But ten minutes later when Major Burton came riding back down the line, announcing that they would stop here tonight with the Smoot Company, the news was all bad. Brother Smoot knew nothing concerning the whereabouts of the two additional companies. His company had come upon the Willie group in early September, but that had been clear back on the North Platte River. At that point the Willie Company had been stopped looking for cattle lost in a buffalo stampede. Smoot had moved on and had not seen them or heard from them again.
Openly alarmed that nothing was known of their whereabouts, Captain Grant called his other leaders into council. After considerable discussion and numerous suggestions, a decision was made. In the morning an “express” party would leave at first light. They would take a light wagon and the best two span of horses in the company. They would race forward as swiftly as possible to try and find the missing companies. He chose four of his most trusted men—Abel Garr, William H. Kimball, Joseph A. Young, and Stephen Taylor. They wouldn’t be able to carry much more than their own gear and food enough for the four of them, plus some bales of hay for the teams, so they couldn’t do anything to relieve the plight of the emigrants. What they would carry with them, which probably at this point would be as critical as flour or rice or even warm clothing, was hope. Captain Grant said that if his suspicions were correct, right now hope might be the best possible commodity those struggling Saints could receive.
III
Saturday, 18 October 1856
David Granger was on horseback at the moment, moving at a steady walk off to the side of the trail about midway back in the line of wagons. A movement caught his eye and he turned to see two dozen flashes of tan and white racing across the olive-green landscape. Antelope. At about five hundred yards. Far too distant and far too swift for a possible shot. But in the afternoon sun their bodies were like liquid gold.
“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”
He looked at the wagon where Heber P. Kimball was currently at the reins. He was not looking at David but was watching the animals, who were now running at full speed, headed for the top of the ridge, still about a mile away.
“How fast do you think them honeys can run?” David said.
They had been seeing antelope for the past six days now, and it wasn’t the first time he had asked that question either to himself or to his friend. There was no answer, of course. They could outrun a horse by double. Some claimed they were faster than the most powerful steam engine. That was hotly disputed because there were no trains out here to match against the fleet-footed animals. But some locomotives were said to be able to reach sixty miles an hour.
As he watched them growing smaller rapidly, David was sure of only one thing. However fast it was, at full speed they were dazzling to watch and he never tired of it. He looked at his friend. “Pacific or Atlantic antelope?” he drawled lazily.
Heber P. looked up in surprise. Then his head bobbed momentarily as he understood what David was suggesting. “I’ll say Atlantic.”
“And I’ll say Pacific,” David said, just to be different, even though it looked like they were going straight up and over the top of the ridge.
“All right, let’s watch.”
The long, low ridge that formed most of the eastern skyline ahead of the wagons was South Pass, the dividing backbone of the North American continent. Currently the antelope were racing for the top of that ridge in full flight. If they went over, they would soon be grazing on sagebrush watered by rain and snow that would eventually flow down to the Gulf of Mexico and the Atlantic Ocean. Behind the column of wagons, still visible, in fact, was Pacific Springs, so named because its waters flowed westward, becoming Pacific Creek, which flowed into the Little Sandy River, which flowed into the Big Sandy and then to the Green and finally to the Colorado, which emptied into the Pacific. So if the antelope didn’t turn . . .
Just then the herd wheeled to the left, looking very much like a flock of birds spinning in perfect synchronization. They came almost all the way around, heading back nearly in the same direction they had come, but about a half mile away now. Their headlong flight up and over South Pass now became a sprint for the lowlands behind them.
“Told you,” David chortled. “Pacific antelope through and through.”
“They really are something,” Heber P. whispered as the animals went up and over a low hill and disappeared. “I wish Brig were here. He would love this, wouldn’t he?”
“Yeah. You could sure see the disappointment on his face when we left.”
