Fire of the Covenant

by Gerald N. Lund

“Thanks,” Stephen said, panting heavily, water dripping from his face. “I’ve got him.”

  •••

  It was nearly sundown when the men of the rescue company carried the last person over and helped bring the last carts through the Sweetwater River. Hannah and Ingrid and the Jacksons and the Ropers had gone on more than an hour before, following the long, straggling line that moved up the long, gentle slope toward where a deep depression in the granite wall opened before them.

  As they watched the last cart roll away from them, David Granger turned to Stephen Taylor. His arms hung down and he felt himself weaving back and forth. Every muscle in his body ached with fatigue. He could no longer feel his feet, and as he looked down at his boots he saw the first little beads of water turning into ice. “Are you ready?” he asked.

  “We’ve got to get to a fire,” Stephen Taylor said. He looked around, almost in a stupor.

  “One of the others took the wagon over,” David said. “Remember?”

  “Oh, that’s right.” That had been a lifetime ago. He reached out and took David’s arm. “Let’s go, then.”

  As they started forward, David glanced back at his injured leg. He was not the only one who had been cut by the floating ice today. Fortunately the bleeding had stopped long ago and now the flesh around the gash looked bluish white.

  “How’s your leg?” Taylor asked.

  “What leg?” David responded.

  There was a short, mirthless laugh. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

  And with that the two of them increased their pace, going from a hobble to a more determined shuffle as they fell in behind the last cart and started toward the cove where they would stay for the night.

  II

  Sunday, 9 November 1856

  For Hannah McKensie the next five days all blurred together. Once settled into what everyone was now calling Martin’s Ravine, the Martin Company and the people of the Hodgett Wagon Company mostly stayed in their tents, fully clothed, rolled in their bedding to stay warm. They got up to have meals, to fetch water from the spring. The men who were still strong enough were sent to climb the granite rocks all around them and look for dead cedar trees they could cut down for firewood. Once a day they were called out for another assignment—the burial of the dead.

  The weather was still very cold and the snow in the cove was deep. Though they were no longer on severely restricted rations, their food was still limited and meals were simple and never enough to satisfy the hunger. So basically they lay in their tents, talking quietly, occasionally reading when the sun was bright enough to penetrate their tent walls and provide enough light to read by.

  Five days of that stultifying sameness. No wonder things seemed like a blur to her.

  Hannah looked up in surprise when there was a soft scratching sound on the flap of their tent. She and Ingrid were curled up together beneath a single quilt, speaking with low voices. Sister Jackson had her three children under blankets singing songs softly together. The Ropers were seated together on the opposite side of the tent. They too were wrapped in blankets and quilts and clutched them tightly. Brother Roper was telling his children a fairy tale and actually had them giggling from time to time.

  Sister Jackson started to get up, but Brother Roper waved her back. “I’ll get it.”

  He threw off his quilt and crawled over to the center of the tent before standing up. He moved to the flap and opened it.

  “Hello.”

  Hannah came up to a sitting position with a jerk as she heard the voice.

  “Good afternoon, Brother Granger,” Brother Roper said. “Come in.”

  Now the others were all getting up too. Ingrid gave Hannah a surprised look, but Hannah was frantically trying to straighten her dress, smooth her hair, and scrub at a smudge of soot on her hand all at the same time.

  David poked his head in, but came no farther. He looked around, smiling. “Hello, Sister Jackson.”

  “Hello, David. What a pleasant surprise!”

  “Hello, David.” Martha Ann and Mary Elizabeth sang it out in chorus. Little Aaron got to his feet and waved happily.

  “Hello, girls. Hi there, young man.”

  Brother Roper held the tent flap open more widely. “Won’t you come in?”

  David shook his head. He turned now and looked at Ingrid and Hannah. “Hello to you two. How are you?”

  “Fine,” Hannah said. “Very good,” responded Ingrid.

