The Work and the Glory

by Gerald N. Lund

  Caroline brushed her apron down and unconsciously reached up to push her hair back. “Go tell Aunt Melissa. I’ll get the baby, then we’ll go on down to meet them.”

  Joshua waited for her in the parlor, but Caroline delayed getting the baby down and giving Savannah one last good-night kiss. She had seen it in his eyes the moment they met outside the store and she dreaded having him put it in words. But one could delay the inevitable for only so long. She closed the door to Charles’s room quietly, then came down the hall and into the parlor where Joshua was waiting. She stopped just inside the room, watching him closely.

  “Come sit down,” he said, forcing cheerfulness.

  She shook her head. “I’m all right.”

  He frowned slightly, then seemed to accept it. They were both silent for a moment. Small talk had been exhausted around the dinner table and afterwards.

  “Samuelson inquired after you.”

  “That’s nice. Did you give him my best?”

  “I did.” Again the silence. Then he patted the sofa beside him. “You sure you don’t want to sit down?”

  “I’m sure.” She took a breath. “What is it, Joshua?”

  He wasn’t surprised. He couldn’t hide much from her. “Caroline? I . . .”

  She waited.

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about this whole thing.”

  “What whole thing is that?” The hurt and the disappointment were too sharp inside her for her to want to make it any easier for him.

  “Your becoming a Mormon.”

  “Oh?”

  “I won’t tell you that you can’t,” he said, his words suddenly taking an edge that he didn’t intend. “I told you that. I won’t be forbidding it.”

  “But?”

  He took a quick breath. “But if you’re wanting to know what I think, I would prefer that you not be baptized.”

  “Prefer?” she said, unaware that her fingers were digging into her palms. “Is that all? You would prefer that I don’t. Not strongly prefer? Not command?”

  He shook his head, knowing he had run into a full-scale blizzard here. “That’s right. If you still want to, you can. But you asked me before how I felt about it. Well, I’ve thought about it, and I’d pre— I’d rather you didn’t.”

  “Not ever?”

  He started a little, then saw the danger. “Just for now,” he said lamely.

  She nodded, then turned and walked back into the hallway and down to their bedroom.

  Chapter Notes

  Joseph Smith first formally introduced the doctrine of baptism for the dead while preaching at the funeral service for Seymour Brunson on 15 August 1840. There is no known contemporary text for the discourse, so details had to be provided by the author. However, from Joseph’s own comments about that day (see HC 4:231) and from the report of one man who was there, the following items are known: (1) Joseph did read most of 1 Corinthians 15, which contains the reference to baptism for the dead. (2) He pointed to a widow in the audience whose son had died before the family had joined the Church. He then cited the Savior’s comments about the necessity of baptism (see John 3:5) and said the widow now had cause to rejoice for her son. (3) He noted that Paul was speaking to a people who understood the principle of baptism for the dead and practiced it. (4) He announced that the Saints could be baptized in behalf of those of their relatives and friends who they felt might receive the gospel in the spirit world. (5) He taught that the plan of salvation was calculated to save all who were willing to keep the requirements of God’s law. The man who reported this also described it as “a very beautiful discourse.” (See recollection of Simon Baker, in Joseph Smith, The Words of Joseph Smith, comp. and ed. Andrew F. Ehat and Lyndon W. Cook [Provo, Utah: Religious Studies Center, Brigham Young University, 1980], p. 49.)

  Emma Smith gave birth to a baby boy, whom they named Don Carlos after Joseph’s younger brother, on 13 June 1840. He was her seventh child, but only the fourth to live more than a few hours beyond birth.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Sunday, 30 August 1840—London, England

  My dear Jennifer Jo,

  As you will note from the heading of this letter, I am now in the great city of London, having arrived here a week ago Tuesday last. I am no longer in company with Brigham Young, but have come to England’s capital by assignment with Heber C. Kimball, Wilford Woodruff, and George A. Smith. Derek remains behind in Manchester with Brother Brigham to help with the heavy load of running the Church here in England.