David stood up in the stirrups, glad to give his backside a rest for a moment from the hardness of the saddle. He let his eyes sweep the sky and take stock of what he saw. Directly behind them, the sky was blue and the sun was shining. But off to the south it was a different story. The gentle ridge of South Pass rose sharply into a high plateau known as Pacific Butte. Some distance beyond that, the sky was almost black and tendrils of gray hung down like mists, signaling rain or snow—almost certainly snow, as cold as it was. But other than the wind—that incessant, never-ending wind—the temperature here was somewhat bearable.
Heber was watching his friend. “We’ve been lucky so far, haven’t we?”
“Yes, we have.” They had seen snow flurries a couple of times, and the days were cold and the nights bitter, but so far they had not had any real storm. The trail had been hard packed and good for traveling and they were making excellent time. “That could end tonight,” David suggested.
“I know.” Heber clucked at the mules absently, staring out at the top of the ridge, which was now a lot closer. “How far is it after we cross the pass?” he asked.
David dropped back into the saddle again. “Elder Grant said about eight or nine miles before we strike the Sweetwater. You ready to change?”
“After we’re over the top,” Heber P. replied. “I’m the Pacific teamster, remember? You’re the Atlantic.”
IV
Sunday, 19 October 1856
“David! David, wake up!”
Coming awake with a jerk, David Granger looked around wildly. The light in their small tent was faint, and he could barely discern the dark figure kneeling over him. “Heber?”
“Yes. Come on, boy. Wake up. Daylight is upon us.”
David moaned softly and rolled over on his side. “What time is it?”
“Sun’s been up for an hour.”
David came up on one elbow and stared at the walls of the tent. The first thing he noted was that the canvas was rippling in and out. Then he heard the sound of the wind. The second thing he saw was that the canvas showed some light through it, but it was hardly bright sun. “What are you talking about?”
There was a soft chuckle. “Okay, maybe it’s going to be coming up in an hour.”
David swung at him. “Go away. This was not a good night for me.”
“You’re telling me? It was like trying to sleep in a butter churn. You were rolling all over the place all night long. Bad dreams?”
“Yeah. Wild dreams. Really weird stuff.”
“Well, here’s something to add to your day.” Heber turned and crawled over to the tent flap and raised it up. Now the light flooded in and David had to close his eyes for a minute. When he half opened them and looked outside, he groaned and fell back on his bed. “Snow?”
“Yup. About three or four inches’ worth.” He let the flap drop again and moved over to sit beside David. “Captain Grant says we’re going to stay put for a while this morning. He wants to kill another beef. With fifty of us, we’re going through meat like a bear through a beehive.”
David reached for his trousers and began to pull them on. “More than fifty, if you count those wagons that came in last night.”
“Yeah, that’s right. Good thing they got in before the snow started.”
David nodded. Three additional wagons with six teamsters from the Valley had come in just after dark last night, very grateful to have finally caught up with the main train. And Captain Grant wa
s grateful to have them. All three wagons were loaded with flour. That meant another six thousand pounds they could count on.
He stood up, pulling on his pants, shivering with the cold. A gust of wind shook the tent, rattling the poles softly. “Is it still snowing?”
“No, but it’s blowing hard out of the north now. And colder than cold. I think it’s just a matter of time.”
David sighed as he hurriedly put on his shirt. “This is the day we’ve all been dreading. We knew it had to come sooner or later. Too bad it couldn’t wait another week.”
Now all the humor and teasing in his friend was gone. “Yes, it is,” Heber P. answered. “I’m afraid this is going to be a big one.”
•••
By ten o’clock, with the beef butchered and quartered, Captain George D. Grant called for a meeting of the camp. The men came in small groups as the word passed from wagon to wagon. They were camped in a scattering of trees and thick willows near what was called the last crossing of the Sweetwater River. For those going east it was actually the first crossing. That gave them some shelter from the wind, but even then the men came bundled up to their fullest. Scarves covered faces; hats were pulled down low to block the blowing snow; gloved hands were thrust deep into coat pockets; feet stomped up and down to keep them warm in spite of heavy boots and two or three pairs of wool stockings.