  He looked back at Sister Jackson. “I was wondering if I might have your permission to speak with Hannah for a few minutes.”

  Elizabeth Jackson smiled warmly. “Of course. Thank you for asking.”

  Hannah scrambled to her feet and reached for her woollen bonnet. Since she was fully clothed other than that, there was nothing more to get. She moved quickly to the flap, tucking her hair beneath her bonnet, glad for a chance to hide it. As she stepped outside, David moved back to give her room.

  She blinked for a moment at the brightness of the light. It was not a sunny day, but with all the snow it was a bit dazzling to her after being in the tent all morning. Then in a moment, knowing that every ear inside that tent would be intently listening to find out what was happening out here, she smiled and pointed to one of the numerous paths through the deep snow. “Shall we walk?”

  “If you are feeling up to it,” he answered.

  “I am more than ready to move,” she said. “After five days of lying in bed most of the day, I think I am up to it.”

  “I’ll bet, but that’s wise. You’re going to need your strength.” She looked at him quickly at that, but he went on before she could comment. “How have you been?”

  “Hungry. Cold.” She smiled faintly. “Normal, like everyone else. How are you?”

  “Good. So you’ve heard that you are leaving in the morning?”

  “Yes. Will you—” She stopped. She had been about to ask him if he would be able to help them pull their handcart again, but she decided that that was too forward. “Did you walk out here from Devil’s Gate all by yourself?” she asked instead.

  He shook his head. “No, I came by horse. And Brothers Grant and Burton needed to talk with Captain Martin. I came with them.”

  “And how are things at Devil’s Gate?”

  “Good. All of the Hodgett Company wagons are unloaded and the freight is cached away. They’re still working on the ones that came in with Captain Hunt, but there are finally enough wagons to carry most of the baggage and many of the people. That’s why Captain Grant thinks it’s time to leave.”

  She let her eyes rise to the steep hillside just to their left. Martin’s Ravine—or the cove, as some called it—was formed by a huge U-shaped gouge in the granite mountain wall. All around them the massive sheets and folds of solid rock rose dramatically, studded here and there with cedar trees, now frosted white with snow. But in the center of the huge semi-circle, cutting the cove in half like the prow of a great ship, was a towering sand dune. Over the centuries tons and tons of sand had been blown in here by the wind. The cove provided a leeward shelter, and so like an enormous snowbank, this sand ridge had grown until now it loomed almost a hundred feet above them, the sides of it so steep that it was all a person could do to climb up it. Hannah had done that once since coming here, and walked around the edge of the dune so she could see down into the cove itself. It had been a sight that she would never forget. Dozens of tents covered with snow, the thin trails from tent to tent beaten by the emigrants’ feet. Here and there she could see the tracks of individuals who had climbed up the granite mountainsides a short distance in search of firewood. At the north end of the cove, she had looked down at the spot where the snow had been disturbed. Dark soil showed in several spots, marks of the grave diggers’ shovels.

  “It’s time to go,” she said, trying to blot that image out of her mind. “Did you know that as of this morning we have had fifty-six deaths since coming here?”

  “Yes.” David spoke in a hushed voice tinged with horro
r. “Brother Martin reported that to Captain Grant today.”

  “That’s more than ten a day, David. No wonder they’ve decided it’s time we move on.”

  “Yes. And not just that. Food is running low again. With almost a thousand people, even eight wagonloads doesn’t last long.”

  She looked up at him, noticing the way his hair poked out from beneath his hat, and the goodness she saw in his eyes. “I guess no more wagons have come from Salt Lake?”

  There was a brief shake of his head. “No. Brother Young and Brother Garr will send word for them to come when they find them, but if they are at South Pass it could be several more days before they make it this far.”

  That was not a surprise. When Elder Martin sent word around the camp this morning that they would start west again tomorrow, he had said that very thing. It would take three or four days for the express riders to reach South Pass and then six or seven more for the wagons to come on this far. They couldn’t wait any longer. It would be just a week tomorrow since Joseph Young and Abel Garr had left for Salt Lake.

