Captain Martin was right. The camp by the river bend proved to be a better place for an extended stay, and it had not been more than two miles to get there. Even then there were so many delays in getting started and the company moved so slowly, it was almost dark when word came back that this was the place he had in mind. Moving like wooden puppets whose joints were too tight, they set about to cook their meager supper and then to set up camp.
•••
Captain W. B. Hodgett, whose wagon company was now traveling together with the Martin Handcart Company, had about 185 people and thirty-three wagons under his command. In the number of people it was less than half of what the handcart group had, but when it came to horses, mules, and oxen, he had far more than Captain Martin did. So, not wanting his greater number of animals to take all the feed, when they reached the bend in the river, Captain Hodgett took his group a little farther on while Captain Martin stopped his company closer to the river.
As the Ropers and the Jacksons, along with Hannah and Ingrid, tried to put up their tent, it quickly became obvious that this was beyond them. Putting up the big round tents usually took four or five men, and that was when they were dry and if there was no wind. With the loss of Aaron Jackson, Hannah’s tent group was down to one adult male, Brother Carl Roper, and his fourteen-year-old boy. The rest in the tent were women and children. So there was no choice. Hannah and Ingrid and Sister Roper and Sister Jackson were on tent detail now. By the time supper was done and they turned to the task of erecting the tent, the canvas, wet from almost a full week of snow, was frozen stiff. It was like trying to work with an old dried cowhide. It took all five of them pushing and pulling just to unroll it out into some semblance of flatness. Any thoughts of trying to get it erected were quickly abandoned.
“We’ll just have to sleep under the canvas,” Ingrid said, stepping back and eyeing the flattened tent as if it were a living enemy.
“I hate that,” Hannah said. “I always feel like I’m going to suffocate.”
“I won’t,” Elizabeth Jackson said in a low voice.
Hannah turned in surprise.
“I won’t sleep in that. Not like that. Not after Aaron—” She looked away, shuddering.
Brother Roper was staring at her. “What are you going to do, Elizabeth?”
“I shall sit by the fire with my children if need be.”
“These fires can’t keep you warm,” Ingrid said. And she was right. These weren’t blazing bonfires. They were sputtering, smokey cooking fires. The willows were either too wet or too green to burn brightly. All of their faces were smudged with soot and streaked from tears caused by the heavy smoke as it stung their eyes.
Sister Jackson’s face was set. “I won’t sleep under that canvas,” she said. “I won’t.”
IV
Tuesday, 28 October 1856
Twice in the night Hannah woke up and clawed the heavy fabric away from her face. Both times she pulled the flap back enough to peek out. Both times she saw the dark figure of Elizabeth Jackson sitting there in the darkness, just as she had been when Hannah and Ingrid had finally left her and crawled in beneath the canvas.
Sister Jackson found a large rock near the fire, took Little Aaron, who was just two, on her lap, then tucked five-year-old Mary Elizabeth under one arm and Martha Ann, who was seven, under the other. When they were settled, Hannah had taken their one tattered quilt and wrapped it around the four of them. Elizabeth clutched it tightly in one hand and bid her good night.
The second time Hannah had looked out, the fire was down to glowing coals. The dark figure on the rock was so still that for a moment Hannah feared the worst might have happened. But when she started to get up to see, she saw Sister Jackson’s head turn. “We’re all right,” came her voice in the darkness.
“Are you cold?” Hannah whispered back.
“Very!”
“Do you want to come in with us?”
There was not a moment’s hesitation. “No!”
Relieved that she was still aware enough to show such resolution, Hannah slipped back beneath the canvas and eventually went back to sleep.
•••
It was just dawning when Hannah awoke for the third time. She lay there for a moment, hating the tent fabric pressing down so heavily upon her; then suddenly she remembered Sister Jackson. Careful not to bump Ingrid or the others, she crawled out from beneath her quilt and through the tent flap. Since they were sleeping now fully clothed, including their boots, there was nothing to do but stand up and stretch.
