with it. As Alma began to spread it around, David took a step forward, sliding the wooden tines beneath the windrows of hay and then moving forward so that it pushed more and more onto his fork. Once it was full, he turned and in one smooth motion, tossed it up to Alma.
Eleanor clucked softly to the team and they moved forward a few feet.
“That’s good,” David called. He shouldn’t have. The horses stopped on their own and immediately lowered their heads and half shut their eyes again.
He looked up at his sister. Eleanor was seventeen, three and a half years younger than David. Another girl born between them had died at birth, so Eleanor was next to David in the family. She was engaged to be married in December to Abner Bennett from the Thirteenth Ward. At fourteen she had been a shorter, female version of Alma, except for the freckles. Now the skinny little girl was gone. The features had softened into something quite lovely. Her hair was long and straight, reminding David of honey being poured out in full sunlight. She had become very pretty, so perhaps there was hope for Alma as well.
David was made from a different mold, more along the lines of his father. He was not quite six feet tall and was solidly built, a trait enhanced by a lifetime of working a farm with his father. His hair was darker, a light brown, and more fine than Eleanor’s, which was thick and rich. His eyes were hazel where Eleanor’s and Alma’s were blue. He had his father’s nose and the same high, prominent cheekbones. He realized, without resentment, that those features left him short of the beauty that was his sister’s.
He saw that Eleanor was giving him a strange look and realized he had been staring at her. “Wish we could take a ride up through the canyons right now.”
She smiled immediately. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful! They are so beautiful.”
He looked at her slyly. “Bet Abner would go with us.”
“I’ll go,” Alma said eagerly.
Eleanor ignored her younger brother. “He would love it. There’s only one problem. We aren’t going anywhere unless we get this hay in before the Sabbath tomorrow.”
David turned, knowing she was right, but still longing for the mountains anyway. “I’ll bet those people in the handcart companies got an eyeful coming up and over Big Mountain.”
“Yes,” she murmured. “It must be wonderful about now.” Her eyes were gazing at the slash in the mountain wall that was Emigration Canyon. They couldn’t see much beyond it, but they could picture what lay beyond. The summit of Little Mountain was at the head of the canyon, and beyond that the towering peak that was Big Mountain. It was in 1848, just eight years ago, that the two of them had come with their family over Big Mountain and down Emigration Canyon. They had not left Winter Quarters until late May, so it was late September when they reached the mountains. And those mountains had been on fire with color. To a nine-year-old girl and her thirteen-year-old brother who had grown up on the Great Plains, it was a sight never to be forgotten.
“Heber P. said some of the Minute Men rode up the canyon to meet this last group that came in day before yesterday.” He frowned heavily. “Nobody told me about that or I would have been with them, that’s for dang sure.”
“David Granger!”
He pretended surprise. “What?”
“You watch your tongue or Mama is going to make you stop spending so much time with those Minute Men.”
“I don’t talk no differ
ent than Heber P., and his pa is a member of the First Presidency.” That should stop her short, he thought. He and Heber Parley Kimball, one of Heber C. Kimball’s sons—everyone called him Heber P. to distinguish him from his father—were of the same age and best friends. “And I’ve heard Brigham, Jr., say a ‘dang’ or two as well.”
She decided to avoid that one and tipped her head to one side. “Your wanting to go meet the handcarts wouldn’t have anything to do with all those single young ladies in the company, I suppose?” she asked innocently.
He laughed. “Listen, little sister. Just because you’re finally getting married, don’t be pushing me in that direction.”
“Finally?” she huffed. “I’ll be eighteen in November. Sally Miner was married when she was barely sixteen. So don’t you be talking ‘finally’ with me.”
Then she saw that he was baiting her—a favorite pastime of his—and decided to prod him back a little. “Probably none of those girls would want some old man who’s already turned twenty-one. You know what President Young says. Your kind is a danger to society.”
He laughed, enjoying this little game they had with each other. “Now, sis, you know he said the danger comes only after I’m twenty-four.”
“And you know he said that a young man—surely that means before twenty-one—should be finding him a wife and getting him some land and building a cottage and settling down.”
He looked offended. “But I’m just a boy yet. Me?” he said, stabbing at his chest with his thumb, “I’m going to be a bachelor till I’m thirty or more. Break the hearts of all them maidens who have been begging me to show ’em my favors.”
She laughed airily. “All none of them?” she said.
Eleanor didn’t really mean that. She had four or five friends who would give just about anything if her brother would pay them even the slightest amount of attention, but he showed no interest. That, as her mother kept saying, was directly attributable to his being one of the new Nauvoo Legion’s young Minute Men.
Fire of the Covenant Page 50