  She shook her head. Only a week? It seemed like a month ago that they had crossed the river and moved up here to Martin’s Ravine. She looked down at his feet. “How’s your leg?”

  He shrugged. “Healing.” He didn’t tell her that he was still having intense pain in his feet, especially at night when he was no longer up and moving on them. What purpose was there in that? He wasn’t the only one of those who had spent that day in the river who was still feeling the effects of the frigid water.

  He stopped, reaching out to take her arm and stop her as well. “Hannah?”

  She looked up at him, pulling back her scarf so that it left her face free. “Yes?”

  “I was going to ask Captain Grant for permission to help you and the Jacksons again.”

  “You were?” She felt a rush of pleasure.

  “Yes. I guess you’re going to leave most of the handcarts here, but even with all the wagons available now, they are afraid some are still going to have to walk. I thought—”

  “That would be wonderful, David. We already owe you a great debt.”

  His shoulders lifted and fell. “There was a meeting today at the camp.”

  “Oh?”

  “It’s been decided that Brother Dan Jones is going to stay at Devil’s Gate until spring. He’ll keep a group of men with him to guard all the freight that has been cached now.”

  She had a sinking feeling as she looked at his face. “And?” she asked quietly.

  “And I’ve been assigned to be one of those who stay.”

  There was no missing the dejection on his face, and in spite of the instant stab of keen disappointment, it thrilled her to think that that might be because of his having to be away from her. “Did you volunteer?” she asked.

  “No. No one did. The assignments were made by the committee.” He looked away. “There are some who aren’t happy about it.” Then he laughed shortly. “Who would be? But someone has to do it.”

  “I understand.”

  “Will you be all right?” he asked.

  She thought about that, then nodded slowly. “Yes. We are doing better, considering. The rest has been good. Like everyone, we wish there was more food.”

  “That’s why you can’t wait any longer. And besides. Those mountain passes around Salt Lake are going to be a challenge to keep open too. They can get twenty to thirty feet of snow in a winter.”

  “I know.”

  They stood there together for a moment, neither speaking. Then to her surprise, he reached inside his coat and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. He was suddenly nervous.

  As she looked at it more closely, she saw that it was folded on all four sides and then sealed with what looked like candle wax. He held it out to her.

  “What’s this?”

  “Can you take a letter to the Valley for me?”

  “Of course. To your mother?”

  He laughed, this time with some amusement. “No. To yours.”

  “What?”

  “Promise me you won’t read it, that you’ll just take it to your mother.”

  “Of course, but . . .” She was gazing at him quizzically.

  “I know. It’s strange, but then, my sister Eleanor says I am strange.”

  “I would like to meet her.”

  “You will. Once you get to the Valley and get settled a little, will you go see my family and tell them I’m all right?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Good.”

  He fumbled at his coat buttons for a moment. “I hope all is well with your family, Hannah. They should be almost to the Valley now.”

  “I can’t believe that could ever happen.”

  “I have one other favor to ask.”

  “What?”

  “When you see her, will you give your sister Maggie a hug for me and tell her thank you?”

  Now she smiled up at him. “I will.” There was a moment’s hesitation. “Except for one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I don’t have a hug from you to give to her.”

  “Ah,” he said with deep satisfaction. And with that he took her gently in his arms and held her tightly for a long time.

  III

  Monday, 10 November 1856

  When the Edward Martin Company, along with the Hodgett Wagon Company, left Martin’s Ravine on the morning of the tenth of November, after spending six days there waiting for the weather to soften, Captain Martin told the people that they should come along at their own pace. He was no longer going to try to keep the whole company together in tight order. The original plan had been to put all of the people and their baggage into the Hunt and Hodgett wagons and abandon the rest of the handcarts. As it turned out, they seriously miscalculated. Because they had not arrived at Devil’s Gate until later, the Hunt Company had not finished unloading their freight and caching it away, and so there weren’t nearly enough wagons after all. Only a few handcarts were needed to come on, but there were still a lot of people who were going to have to walk. Making the decision as to who would walk and who wouldn’t, when it was no longer based strictly on physical weakness, became extremely painful. By the time it was made, Captain Martin knew there was no sense in trying to hold them all together, at least not that day.