To her surprise, Sister Jackson was already up. She was kneeling beside the fire, breaking dry willows into smaller pieces and laying them carefully on the hot coals. Thick white smoke billowed upward as she bent down and blew softly, nursing the flames back into life. On the rock her three children huddled together, the quilt pulled tightly around them.
Feeling an immense wave of relief, Hannah started towards her.
Sister Jackson turned. Then with a low cry she ran towards Hannah, throwing herself into Hannah’s arms. Completely caught off guard, Hannah held her tightly as Sister Jackson clung to her, rocking back and forth. Finally, she pulled back, and to Hannah’s surprise, she saw that tears were streaming down her cheeks, leaving tracks through the soot and dirt.
“What’s the matter?” Hannah exclaimed. She jerked around to look at the children, wondering if one of them might be—
Elizabeth Jackson reached up and took Hannah’s face and turned it back toward her. “They’re all right, Hannah.”
“What, then? What’s wrong?”
She stepped back, taking both of Hannah’s hands in hers and holding them tightly. “You’ll never believe what happened just a little while ago.”
“What?”
“As you might guess, I didn’t sleep much last night.”
“You should have come in with us.”
“No. Besides the bitter cold, I was so despondent that I couldn’t fall asleep. I kept thinking, ‘What am I going to do now that Aaron is dead? How will I get on now that I am alone?’ I couldn’t get those thoughts out of my head.”
“We’re here to help you,” Hannah said, her own eyes starting to mist now. “Ingrid and I were talking about it last night. Now we know why we were supposed to be with you.”
Sister Jackson barely seemed to hear her. “Hannah. Aaron came to me.”
Hannah gaped at her, not sure she had heard correctly.
Elizabeth shook her hands, squeezing them even more tightly. “Yes, Hannah. It was a dream, I know. But it was so real. Suddenly, Aaron was there, standing beside me.” The tears spilled over again. “Oh, he looked so happy. So much at peace.”
Hannah felt chills going up and down her body, not from fear but from a sudden thrill of joy. “Oh, Sister Jackson, how wonderful!”
“Yes.” She let go of Hannah’s hands and gripped her shoulders, pulling her up so their faces were close together. “It meant so much to me to see him like that, to know that he is all right. And then—” She stopped and shook her head a little, trying to get control again. “But here is the most wonderful part, Hannah. After he asked me how I was, he looked me straight in the eye and said, ‘Elizabeth, cheer up. Deliverance is at hand.’ ”
Hannah pulled back, her eyes wide. “Deliverance is at hand?”
“Yes, Hannah! Yes! That’s what he said.” And with that she threw her arms around Hannah once again. Two minutes later when Ingrid crawled out of the collapsed tent, the two of them were still there holding each other tightly, standing together in front of the smoking fire.
Chapter Notes
On or about 25 October 1856, Aaron Jackson succumbed to the effects of hunger, illness, exhaustion, and the devastating cold of the river crossing. In her written account of those terrible days Elizabeth Horrocks Jackson describes the loss of her husband: “About the 25th of Oct., I think it was—I cannot remember the exact date—we reached camp about sundown. My husband had for several days previous been much
worse. He was still sinking, and his condition now became more serious. As soon as possible after reaching camp I prepared a little of such scant articles of food as we then had. He tried to eat but failed. He had not the strength to swallow. I put him to bed as quickly as I could. He seemed to rest easy and fell asleep. About nine o’clock I retired. Bedding had become very scarce, so I did not disrobe. I slept until, as it appeared to me, about midnight. I was extremely cold. The weather was bitter. I listened to hear if my husband breathed—he lay so still. I could not hear him. I became alarmed. I put my hand on his body, when to my horror I discovered that my worst fears were confirmed. My husband was dead. He was cold and stiff—rigid in the arms of death. It was a bitter freezing night and the elements had sealed up his mortal frame. I called for help to the other inmates of the tent. They could render me no aid; and there was no alternative but to remain alone by the side of the corpse till morning. The night was enveloped in almost Egyptian darkness. There was nothing with which to produce a light or kindle a fire. Of course I could not sleep. I could only watch, wait, and pray for the dawn. But oh, how those dreary hours drew their tedious length along. When daylight came, some of the male part of the company prepared the body for burial. And oh, such a burial and funeral service. They did not remove his clothing—he had but little. They wrapped him in a blanket and placed him in a pile with thirteen others who had died, and then covered him up in the snow. The ground was frozen so hard that they could not dig a grave. He was left there to sleep in peace until the trump of the Lord shall sound, and the dead in Christ shall awake and come forth in the morning of the first resurrection. We shall then again unite our hearts and lives, and eternity will furnish us with life forever more” (Kingsford, Leaves from the Life of Elizabeth Horrocks Jackson Kingsford, pp. 6–7; also in Remember, p. 23).
