There was a thunderous crack. She felt the ship shudder beneath her feet, and heard the buildings lining the wharf rattle. She jerked around so hard that the baby lurched within her, jabbing her sharply with pain. For a moment, she could only stare, not comprehending. The sound had come from the harbor’s mouth. For a moment there was nothing to see, just the mass of ice blocking their way. Above and behind her she heard the captain shouting. “Every man to his post! To your posts!”
Then to everyone’s utter amazement, the ice jam began to crack. A seam of dark water began to open, piercing first the base, then the wall of ice. It was as if hell itself were being pried open to make way for them.
“Full steam ahead!” The captain’s voice was a hoarse scream.
The smoke stacks belched black smoke, and the two side paddle wheels groaned and rattled as they started to turn.
“You people down there!” The captain, his face a mottled red, was bellowing at them. “Find a place and hang on. We’re going through!”
People on the docks were screaming and pointing. The path of dark water was widening by the second.
“Come on, Lydia,” Nathan shouted in her ear.
As they raced back to their place on the deck they passed the starboard paddle wheel. It was picking up speed quickly now, churning the water into a foaming cauldron. The front end of the boat was swinging around, turning into the channel that opened before them, a channel that was still widening even as they watched. The crack in the wall had now split enough that they could see through to open water. The ice was shrieking and groaning like a wounded animal.
The captain shouted again from above them. “It’s going to be close.”
Nathan made Lydia lie down on their makeshift bed, and he threw a blanket over her shoulders. “Hang on, Lydia!”
She grabbed at the handle of their valise, but her hand froze in midair. She was staring forward at the wall of ice now looming toward them with increasing speed. She screamed, “We’re going to hit it, Nathan!” She buried her head, grabbing for Nathan’s arm.
Vaguely she was aware of the screams of other passengers, the shouts of the crew. Then there was a tremendous crash just behind her. She whirled around, her eyes flying open. One of the buckets of the starboard paddle wheel had smashed into a jagged shard of ice thicker than an ox’s withers. First one bucket, then another shattered into a thousand splinters.
“We’re through! We’re through!” She wasn’t sure who had shouted it. Maybe her. But Nathan was on his feet pointing back toward the rear of the boat. He leaned down and grabbed her arm and pulled her up. The wake of the boat led in a straight line from the gap through which they had just plunged. In awe they stared as that twenty-foot high floating wall began to move again, like two massive gates being closed. Again the air was rent with the deafening sound of great masses being thrust together. Even as they watched, the narrow opening closed again, shutting in the harbor, trapping the other boats, leaving the Colesville and Thomas B. Marsh groups to wait for another day.
Leaving Buffalo Harbor
Chapter Twelve
Isaac Morley, a young emigrant from Massachusetts, had arrived in Kirtland not long after the first cabin had been built in 1811. He cleared enough land for a small cabin of his own and then returned to New England for Lucy Gunn, his childhood sweetheart.
In many ways Isaac Morley and his wife had been a typical frontier family, except for the fact that they had been even more industrious than most. The first one-room cabin had long since given way to a spacious frame house. There were fields of corn, along with barley and wheat. They made their own molasses and vinegar, kept hives of bees and sold the honey, produced peppermint oil, made lye from ashes for soap. Early on, Isaac had planted several dozen maple trees so they could tap their own syrup. Now called “Morley’s Grove,” the maple trees were in full leaf now in late May, shimmering a brilliant green behind the house.
In addition to bearing nine children and raising seven of them, Lucy grew a patch of flax and raised sheep. The linen and woolen clothes she made not only outfitted her family but also was sold in the village. Isaac was also a skilled cooper and, besides meeting his own needs, sold the barrels, tubs, buckets, and other items in town. It was not surprising that he had been appointed one of three trustees when local government was first instituted in Kirtland. He was quiet and gentle, kind by disposition, but he commanded respect from everyone who knew him.
When missionaries to the Lamanites had arrived in Kirtland late last fall, Isaac and Lucy Morley, two followers of Sidney Rigdon, were among the first to be baptized into the Church. When Joseph Smith arrived in early February with the news that Ohio was to be the new gathering site for the Saints, Father and Mother Morley, as they were known to most of the residents, offered part of their farm as a place for the newcomers. And so it was to the Morley farm that Lucy Mack Smith and the group from New York came after their arrival in Fairport Harbor. That had been almost a week ago. Now the group faced the tasks of building homes in which the newcomers would live.
On this clear May morning Nathan stood in the midst of about twenty acres of timber felled by the hands of professional slashers two or three years previously. The air was still, and smoke from more than two dozen small fires hung in thick layers, stirred only by the movement of the men who moved back and forth tending the fires. The smoke was thick in places and dug at Nathan’s eyes and filled his lungs, making him want to breathe as shallowly as possible.
He and Father Morley and about nine or ten other men were getting the logs ready for use in building cabins, barns, sheds, and rail fencing. They were using a process called “niggering.” Instead of using axes and wedges to cut the logs into the needed lengths—an enormous effort, considering the number of houses being built—they would build small fires at each place where the trunks needed to be cut. One man could tend several fires, and after two or three hours of slow burning, one good whack with an ax would finish the job.