  There is so much to tell you. I have waited until the Sabbath to write this letter so I have the time to say it all. First, I send my love to you and tell you how much I miss you. I often go to sleep with your face before me. Give my love to Mama and Papa. I will write to them next when there is time.

  I shall tell you first about England in general, and London specifically. It is a wondrous place and has greatly expanded my views. It has also made me all the more thankful for America. The people here are wonderful, in some ways even more warm and giving than those in our country. But conditions are very much worse, especially for the working classes.

  We took some time to visit the sights the other day. We went to Buckingham Palace, the Tower of London, and Westminster Cathedral. As you know, Queen Victoria succeeded to the throne just three years ago when she was eighteen years of age. She was married in February of this year. She married her first cousin Prince Albert, who comes from one of the royal families on the continent. Derek says it was announced that she refused to wear anything at the ceremony that was not made in England. The people loved this, and she seems to be restoring a lot of pride among the people for their own country. We had not yet arrived in England by then, but Derek says the whole nation celebrated. She is very much revered by the people.

  Anyway, I didn’t get to actually see her, but we saw the palace and surroundings. She is surrounded by all the elegance and pageantry of a Roman Caesar. It is almost more than the mind can take in. We saw one of the queen’s stables, and I swear, the places where the horses sleep are better than half the beds in London.

  The difference in the classes here is shocking to me. The richest live in a manner that is almost impossible to imagine. They own about 80% of all the land in Great Britain and some have annual incomes of 5,000 pounds or more. That would be about 25,000 American dollars. I cannot conceive of such a fortune, but when I see their lavish houses I have to believe. Many own mansions in the city and in the country too.

  But most of the people we see are called the “sunken sixth.” They are the lowest classes and make up about one-sixth of the people. As we walk the streets of London the contrast between the upper and lower classes is stark and leaves one wondering when Christ will come and set things right again. It is not uncommon to see half-naked, half-starving children running along behind the most splendid chariots, with their liveried footmen and the beautifully matched teams of horses. Beggars are everywhere. You cannot believe the numbers. I have also seen women and children scouring the streets for manure and old cigar butts, which they scoop up and sell by the bucketful to the tanneries. It is a grim way to make a living, but survival drives them to it. Many turn to crime or other vices. Pickpockets are a constant worry in London, and many women—even young girls—are forced into selling themselves away to wicked men who have no morals.

  There are taxes of every kind. Brigham says that smoke cannot go up the chimney or light come through the window without someone here trying to tax it. There are taxes for living and taxes for dying. Many of the poor have a difficult time even burying their loved ones when they die. Brigham, who gets quite exercised on this subject, says it would be cheaper for a man to emigrate to America and find a grave there than it is to be buried in Merry Olde England. There is a tax on nearly everything, except perhaps cats, mice, and fleas.

  They tell me when winter comes and the weather turns cold, the air becomes almost unbearable. There is a thick black smoke from the factories, the locomotives, th
e coal-burning stoves, fireplaces, and open fires. Sometimes the air is so thick with smoke that candles are lit at noonday so one can read. A neighbor says on those days he feels like a horse with the heaves. I look not forward to those times.

  Well, I shall dwell no longer on such dismal scenes. I mention them only to give you a feeling for this place. The people are bright and cheerful, even in their poverty. And London has many wonderful things that we could use to good purpose in America. I must tell you about something that has come forth since our arrival. We have now, since May, what they call the “Penny Black.” It gets its name because it costs a penny and has a picture of Queen Victoria’s head drawn over a black background. (This is what you see stuck up in the corner of this page. I thought you might like to see an actual one.) But here is what is most marvelous. The Penny Black is a postage stamp and it has glue on the back of it. Yes, glue. Instead of taking your letter to the postal station and having the postmaster stamp it with the amount, you can just buy a Penny Black. Then when you are ready to mail it, you just lick the back of the stamp with your tongue—it tastes awful!—then stick it on the letter. Then you can just post it by dropping it in a postal box. This is a wonderful convenience, and I hope America someday gets the same idea.