The wind had picked up force now, and the light snow was already starting to pile up in low drifts. Off to one side, the horses and mules and the beef cattle huddled together, tails to the wind, heads down, a picture of utter misery. The snow was definitely increasing, though at the moment it was hard to tell what was coming down from the sky and what was being whipped up from the ground.
They gathered around the large fire built beside the lead wagon. Someone had thrown the remainder of the firewood on it, and the fire was blazing fiercely. The men gathered around in a horseshoe circle, leaving the south side open for the wind to whip away the smoke and the burning embers.
When the last of them arrived, Brother Grant, Brother Burton, and Brother William Kimball climbed up on the tailgate of their wagon so that everyone could see them clearly. The wind snatched Brother Burton’s scarf and tore it away from his face. He had to grab at it to stop it from blowing away. Brother Kimball grabbed his hat and pulled it down more tightly before he lost that too.
“Brethren.” Captain Grant’s eyes were narrowed to a squint because he was facing into the wind so he could look directly at the men. “Brother Burton and Brother Kimball and I have been discussing our situation. As you see, our weather is deteriorating rapidly and we still have no word of the handcart companies. It has been six days now since we sent four of our brethren off as an express party to try and find the lost sheep. I had fully expected that by now those men would have found our lost Saints and sent word back to us of their whereabouts. The fact that they have not bodes us no good.”
David looked at Heber P. and they both shook their heads. The express group had left from Black’s Fork. In a light wagon with two span of good horses, they should be covering twenty-five or thirty miles a day. In six days, that was a hundred and fifty miles. Where in the world were they?
“At the time we sent them,” Brother Grant went on, “I was sure they would find the handcart companies somewhere along the Sweetwater. It is a real surprise that we have heard nothing. I told the four of them not to go farther than Devil’s Gate, but to wait there for us to catch up. I never in the world dreamed that they might actually have to go that far.”
“Maybe the companies have decided to winter over somewhere,” someone suggested.
Brother Grant immediately started to shake his head. So did Chauncey Webb and William Kimball. “It’s possible,” Brother Grant admitted, “but not likely.”
Chauncey Webb stepped forward. “They don’t have either the food or the clothing to get them through a winter out here on the high plains.”
“What if they stopped at Fort Laramie?” someone else called out. “That would explain why the express hasn’t found them, if they are going only as far as Devil’s Gate.”
Now it was William Kimball who answered. “Brethren, when we came through Fort Laramie we asked about food. They have very little. We have to face the fact that these people are out here somewhere, and by now they are in desperate need of our help. Their clothes are ragged and worn. Their shoes are in tatters and some are without. Their food will be almost gone by now. It would be nice to think that they are in a safe haven somewhere, but what if we are wrong? Would any of you like to take the responsibility for that?”
No one answered.
“And now the storm has come,” Brother Grant came back in. “And it looks like it’s going to be a bad one. Therefore, we have decided that we must push on with all possible speed.” There was a crooked grin for a moment. “Not that we have been slacking so far.”
There was a groan or two to underscore that statement. They had driven hard to this point.
“We can’t afford to drive the beef cattle that we got at Fort Bridger. They are slowing us down too much. And yet we need the meat. Some of our teams are starting to fail, and this snow won’t help that in any way. Therefore, we have asked Brother Reddick Allred—a courageous and able man, as most of you know—to stay here with the cattle and four of our wagons.”
“Well,” David said quietly, “that’s a surprise.” He wasn’t speaking about Reddick Allred. Though he didn’t know this man as well as some of the others, he knew of his reputation. Here was another Mormon Battalion veteran and a man who had crossed the trail more than once. No, the surprise was the decision to separate their forces.
“Those three wagons that came in last night will also stay here with Reddick. Some of our animals are failing and badly need to rest. We shall leave them here with Brother Allred as well. Once we find our people, we will probably need space in the wagons to carry the sick and the weak, so we are going to off-load here some of the food we have. That way we can travel faster and also have room for those in need of help. Once we find the handcarts, we will send word back to Brother Allred here and have him move forward to meet us. That way we will have food in reserve for when we shall surely need it the most.”