When Captain Grant sent the four men in the express party forward from Black’s Fork (which is a few miles northeast of Fort Bridger) on 14 October, he gave them specific instructions that they should go no farther than Devil’s Gate. If they had not found the Martin Company by then, they were to wait for further word from Grant himself. When Grant’s group reached Devil’s Gate on 26 October, the four men reported that they had found nothing of the rear companies. Greatly concerned now because full winter was fast approaching, Captain Grant made one last effort to find them. Three men—Joseph Young, Abel Garr, and Daniel W. Jones—left early on the morning of the twenty-seventh, prepared to ride as swiftly as possible as far as the Platte Bridge (Reshaw’s Bridge), which is at present-day Evansville, Wyoming, about six miles east of Casper (see Remember, p. 52). Again from the history of Elizabeth Jackson we read:
A few days after the death of my husband, the male members of the company had become reduced in number by death; and those who remained were so weak and emaciated by sickness, that on reaching the camping place at night, there were not sufficient men with strength enough to raise the poles and pitch the tents. The result was that we camped out with nothing but the vault of Heaven for a roof, and the stars for companions. The snow lay several inches deep upon the ground. The night was bitterly cold. I sat down on a rock with one child in my lap and one on each side of me. In that condition I remained until morning. . . .
It will be readily perceived that under such adverse circumstances I had become despondent. I was six or seven thousand miles from my native land, in a wild, rocky, mountain country, in a destitute condition, the ground covered with snow, the waters covered with ice, and I with three fatherless children with scarcely nothing to protect them from the merciless storms. When I retired to bed that night, being the 27th of Oct., I had a stunning revelation. In my dream, my husband stood by me and said—“Cheer up, Elizabeth, deliverance is at hand.” (Kingsford, Leaves from the Life of Elizabeth Horrocks Jackson Kingsford, p. 8; also in Remember, p. 23)
Chapter 29
Red Buttes to Greasewood Creek
I
Tuesday, 28 October 1856
The Hodgett Wagon Company was separated from the Martin Handcart Company by about a hundred yards of open space, the handcart group being closer to the river, the wagon company a little farther west of them. It was late in the afternoon of the same day that Sister Jackson had her stunning dream. Half an hour before, word had come that some of the brethren had broken a hole in the ice near the riverbank, so Hannah and Ingrid decided to take their bucket down and fill it before the hole froze over again. Thus it was that they were about midway between the two companies when suddenly they heard a woman shouting loudly. Both girls turned around. The sound was coming from where the Hodgett people were camped. Hannah set down the bucket and shaded her eyes. The sky was cloudy and there was no sun, but the light from the west made it difficult to see anything in detail.
“I see them coming! I see them coming!”
Hannah peered more closely, then saw that just to the left of one of the wagons, a woman and two young boys about eight or ten years of age were standing together. The woman was jumping up and down and pointing to the west. She was yelling at the top of her lungs. “Surely they are angels from heaven!”
Ingrid came up beside Hannah now, her hand up to her eyes as well. “What is it?” she cried. “Do you see anything?”
