The Work and the Glory

by Gerald N. Lund

  She laughed aloud. “That’s wonderful, Peter. I hope you’re right. I miss them so.”

  “Yes, so do I. And I was certain that we would end up having to go all the way to California before we could come back and find them. Now . . .” He grinned so broadly it made the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to go right now.”

  The carrots were long since forgotten now. Kathryn threw her arms around her husband’s neck again. “Oh, me too, Peter. Me too.”

  Chapter Notes

  The headstrong behavior of Bishop George Miller and Brigham Young’s growing frustration with him are found in Brigham’s personal history of this time (see MHBY, pp. 83–84, 93–100).

  Before joining the Church, George Miller, a well-to-do farmer in Illinois, at first thought the religion of the Latter-day Saints was humbug, but he nevertheless took pity on the exiles being driven from Missouri and gave thousands of bushels of grain to the refugees. A little over a year after being converted and baptized, he was called to be a general bishop (similar to what today we would call a Presiding Bishop) in 1841 when Bishop Edward Partridge died. At the time of his calling, the Lord described him as a servant “without guile” who “may be trusted because of the integrity of his heart” (D&C 124:20). Later in Nauvoo, in the October 1844 conference, he was sustained as “second bishop,” with Newel K. Whitney being “first bishop.”

  Converted by the powerful personal presence of Joseph Smith, Miller was a faithful and loyal supporter of the Prophet. However, he did not have those same strong feelings toward Brigham Young. Headstrong and inclined to trust in his own wisdom, he particularly chafed at the Camp of Israel’s agonizingly slow progress across Iowa. Brigham Young continually tried to rein in his advance company, but Miller would often not follow counsel, though he did seem to moderate his impetuosity during the latter part of the Iowa journey. After the arrival at the Missouri River, he was part of a group of Saints that ended up about 150 miles northwest of Winter Quarters at a Ponca Indian village, where he spent part of the winter. Miller apparently was convinced that the place for the Church was either in Oregon or, preferably, in Texas with Lyman Wight. When President Young announced in early 1847 the revelation regarding the order of the trek west (see D&C 136) and refused to change the plan to settle in the Great Basin, Miller sent a letter asking to have his name withdrawn from the Church.

  He went to Texas for a time and joined the Lyman Wight group. Disenchanted with them, he joined the Strangites for a time as well. He died in 1856, never having returned to the Church. (See Susan Easton Black, Who’s Who in the Doctrine and Covenants [Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1997], pp. 195–97.)

  The details of the Brooklyn’s voyage and of life aboard ship, including the flying fish, the death of the cows, the condition of the water, and the birth of a child who was named for the Atlantic Ocean, all come from the writings of those who participated in the journey (see “Voyage,” 46–72).

  Chapter 10

  While camped at the Chariton River during the last week of March, 1846, President Brigham Young used the respite as an opportunity to evaluate what was happening and, more important, what needed to happen. This was their third rest stop since leaving Nauvoo. They had been on the road, not counting the long delay at Sugar Creek, for a month and had barely made a hundred miles. The weather was a major factor, but not the only one. The organization by companies was in severe disarray. Bishop Miller’s persistence in forging ahead without regard for counsel was only one symptom of the unraveling structure. Even Parley Pratt, one of the Twelve, whose company included his brother, Orson, another member of the Twelve, kept getting impatient with the continuing delays and moved out ahead of the Camp of Israel. The road between the Chariton River and Nauvoo was filled with stragglers and latecomers trying vainly to catch up to the main company. Men were still leaving to return to Nauvoo for families or for possessions they had left behind. With the rain and the cold came widespread sickness. There were broken wagons, spent teams, dwindling supplies, inadequate clothing, scarce cash resources. Of the original five hundred wagons, there were now less than four hundred that were operational or still with the main camp.

  Brigham’s uncanny ability to grasp the large picture, even when it was filled with immense complexity, and his everpragmatic approach to things made it clear to him that they could not continue the march west as they were doing now. They had twelve or thirteen hundred miles to go before they reached the Rocky Mountains. And that was only the beginning of the challenge. Brigham Young had between two and three thousand Saints with him in the main Camp of Israel. There were still somewhere between ten to fifteen thousand Saints back in Nauvoo who hadn’t even started. They were still trying to get outfits together, sell their property, close out their affairs. Many of those—especially some of the recent arrivals from the East and South or from England—were so poor they were at the bare survival level. Purchasing wagons and teams for them was virtually impossible.

  On the twenty-seventh of March, while the rains continued, President Young called a leadership council. They met on Shoal Creek, about seven miles southwest of the main camp on the Chariton. After considerable discussion, a proposal for reorganizing the camp was brought forward and approved. Five days later Brigham and his company of fifty left the camp at Chariton and moved on to the site where the leadership conference had been held. There one of the advance parties had completed work on a sixty-foot-long bridge that spanned Shoal Creek. It was an improvement of immense value. There would be no double teaming the wagons, no ropes winched around men and trees to help the wagons down the steep banks, no wagons mired in the swampy approaches to the crossing. There was much yet to do, so many problems yet to solve. But to some degree, the wisdom of Brigham Young was starting to pay dividends. Even if the rains continued and the streams rose, they would not have to halt at Shoal Creek and wait for better weather.

  Brigham Young stood on the top of the west bank of Shoal Creek. Matthew Steed stood beside him. The low rumble of wagon wheels crossing rough planks filled the air as Brigham’s lead company crossed over.

