His shoulders straightened as he looked around. Standing here worrying about it certainly wasn’t going to warm his feet up. Getting his bearings, he started for one of the tents at the outskirts of the camp. When he reached it, now making his own track through the snow, he paused for a moment. Here no one had been outside yet. Were they awake? And then he heard the murmur of women’s voices from inside. He stepped forward and rapped on the tent softly. Snow cascaded down and he had to jump back to avoid being inundated.
“Yes?”
“Sister Bathgate? It’s Eric.”
“Oh, yes. Good morning, Eric.”
“Just seeing how you and Sister Isabella are. Is everything all right?”
“We’re just fine, thank you. A little hungry, perhaps, but we’ll fix that with a hearty breakfast in a bit.”
He laughed. What a joy these two were! Even in the face of near disaster they had not lost their wry sense of humor. “You’re sure?” he called softly.
“Yes, really. You go see to Maggie. She’s the one we are worried about.”
“Yah,” he murmured. “Me too.” He moved away, heading straight for the river. The James and McKensie tent was set up only a rod or so from the water. A movement out of the corner of his eye brought his head around. It was Olaf, just coming out of their tent. He didn’t want to call out, for some might be asleep, so Eric waved at him. Olaf waved back and, guessing where Eric was going, started moving toward the river as well.
“How are the sisters?” Olaf asked as their paths merged.
“They say they’re fine.”
“And Maggie?”
“That’s what I’m going to find out right now.”
As the two of them approached the tent, the flap suddenly opened and Robbie McKensie stepped out. He was followed closely by Reuben James. Both were bundled up in their tattered coats and threadbare scarfs. Eric noticed that Robbie’s mittens had holes in the palms where he had pushed at the back of the McKensie handcart.
“Good morning,” Robbie said when he saw the two brothers.
“Good morning, Robbie. How are you this morning?”
“Hungry,” he said without bitterness. Then he grinned. “And you?”
“About the same,” Eric said. “We have simply got to start eating better, don’t you think?”
“Ha!” Reuben exclaimed. “I would like to do that too. Any suggestions?”
“How’s Maggie, Robbie?”
He shook his head. “She was coughing in the night, but she says she’s not any worse.”
Eric nodded soberly and looked at Reuben. Robbie was twelve and Reuben was fourteen. Now they both looked like they were in their forties. Their faces were drawn, the flesh stretched tightly over their cheekbones. It was hard to remember that they were still boys. “How’s your father, Reuben?”
“Not good, Eric. Mama is really worried. He got really cold riding in the cart yesterday.”
“I could tell.”
“He won’t be able to walk today. And with the snow, I don’t know what we’re going to do.”
Olaf turned and looked across the river where the indentations of the wagon tracks that marked the trail could be faintly discerned. Other than that, the scene was one vast expanse of rolling whiteness, hill after gentle hill of snow-covered desert. “It is not going to be a good day,” he said softly.
The four boys fell silent, contemplating what it was going to take to pull handcarts through that country when they were already weak and cold and near exhaustion from yesterday’s pull.
“I can help with your other cart again,” Eric finally said to Reuben. “Other than that, we will just have to ask the Lord to strengthen us.”
“Yah,” Olaf responded. “He has done it often enough before. But today we shall especially need it.”
Eric turned away from the trail. There was no sense worrying about what lay ahead now. It would be waiting for them soon enough. “Let’s get some wood and get a fire started.”
“Yes,” Robbie said. “That’s what Mama and Sister James said too.”
As they started for a thick stand of willows, Eric stopped. He was looking in the direction of Elder Willie’s tent. Where there had been three men before, now there were five. A sixth man was coming toward them, leading two mules already saddled. Eric watched for a moment, a little surprised. Why were they mounting up this soon? The camp wouldn’t be ready to move out for another hour and a half, maybe two.
“Where are they going?” Olaf asked.
“I don’t know. Stay here. I’m going to find out.”
As he approached the small group of men, Eric immediately saw that it was their subcaptains standing around with Elder Willie—Savage, Atwood, Chislett, Woodward. He noted immediately that Johan Ahmanson was not among them and again felt a pang of grief that his friend and mentor was having difficulty in dealing with the challenges which faced them.
James Willie looked up as they heard his footsteps. “Eric. Oh, good. You can carry the word back to your hundred for us.”
“Word about what?” he said, glancing at the mules. The man holding the reins was Brother Joseph Elder.
Brother Willie was pulling on gloves. Once they were on, he blew on them, as though he might warm his hands through the leather. “We’re not going to move the camp, Eric.”
His eyebrows shot up in surprise.
“There’s no way the company can go on,” Levi Savage said. “Not in this snow.”
“But—”
“The relief wagons are out there somewhere,” Brother Willie said grimly. “Brother Elder and I are going to go find them. We’re leaving Brother Woodward in charge of the camp.”
“You’re going alone?” Eric exclaimed.
“There’ll be two of us,” Brother Elder said.
James Willie hugged himself, turning his back to the fire and moving a little closer. “We fear that they may have stopped in the storm. We’ve got to find those wagons and tell them how desperate our situation is. Our camp can’t go on. We just can’t.”