He looked around. No one was going to protest this decision. The minute he put it into words, they saw the wisdom of it. “We’ll ask Brother Allred to butcher and dress the beef while he is waiting for us.” He pretended to shiver. “We’re not too worried about it spoiling.”
The men hooted. The way things were going, some of those cows risked being frozen solid before they ever killed them.
“Brother Allred?”
“Yes, Brother Grant?”
“Have you selected the men to stay back with you as guards?”
“I have. In addition to the six men who came in last night, I have four others besides myself.” He handed a small slip of paper to Captain Grant.
David looked at Heber in dismay. He fully supported Captain Grant in this decision, but he didn’t want to be one of those to stay here. To just sit and wait? He held his breath.
Captain Grant perused the list, nodded curtly, then read out the four names. David and Heber breathed a deep sigh of relief. They were not among those called out.
“All right, brethren. Those of you going forward, I want to be moving in the next half an hour. Get those tents down and packed.” He looked up. Now there was no question that the snow that filled the air was no longer just blowing up from the ground. The flakes were small, almost pelletized, but they were slanting in thickly on the north wind. He turned back to his men. “The weather is not cooperating. Let’s make that fifteen minutes.”
As Heber and David turned and headed for their tent, Heber rubbed his gloved hands together. “What must it be like for those poor people who don’t have the proper clothing?”
“Unbelievable,” David murmured, hardly able to conceive facing this kind of storm when you were not properly prepared for it.
“I don’t know.” He increased his pace a little. “But one thing is for sure. We have got to find them, Heber, and find them fast.”
Chapter Notes
The response to Brigham Young’s call for help was really quite remarkable. By Tuesday morning, just sixty or so hours after the arrival of Franklin D. Richards in Salt Lake, the first wagons were headed east. Bearing in mind that each wagon could carry close to two thousand pounds of goods, that means about twenty-two tons of supplies were on their way before three full days had passed. About ten thousand pounds of that was flour.
President Young asked those volunteers who could be on their way within twenty-four hours to rendezvous on the trail between Little and Big Mountains. One group led by Reddick Allred stopped at the bottom of Little Mountain (that is, on the east side), while the group led by George D. Grant made it to the base of Big Mountain (see “The Diary of Reddick N. Allred,” in Carter, comp., Treasures of Pioneer History 5:345; see also Bartholomew and Arrington, Rescue, pp. 9–10; “Journal of the First Rescue Party” and “Harvey Cluff’s Account of the Rescue,” in Hafen and Hafen, Handcarts to Zion, pp. 222, 232). The second group caught up with Captain Grant’s group on Wednesday and they then became one company (see Allred diary, in Carter, comp., Treasures of Pioneer History 5:345).
Though there are slightly different versions of how the rescue company was organized, it seems clear that George D. Grant was captain, with William H. Kimball and Robert T. Burton as his assistants (see Jones, Forty Years Among the Indians, p. 63; and Allred diary, in Carter, comp., Treasures of Pioneer History, 5:345).
As indicated, six of those in that first rescue party had just arrived in Salt Lake on Saturday afternoon after an absence from their wives and families of from two to four years. On Tuesday morning they were back on the road again. In addition to George D. Grant, the others were William H. Kimball, Chauncey G. Webb—both of whom had also been Church agents in Iowa City—Joseph A. Young, Cyrus Wheelock, and James Ferguson (see Hafen and Hafen, Handcarts to Zion, p. 124). Of this sacrifice, John Chislett later wrote: “Among the brethren who came to our succor were elders W. H. Kimball and G. D. Grant. They had remained but a few days in the Valley before starting back to meet us. May God ever bless them for their generous, unselfish kindness and their manly fortitude! They felt that they had, in a great measure, contributed to our sad position; but how nobly, how faithfully, how bravely they worked to bring us safely to the Valley—to the Zion of our hopes!” (in Remember, p. 9).
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