  Let me now tell you briefly about the work here. It is a marvelous thing to see what is happening in so short a time. Last month we had a conference in Manchester, which is the Church’s headquarters in England now. The Twelve are managing all the affairs here in Great Britain and it is helping immensely. At the conference, it was reported that in England there are now forty-one congregations or branches of the Church, with a total membership of 2,513. Almost 850 Saints have been added since the April conference in Preston, so you can see the work progresses with great success.

  On the day of the conference, Parley Pratt received some bad news. He received a letter from his wife in New York City saying that she was ill and too sick to come to England to join him. This was a great blow to him, as he was expecting her arrival at any time. As I told you before, Parley plans to remain in England for several years and was anxious that Mary Ann and his children join him. He was so distraught at the news that the Quorum approved his returning to New York to get her. He left on the next available ship, and we hope to see him before winter sets in again.

  Some good news especially for you. Just a few weeks ago, Brother John Taylor and two other brothers sailed for Ireland. They say that one out of every seven people in Liverpool is Irish, so it is not surprising that some of his converts were from your mother country. They persuaded him to go to the Emerald Isle and open the work there. They have already had baptisms. Oh, that your mother might have lived long enough to hear that news!

  We spent three weeks in the Staffordshire Potteries and in Herefordshire on the way down here to London. The work started in both those places by Wilford Woodruff continues forward in a miraculous way. In Herefordshire, on one Sunday we baptized forty people. Since we left Manchester in the middle of July, an additional 250 have joined themselves to the kingdom. What is most gratifying is to know that most of those converted by Wilford’s earlier labors are still true and faithful. That is especially true of John and Jane Benbow. The Benbows lent Brigham 250 English pounds to help print the Book of Mormon. They are also paying for the passage to America of more than three dozen people. They are very generous in helping the work.

  And that brings me to some other news which will be of special interest to Peter. On September 7th, about two hundred British Saints will be gathered in Liverpool and will board the ship North America, which will set sail the next day. Derek has been making all the arrangements, but Brigham has asked that I go to Liverpool to help with the final departure. I will leave in a few days. But here is what you must tell Peter. Among that group will be two people from Preston. I speak of Sister Abigail Pottsworth and her daughter, Jenny. Derek and Peter knew the Pottsworths well before they came to America. You will like them very much, I’m sure. Mrs. Pottsworth reminds me of your mother in many ways. However, you may wish to warn Kathryn about Jenny. I know that even though she is still too young to begin courting, Kathryn has always held fond feelings for Peter and hopes as she gets older that some mutual feelings might develop on his part as well. Jenny is only a year older than Kathryn but is very mature for her age. She and Peter were very close friends before Peter left, and I get a feeling that Jenny may have some hopes of her own when it comes to Peter.

  One last thing, then I shall close. Brother George A. is with us here in London, which is a great pleasure to me. He is the youngest of the Twelve—he celebrated his twenty-third birthday in June—and has a wonderful sense of humor. He and I have become fast friends. I give you one example of his personality which should also be of comfort to you, since I, like him, am also a bachelor missionary.

  Whilst (you’ll notice from my use of that word that I am picking up some habits of speech from the British) on his way to his field of labor last April, he stopped in Manchester and took lodging at Alice Hardman’s boardinghouse. He had no idea at that time that the Saints there, especially the young single ladies, took literally the admonition of Paul to “greet one another with a holy kiss.” He had just seated himself on a sofa when several young ladies came in, obviously very excited to see the only Apostle who was not married. One of them, “decidedly a little beauty,” as George A. describes her, boldly stepped forward and said, “Brother Smith, we want a kiss from you as Paul commands.” George A. says that as she spoke thus, the eyes of the other young women “flashed like stars on a clear night.”