Eric had not meant to sound like he was protesting. He was just greatly surprised. In actuality, the news came as a great relief to him. It would mean a world of difference to Maggie and Brother James—to all of the camp, for that matter—if they could rest for the day.
William Woodward was nodding. “Do you want the rest of the provisions distributed this morning, then?”
Their captain hesitated and then nodded. “We don’t have any choice. Give out the last of those dried biscuits. There should be about one pound per person left. Thankfully, you have plenty of good water and enough willows to keep the fires going.”
“And what about the beef?” Brother Savage asked.
“You may as well kill two more and distribute the meat.” Brother Willie sighed. “Not that it will be much good to the people. The meat anymore looks and tastes like chunks of red clay, but yes, kill what you feel you need.”
“It’s you two that we’re worried about,” John Chislett said softly. “Do you think you can find the trail in the snow? If that wind picks up again . . .” He just shook his head.
James Willie nodded slowly, his eyes dark and brooding. “We ride with the Lord, firm in the faith that He has not forsaken us. Brethren, Brother Elder and I will not be alone. Nor will you. We ask that you and the camp pray to God with all the energy of your souls that the Lord will hear our cries in this our extremity and bring us deliverance. We must find those wagons.”
Then, suddenly determined, he turned to Brother Elder. “Are you ready?”
“Yes, sir. Let’s do it.”
He handed Captain Willie the reins of his mule and they both swung up. “May God be with you, brethren,” Brother Willie said as he wheeled the mule around.
“And with you,” Levi Savage said quietly.
•••
When Eric came back to the tent, Sister James and Sister McKensie were outside, bent over the small pile of willows the boys had collected, preparing to st
art the fires. Mary McKensie straightened. “What’s happening, Eric? Where are those men going?”
“To find the wagons.” He reached out and touched her arm briefly, then looked at Sister James as well. “Good news. We’re going to stay here until Elder Willie gets back.”
Jane James stared at him for a moment, then dropped her head into her hands. “Thank heavens.”
“Oh, that is wonderful news,” Mary cried. “I didn’t know how we could do it today.”
“We couldn’t.” Eric paused for a moment. “Is Maggie awake?”
“Yes.”
He gave her a questioning look. She finally looked away. “She says she is no worse.”
“I asked Brother Woodward to help me give her and Brother James a blessing today.”
“That would be wonderful, Eric,” Mary said.
“Yes,” Jane said. “Thank you, Eric. I am terribly worried about William.”
“It’s going to be all right,” Eric said, trying to sound confident. “If we have—how you say it? lucky day?—then those wagons won’t be too far away.”
•••
Twenty-five miles to the west, in the thick willows along Rock Creek, near where it emptied into the Sweetwater River, the wind was blowing but at a greatly reduced scale. The snow came down in soft swirls and fell silently among the thickets. But David Granger wasn’t fooled by that. He could hear the wind sighing in the upper boughs of the trees along the river, and across the creek about 150 yards away the snow was pouring over a ridge top in billowing clouds and long, misty tendrils, already forming a long drift. That was a clear indicator of what it would be like up in the higher, open country. He shivered a little. It was cold enough down here that the snow squeaked a little beneath his feet. In the wind it would be unbearable. The thought of being out there in the open was not something to comfort the soul.
He turned around, holding out his hands toward the fire. The other men around him were doing the same. They had three fires in the camp and all were crackling and spitting as they consumed the piles of dead willows that had been thrown on them. Someone had nursed the coals during the night, thank heavens, and it had been a simple thing to get them up to full strength again this morning. Around each of the fires, ten or twelve men stood together. They kept glancing over to Captain Grant’s tent, wondering what their leaders were deciding.
They didn’t have to wait long. George D. Grant, Major Robert Burton, William H. Kimball, and Charles Decker, their lead scout, broke off and turned and walked to the nearest fire. Major Burton waved his arm, calling the others to join them.
David looked at Heber P. and nodded. This was what they had been waiting for. Following the trails through the snow, which down here in the copse of willows was only four or five inches deep, they gathered around their leaders to hear what they had to say.
Brother Grant wasted no time getting to it. “Brethren, under the circumstances, with the storm showing no signs of let up, we think it would be foolish for us to try and go on today.”
He stopped to let that settle in. There was worry on the leathered faces and in these eyes that had seen too many summers out in the open or too much sunlight bouncing off snow-covered ranges. Concern for the handcart Saints was evident on the countenances of these men, but there was also relief. A storm of this magnitude and ferocity demanded respect from even the most seasoned outdoorsman. Some of those drifts would be up to the wagon boxes by now, and nothing could take the heart out of a team faster than having to buck their way through that kind of snow. If the men got caught out in the open and ruined their teams, they wouldn’t be rescuing a jackrabbit out here, let alone a thousand starving people.
Brother Burton cleared his throat. “If the storm blows through, we’ll follow right behind it. Until then, check your gear. Make sure everything’s in good repair. And make sure the livestock is secure. We can’t afford to lose any teams at this point.” He looked around, seeming to be satisfied with what he saw. “Be ready to move out quickly if we decide to go.”