Nathan had never cleared ground this way. They had always worked it through in what his father called “the grunt and swing” method, man and ax against the forest. The idea of slashing particularly fascinated him. Father Morley claimed it had taken no more than three days for the two slashers to level the plot they now worked. That was astounding, since normally two men could work for three weeks or more to clear a heavily timbered acre. When Nathan showed interest, Father Morley explained how they worked.
They would come in and study the lay of the land and the prevailing winds carefully. Then, moving in strips thirty or forty feet wide, they would begin notching the trees on the side that faced the center of the strip, making the notches deeper and deeper as they moved windward. Once the strip was finished, the slashers would wait for the winds to come. When they did, they would leap into action. Moving swiftly to the tree previously picked as the “starter,” they would deliver a few final ax blows to the trunk, already deeply notched. Then, as the wind rose and began to catch the topmost branches with its power, the tree would begin to sway a little. When the wind got high enough, nature took over. There would be a shattering crack and the starter tree would snap off and crash headlong into its nearest neighbors, sending them in turn hurtling against the next ones. Like some gigantic game of dominoes, in a matter of three or four minutes, twenty or thirty acres could be leveled.
The trees were then trimmed and the branches burned, then the logs left to dry and season for three years. Father Morley’s decision to clear an additional twenty acres three years ago had proven to be perfect timing, and the new families had a rich harvest of lumber from which to draw.
Finally the pall of smoke got to Nathan. Making sure all his fires were burning well, he moved over to the edge of a field of new wheat where the air was clear. As he breathed deep gulps of the cool air gratefully, he saw Father Morley leave his fires and come to join him.
“Niggering does have its drawbacks, don’t it?” he said easily.
Nathan nodded.
“But I’ve cleared forest the other way too. I can live with a little smoke.”
“Agreed.” They fell silent and looked out across the fields towards the Morley home and barns.
“You have a beautiful farm here.”
That seemed to please him. “Took a while to get it to this point.”
“And now we’re takin’ it away from you.”
Morley gave him a sharp look. “Didn’t mean that.”
“I know, but it’s true, just the same. Here we are, all coming in and taking over your land.”
“Can’t be takin’ what is given freely,” Morley said evenly.
Nathan nodded, amazed again at the man’s attitude.
Not only had the gift been given, but what was more remarkable, there was no begrudging of it. This represented a loss of more than a few acres of prime farmland. But there was no resentment, no lingering regrets for his charity. That was clear in his eyes, on his face, and in his voice. The gift had been freely given. No one had taken it from him.
Morley suddenly raised his head, squinting into the morning sun. A woman was coming across the fields from the direction of the house. She was small, and Nathan instantly recognized her. It was Mother Smith.
She waved. “Nathan!” she called.
He felt his heart lurch. “Lydia!”
Father Morley clapped him on the shoulder. “Go. We can handle this.”
Nathan broke into a run, skirting the new wheat, then cutting across to meet Mother Smith.
“Has it started?” he called anxiously even before he reached her.
She smiled, taking his hand. “No, no, Lydia is fine. That baby ain’t ready to come quite yet. It’ll be tomorrow at least, maybe a day or two longer than that.”
“Are you sure?”
Her blue eyes sparkled with amusement. “Yes, I’m quite sure.”
“Oh.” He didn’t try to hide his disappointment, though he knew in a way it was best this way. Lydia still had the remnants of the terrible cough she picked up on the trip, and Nathan had been considerably worried about her. The warm weather was helping, but the cough had really drained her strength, and every day she could wait before having the baby would be a blessing.
“It’s Joseph.”
Nathan looked at her more closely. “Joseph?”
“Yes, he sent a boy from town. Says you’re to come to the house immediately. He’s on his way out with some news. Says to be waiting for him at the house.”
“What is it?”
Her shoulders lifted and dropped. “The boy didn’t say. Just said to have you there waiting. Parley’s already here.”
“Oh?” It had been a pleasant surprise for the group to learn that Parley Pratt had returned from Missouri in mid-March, but they hadn’t seen much of him since. He, Sidney Rigdon, and others had been doing missionary work in the surrounding settlements.
“Come on,” Mother Smith said, already turning to head back to the house. “Won’t do none to keep Joseph waiting with whatever news he’s bringing.”
Parley was there with Mother Morley, Lydia, and several of the rest of the sisters. They were laughing merrily as Nathan came into the house.
“Hello, Parley,” he said, striding across the room to grip his hand. “How good to see you again!”
“Shhh,” Lydia said. “Brother Parley’s right in the middle of telling us some of his missionary experiences.”
Parley gave him a look of helplessness and pointed to a chair. “Sit down, Nathan. Joseph’s not far behind me, but in the meantime these good sisters insist that I tell them the story of me and the constable’s dog.”
“The constable’s dog?”
Lydia smiled. “Start again, Brother Parley, so Nathan can hear.”
Parley ran a hand through his hair, obviously enjoying this. “Well, as I was saying, after Oliver and I and the others left Kirtland and continued westward, we passed through the neighborhood where I first lived out here. We stopped and found the people eager to hear more of the news of the Restoration. We stopped at the house of a man by the name of Simeon Carter. He treated us kindly and was responsive to our telling him about the Book of Mormon. But right as we were in the midst of speaking with him, there came a knock at the door.”