  Feeling very foolish, but determined to stand his ground, George A. firmly told them that kissing young women was no part of his mission to England. Vastly disappointed, they left, and George, with a twinkle in his eye, says they went out and ruined his reputation as a ladies’ man in that area. The older brethren commended him for his wise course of action and have further commanded all the missionaries hereafter to follow the same course.

  You will be pleased to know that I have never been caught in such a situation and will not be. I have room in my heart for only one “decidedly little beauty” whose eyes “flash like the stars on a clear night,” and that is my Jennifer Jo. The journey to Liverpool will be a difficult one, for as we put those Saints on the ship and send them winging across the sea to join you, I will find it very difficult not to stow away with them. I shall not, of course, but it will be a sore temptation.

  I will try to write another letter before their departure and send it with the Pottsworths. Till then, I am

  Your devoted,

  Matthew Steed

  “Hey,” Jiggers said, biting deep into an apple, “don’t it feel good to be back where you can understand the language again and get something decent to eat?”

  Will had his face buried in half a cantaloupe. He pulled back, wiping at the dripping juice with the back of his sleeve, then looked at the bosun of the Bostonia. They weren’t back in America yet, but Jiggers was right. Being back in England was a welcome relief after a dozen ports of call where as many languages were spoken. But he only pulled a face at his shipmate. “I’d agree with the thought of something decent to eat. The language I’m not so sure of.”

  The woman who had sold them the fruit was watching the two sailors closely. She was an old crone and had been testy from the moment they had approached her stall. Now she shook her finger at them. “Ah, gawahn! Ya got a lot a cheek, you Americans. Yer not so easy to listen to yerselfs.”

  “Cheek?” Will whispered out of the corner of his mouth, trying not to smile.

  “Yeah,” Jiggers replied. “It means . . .” His face screwed up, trying to find an adequate word.

  “It means impudent,” she cawed. “Rude. Insolent. Now, be aff wit ya.”

  Will was chuckling as they moved away. It was good to be back even this far. It had been over a year since they left Liverpool and turned south for the long run around Cape Horn and on to China. And most import
ant, after a few days here for replenishing stock and maybe filling up the last of the cargo bins, they’d be off for America. Another month or two and he’d be back in Savannah, seeing his mother.

  Jiggers suddenly reached out and grabbed Will’s arm. “Look, there’s Mr. O’Malley.”

  Will looked up and spotted the first mate immediately. He was waving at them to come to him. “What gives?” Will growled. “We’ve just barely started our shore leave.”

  Jiggers just shook his head and they moved across the marketplace to where the officer was waiting.

  “There’s been a slight change of plans,” O’Malley announced without preamble. “The captain wants all crew members to meet at the shipping office.” Seeing their disappointment, he laid a hand on Will’s shoulder. “Shouldn’t take long. Then you’ll be free again.”

  The Bostonia carried a crew of twenty-eight. Five or six had scattered more quickly than Will and Jiggers, and so O’Malley had not been able to find them. But even with some missing, it was still too crowded in the office of the American shipping lines for all of them, so Captain Sperryman simply moved them outside and into an alleyway where it was somewhat quiet.

  He waited until they were gathered in tightly around him, then began. “Men, I think Mr. O’Malley has already told you there’s been a change of plans.”

  He had, but he hadn’t said what, so a low rumble broke out among the group as they responded to the captain’s words.

  “I’ve been given a new ship, and a new cargo.”

  Now the murmur turned into cries of surprise and dismay.

  “That’s right,” Sperryman said more loudly. “A new ship. It’s the North America. It’s just come across from New York and they’ve asked me to bring it back. I’ll be giving the Bostonia to another captain. The North America is a larger and faster ship than ours, and I’ve been given permission to keep most of you as crew.”

  He let that sink in for a moment, then raised his hand. They quieted quickly. “The one good thing is, we’ll be boarding the ship on the seventh, three days hence, then striking sail on the eighth. That’s a week sooner than the Bostonia leaves. I don’t know about you, but after eighteen months at sea, every day we save getting home is a blessing twice over.”