Chapter Notes
It was about noon on 19 October, shortly after they left Ice Springs, that the Willie Company met the express party sent forward by Captain George D. Grant. Though the express party could offer no immediate relief from the crisis, the response to their appearance can only be imagined by modern readers. In typical understatement, Levi Savage records: “At twelve o’clock we met Brother Wheelock and company who have come to our relief. . . . This was joyful news to us” (in Remember, p. 7). Chislett put it this way: “More welcome messengers never came from the courts of glory than these two young men were to us [there were actually four]. They . . . sped on further east to convey their glad news to Edward Martin and the fifth handcart company. . . . As they went from our view, many a hearty ‘God bless you’ followed them” (in Remember, p. 7).
Once those four intrepid men went on, the grim reality of the situation settled in again on the Willie Company. They were in the midst of a major winter storm. They were still ten miles from their next campsite, and they had issued the last of their flour rations that morning.
As Savage continues with his entry, we get some indication of how serious the situation was: “The wind continued strong and cold. The children, the aged, and infirmed fell back to the wagons until they were so full that all in them were extremely uncomfortable. Brother Knockles, aged 66 years, died during the day in a handcart hitched behind one of the wagons. Sister Smith and Daniel Osborn, age eight years, died in the wagons. They had been ill for some time. The carts arrived at the river at dark. One wagon, it being dark, took another road and did not get into camp until eleven o’clock p.m. They were nearly exhausted and so were myself and teamsters” (in Remember, p. 7).
Chislett paints a similar picture: “We pursued our journey with renewed hope and after untold toil and fatigue, doubling teams frequently, going back to fetch up the straggling carts, and encouraging those who had dropped by the way to a little more exertion in view of our soon-to-be improved condition, we finally, late at night, got all to camp—the wind howling frightfully and the snow eddying around us in fitful gusts. But we had found a good camp among the willows, and after warming and partially drying ourselves before good fires, we ate our scanty fare, paid our usual devotions to the Deity and retired to rest with hopes of coming aid” (in Remember, p. 7).
By the time they reached the Sixth Crossing of the Sweetwater (located south of U.S. Highway 287 west of Jeffrey City, Wyoming), the Willie Company was near the end of their endurance. In his narrative John Chislett gives some of the grim details:
The morning before the storm, or rather, the morning of the day on which it came [the 19th], we issued the last ration of flour. On this fatal morning [the 20th], therefore, we had none to issue. We had, however, a barrel or two of hard bread which Captain Willie had procured at Fort Laramie in view of our destitution. This was equally and fairly divided among all the company. Two of our poor broken-down cattle were killed and their carcasses issued for beef. With this we were informed that we would have to subsist until the coming supplies reached us. . . .
Being surrounded by snow a foot deep, out of provisions, many of our people sick, and our cattle dying, it was decided that we should remain in our present camp until the supply train reached us. It was also resolved in council that Captain Willie with one man [Joseph Elder] should go in search of the supply train and apprise its lead of our condition, and hasten him to our help. When this was done we settled down and made our camp as comfortable as we could. As Captain Willie and his companion left for the West, many a heart was lifted in prayer for their success and speedy return. (In Remember, pp. 7–8)
Unfortunately, the oncoming rescue party, knowing nothing of all of this, decided that they could not go on in the blizzard. On the evening of the nineteenth, Captain Grant pulled off the main trail at what he said was Willow Creek (but was more likely Rock Creek) to find shelter. The next day, due to the fury of the storm, he determined to stay w
here he was and wait for the storm to blow itself out.
Chapter 24
Rock Creek to Sixth Crossing
I
Monday, 20 October 1856
The storm did not blow itself out that day as Brother Grant had hoped it would. The wind howled along the ridges, and the snow kept falling thickly all through the day, a day that to David Granger seemed to go on forever and ever. There were times when it looked as though it might be letting up; then ten minutes later it would be coming down more thickly than ever before. So the men of the rescue party sat in their tents or around the fires talking quietly. Harnessing was repaired; loads were checked and rechecked; snow was cleared so that the horses and mules could find the rich grass below. The one topic of conversation was the whereabouts of the handcart companies, but even that was eventually exhausted. Finally, totally bored, the men lay down on their bedrolls and pulled their hats over their eyes and tried to sleep.
At about half past three, when it was obvious that the storm had not abated and that they would not be moving on that day, the men were rousted out by their leaders. The camp was quickly divided. Some were asked to help Dan Jones start getting their supper ready. Some, including David and Heber P., were sent to gather more dead willows and brush to keep the fires going through another night. The last group was sent out once again to check on the teams.
Supper was a somber affair. Men sat around the fires or ate in their tents, talking quietly as they consumed another ample meal. Dan Jones, cook for the company, provided excellent meals every day, but guilt was the sauce that flavored their food. Who could eat from such abundance—the wagons around them contained literally tons of food—without thinking of their brothers and sisters out there trying to weather the storm with little or nothing? Yet eat they did, for they knew with equal certainty that once the lost were found, the health and strength of the rescuers would become the salvation of those in need of rescue.
Fire of the Covenant Page 55