  So they moved out as they were ready, the last not leaving for almost an hour after the first wagons had pulled out. By noon the column of wagons, walkers, and the few remaining handcarts was strung out across a mile and a half of trail, like a long dark piece of yarn being dragged slowly forward through the snow.

  By midafternoon the Jacksons and the Ropers had fallen back to somewhere near the end of the column. They barely noticed. Hardly anyone spoke now and few heads came up to take stock of the situation. They plodded doggedly onward, trying not to think about how much longer this never-ending nightmare was going to last.

  •••

  It had been a solitary three days for Ephraim Hanks. Since he had stopped just this side of South Pass and camped with Reddick Allred, he had not seen another human being. Reddick and his men were still camped with the supply wagons—now supplemented with additional wagons from the Valley—near the Sweetwater, waiting for word from Captain Grant. By then another howling high plains blizzard had struck. Ephraim had crossed South Pass with his single wagon, his horses plowing through snow up to their bellies, and knew he had to let them rest.

  Undeterred by the storm, he asked Brother Allred for a good riding horse and a packhorse and left his wagon and teams behind. In spite of the warnings from some of the men that he was crazy to set out in such weather on his own, he turned his face east and rode out that morning. Since then he had not seen another living human being. The first night, Providence had provided him with a nice, fat buffalo bull that had come almost right into his camp, and he spent the night in the snow rolled up warmly in a thick buffalo robe.

  Then this morning, as he was crossing Ice Springs Bench, a l
ow flat ridge just west of Ice Springs, to his surprise he came across another buffalo, this time a large, fat cow. Individual buffalo were a bit of a rarity in and of themselves, but by this time of year the buffalo were mostly headed for the lower country where the winds weren’t quite so cold and the snow so deep.

  Deciding that there might be some Providence in this as well, Ephraim had dropped the animal with one well-placed shot, then spent two hours cleaning her out and cutting the quarters into long strips that quickly froze. When he started on his way again, his packhorse was loaded down with about three hundred pounds of buffalo meat, and he carried another hundred tied to the back of his saddle.

  He was glad that along this stretch of the Sweetwater he had the long range of granite mountains off to his left. Any signs of the trail were well buried in the snow, and even as well as he knew that trail, he was glad for the mass of rock hillsides to help him keep his bearings.

  It was about an hour away from sundown, and he knew that he was going to have to find a place to camp one more time before he reached Devil’s Gate. He let his eyes sweep across the great expanse of white, searching for what he knew should be there. He grunted softly. There it was. About two miles away a small clump of trees showed dark against the snow. He didn’t have to guess what they were. He knew they were cottonwoods because he had camped beneath their shelter many times. Also he knew because Cottonwood Creek was the only real water between where he was now and Devil’s Gate.

  He half turned in the saddle, gauging the height of the lowering sun. He knew from experience that once the sun set behind those hills, it would get dark and cold very quickly.

  “Whoa, boy!” he said softly, reining up. He stood up in the saddle, rising as high as possible. He was peering intently directly east. “What in the world . . . ?”

  Because Ephraim Hanks was a man who made his living crossing the wilderness, his eyes were trained to pick out anything that didn’t belong to nature. At first he thought that what he saw was another line of trees, along a creek or maybe the course of a small spring. But he shook that off immediately. First of all, once you passed Cottonwood Creek, there was nothing except the Sweetwater until you approached Devil’s Gate. Second, this wasn’t the natural winding of growth along a water course. It was straight as an arrow for almost a mile.