Hannah went up on tiptoe, but beyond the camp there were only the snow-covered hills that rose gently from the river bottoms. “No. I don’t see anything.” She wondered if one of their company had finally gone mad, but didn’t say that to Ingrid.
Now people in both camps were stopping and turning. A man jumped out of a nearby wagon and ran to the woman’s side. “What?” he shouted. “What is it?”
“I can see them plainer! Plainer! Plainer!” She was almost hysterical, pointing and waving and hopping up and down.
“Come on,” Hannah said. She grabbed Ingrid’s hand and started running for the Hodgett camp. As they approached the woman, others were coming toward her too. She ripped off her shawl and began to wave it back and forth. Suddenly the older of the two boys bawled out and started jumping up and down. “Yes, I see them! I see them!”
The man leaned forward now. Then he spun around and grabbed the woman. “Yes!” He picked her up and swung her around and around. “Yes! Hurrah! Hurrah!”
“Where!” Hannah shouted, and then suddenly Ingrid grabbed her arm and pulled her to a halt. “Look, Hannah! On the ridge. Just to the right of the wagons.”
Hannah peered more closely, then gasped. She almost dropped the bucket. Just below the crest of the ridge, about two hundred yards away, there were four large dark shapes—horses or mules—moving slowly down the hill toward them. Three of the horses had men on their backs.
“We are saved!” The woman’s voice was hoarse now. “It is surely men from the Valley with food for us.”
Hannah was utterly astonished. Then she saw that the three men on the horses were waving back. She turned around and stared at Ingrid. Ingrid had one hand up, waving it back and forth. Her eyes were filled with wonder. “It is, Hannah,” she said.
Now people from the handcart camp were running towards the Hodgett camp. People were pouring out of their tents. Women were weeping. All over shouts of hurrah rent the air.
“Hannah, what is it?”
Hannah turned around to see Elizabeth Jackson coming toward them, half stumbling in the snow. Her bonnet had fallen back from her head and her hair bounced softly as she ran. Hannah started toward her, the realization coming with such intensity that a great cry of joy was torn from her lips. She fell on Sister Jackson’s shoulder. “Your husband was right, Elizabeth,” she cried. “What Brother Jackson said was true. Deliverance has come.”
•••
It took almost ten minutes before Captain Martin could press through the celebrating crowd enough to reach the three men. He took one look at the nearest one, and tears sprang to his eyes. “Brother Young?”
Joseph A. Young turned from an older brother who was wringing his hands. When he saw Edward Martin, he came forward a
nd gripped his hand. “Brother Martin. Thanks be to God. We’ve found you at last.”
“And God bless Brigham Young for sending you, young man,” a woman cried.
“God bless the Saints in the Valley for not forgetting us,” another shouted.
“Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!”
The two men waited, smiling happily as the crowd gave vent to the joy that was in them. Then as it quieted again, Brother Young turned. “You know Abel Garr, I think.”
“I do.” Brother Martin stuck out his hand. Abel Garr ignored it and threw his arms around him. “We are so happy to see you, Brother Martin,” he said as they clasped each other tightly.
Brother Young turned to the third man who had come with them. He had just picked up a young boy, and three other children were clinging to his coat. “And this is Brother Dan Jones.”
Captain Martin nodded. “A pleasure, Brother Jones.”
“The pleasure is ours, believe me,” Brother Jones answered heartily.
Now Captain Martin turned back to Brother Young. “Do you have wagons with you?”
“No, we’re an express party sent to find you. But Captain Grant is waiting at Devil’s Gate.” He turned to look at the people, who were hanging on his every word. “That’s a little more than fifty miles from here. He has eight wagons and they are fully loaded with supplies.”
“Praise heaven!” “Our prayers are answered.” “Thank you. Thank you, brethren.” The crowd could not repress their joy at that news.
Joseph Young was just twenty-two years old. He had the clear look of his father about him, and now it was evident he was feeling the same weight of responsibility. “How many dead and how many living?” he asked softly.
Fire of the Covenant Page 66