He’d evidently gotten this far before, because Lydia and several other sisters were nodding their encouragement to him.
“It was an officer from a magistrate who had issued an order for my arrest on some frivolous charge. I left the Book of Mormon with Carter, and Brother Ziba Peterson and I accompanied the man. I remember it well. It was dark and cold and the roads were very muddy and traveling was difficult.”
“So what happened?” one of the single young sisters asked.
“It was late in the evening when we arrived at the place of trial, but there was a whole group of men there to bear testimony against us.” He frowned. “False testimony, that is. The magistrate had also obtained a judge who bragged openly that it was his intention to thrust us into prison for the purpose of testing our apostleship.”
Parley sighed wearily. “We tried to tell him we were not Apostles, only elders, but it soon became obvious the whole thing was a mockery, and so I treated the proceedings with great contempt, making no attempt at defense.”
Nathan nodded, remembering the trials in South Bainbridge and Colesville and how far astray Lady Justice could sometimes be shoved.
Now Parley was into new material for the group, and they were listening intently. And as for him, he was really warming to his subject. Nathan had not seen this side of him in the brief time he had been at Fayette.
“Well, it didn’t take them long to pass sentence. Guilty I was. I had two choices: either I could pay them a substantial sum of money, of which I had not in the world, or I could go to prison. When I refused to answer such nonsense, I was tantalized, abused, and urged to settle the matter. Finally, I called upon Brother Peterson, and together we sang a hymn to the court. We sang ‘O How Happy Are They.’ “
Nathan chuckled. “I’ll bet they loved you for that.”
“To say that it exasperated them further,” Parley agreed with a sly grin, “would be to somewhat understate the matter. They began to press me most earnestly for the money. Fed up with the whole business by then, I stepped forward and made them a proposal.”
Lucy Mack Smith leaned forward. “What?”
“Said I, ‘If it please the court, I have a proposal for a final settlement. If the witnesses will repent of all their false swearing, and the judge of his wicked judgment and of his persecution, blackguardism, and abuse, we shall all kneel here together, and I will pray to God that he might forgive you in these matters.’”
Lydia clapped her hands in delight. “You didn’t.”
Parley nodded firmly. “I most certainly did.”
“I assume they did not accept your offer?” Mother Morley was smiling broadly.
“No,” he drawled. “They seemed less than enthusiastic. After some time, the court adjourned, and I was taken to a public house and locked in until morning, since the prison was some miles away from where we were.”
“What about Brother Ziba?” another sister asked.
“They released him and he was allowed to return to the others.” He took a breath, the merriment in his eyes now unmistakable. “Well, come morning, the officer, a Mr. Peabody, came to get me. He had with him this huge bulldog—biggest, ugliest dog I ever saw. About that same time, my brethren also arrived to see about my welfare. Speaking in an undertone, I urged them to continue their journey and promised that I would shortly join them. After they left, Mr. Peabody and I sat by the fire for a time, and then I asked if I could step out into the public square. He accompanied me, along with his dog.
“Whilst we were standing there, I turned to the officer. ‘Mr. Peabody,’ says I, ‘are you good at running a footrace?’ ‘No,’ he says; then, pointing to his companion, he says to me, ‘but my dog is, and he’s been trained for many years to assist me in my off
ice. He will take any man down at my bidding.’
“‘Well,’ says I, ‘you have compelled me to go with you a mile, and I have gone with you twain. You have given me an opportunity to preach, to sing, and you have given me both lodging and breakfast. I must go on my journey now. If you are good at a race, you may accompany me. If not, good day, sir.’ And with that, I took off, determined to start on my journey as quickly as possible.”
The whole group was laughing now, the vividness of Parley’s imagery making laughter irresistible. “What did he do?” Nathan finally managed to get out.
With great seriousness, Parley went on. “For several moments, the man stood amazed. And even though I stopped, turned to him, and again invited him to a race, he still stood amazed. I then renewed my exertions, and increased my speed to something like that of a deer. Only then did he realize what I was about and started in pursuit. But by that time I had gained close to two hundred yards on him. I leaped over a fence and was heading for a patch of timber, where I hoped to take leave of his sight.
“He was coming after me now, hallooing and shouting at his dog to seize me. I could hear him behind me. ‘Stu-boy, stu-boy—take him—get him, boy—down with him.’”
A tiny smile began to play at the corner of his mouth. “Well, I could outrun the constable, but the dog was another matter. I looked over my shoulder and saw him bearing down on me. Just as he was about to leap at me, a thought popped into my mind, quick as lightning. ‘Why not assist the officer,’ I thought, ‘and send the dog on into the forest?’ So I clapped my hands, lifted my finger, and pointed in the same direction. ‘Stu-boy, stu-boy,’ I shouted, imitating the officer. ‘Get him, boy—take him down.’”
Nathan was laughing so hard that he could feel tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. Lydia was holding her stomach, trying to stop it from shaking.
The Work and the Glory Page 62