  “Well done, Matthew,” Brigham said heartily, gazing at the narrow bridge that lay before them.

  “It wasn’t just me, President,” Matthew demurred. “It was Captain Averett who determined that there was no alternative but to bridge it.”

  “I know,” came the response. “Elisha’s a good man. I’m glad you decided to leave Bishop Miller and join up with Averett’s company instead. This is what an advance company should be doing.”

  “Well, I wasn’t sure if that would be acceptable to you, but I finally decided that what you called me to do was help prepare the trail, not stay with Bishop Miller.”

  “It is acceptable. Thank you. And thank you for coming back to give me a progress report. I know you need to go rejoin Captain Averett and help with more bridges, but if you stick around a little while longer, your family will be along here shortly and you’ll get to see them, if only briefly.”

  “I won’t complain about that.” Matthew turned and looked at the bridge and wagons rolling across it one after the other, his mind going back to his frustrations with Bishop Miller. “The difference between Bishop Miller and Brother Averett is that Miller thinks he is the lead company; Averett sees himself as an advance company. There’s a lot of difference.”

  “Exactly,” President Young said gruffly. “Well, with this new organization, Miller won’t have any excuse to think he’s in the lead anymore.”

  “New organization?”

  “You haven’t heard?”

  “Well, I heard some changes were being made, but I didn’t really get the details.”

  “We reorganized the companies a few days ago.”

  “In what way?”

  “Instead of going with companies of a hundred families—far too much for one captain to manage—we’ve decided to split each hundred into two companies of roughly fifty wagons each. Each will have
a president and a captain. We also appointed leadership for the whole camp.”

  “You’re still the overall leader, I hope,” Matthew said quickly.

  There was a soft chuckle. “Yes, I fear that I have no choice in that matter. I will be superintendent for the whole camp. William Clayton will be clerk for the camp, and Willard Richards will be camp historian.”

  “That’s good. Elder Richards is so meticulous.”

  “Yes,” came the thoughtful response. “We are as Israel of old, Matthew. We have left the fleshpots of Egypt and strike out into the wilderness to find our own promised land.” He looked at Matthew and his face was very earnest. “That is not just idle talk, Matthew. We are making history here. We are also fulfilling prophecy. We are part of that great gathering of Israel in the last days which the prophets foretold. It will be important to future generations to have good records of what we are about.”

  Matthew nodded, impressed with the senior Apostle’s gravity and with what he had just said.

  Then Brigham seemed to come out of his reverie. “Anyway, as far as the companies go, there will be three companies of hundreds, and each of those will have two companies of fifties. Each company of a hundred will have a member of the Twelve to preside over it. I will have the first one. Parley Pratt will take the second, and John Taylor the third.”

  “That will help,” Matthew said, pleased with that news.

  “And we’ve chosen good men to be captains and presidents of the companies of fifties—Brother Ezra T. Benson, Heber, Albert P. Rockwood, Stephen Markham.” He stopped, looking suddenly a little sheepish. “Incidentally, your family will be in my company.” The sheepishness turned into a grin. “I ought to have some say in who travels with me, don’t you think?”

  “Wonderful!” Not only would he get to see Jenny and the children again today, but if they were in the first company of fifty, that meant his family would be closer to the advance company that he was with. “What about Bishop Miller? Is he still a captain?”

  There was a momentary frown. “Bishop Miller was appointed the president of the sixth group of fifty, but Brother Charles Crisman will be the captain. Do you know Brother Crisman?”

  Matthew shook his head.

  “A good man. Levelheaded. I’m hoping that with Elder Taylor as his president and Brother Crisman as his captain, Bishop Miller will be more moderate.” President Young then smiled. “Bishop Miller is a good man, a hard worker. He just . . .” His voice trailed off and he turned back to look at the bridge.

  “He just needs to learn to take counsel?” Matthew supplied tentatively.

  There was a quick, firm nod. “That’s the heart of it,” he agreed. “Why is it so hard for men to learn to take counsel?” He was speaking more to the line of wagons slowly making their way across the sixty-foot span of bridge than he was to Matthew. “Think of how many would have been saved. Oliver Cowdery. David Whitmer. Martin Harris. Thomas B. Marsh. The list goes on and on. They were some of the truly great in the kingdom. How tragic! How different it would have turned out for them, had they just learned to follow counsel!”

  Matthew said nothing, not wanting to interrupt. He sensed that, for whatever reason, Brigham’s mind had turned to deeper things and that Matthew had a rare opportunity to be taught at the feet of one of the Lord’s anointed.

  After almost a full minute, the President turned and looked at Matthew. His demeanor was very grave now. “I don’t understand it, Matthew. When a man has the Spirit of the Lord, taking counsel from the priesthood is not a challenge. That is the key. When we have the light of the Holy Spirit in us, then we know our duty, and when we know our duty fully, it will be easy to follow truly those whom God has placed over us to lead us—as a community, as a people, as the kingdom of God.”

  He swung around. “You know what the root problem is?” Brigham finally asked absently. “It’s pride. They get so filled with a sense of their own importance, they lose the Spirit. They’re no longer teachable. They don’t believe they need counsel from anyone.”

  “Yes, I can see that.”

  “When you give way to this feeling of self-importance, it’s easy to forget that we all are dependent on God. The Savior himself warned us that those who exalt themselves will be abased, and those who abase themselves will be exalted.”

  Matthew said nothing. His thoughts were filled with the memory of some of those Brigham had named. They had been the greats of the kingdom. They had participated in some of the most exciting events of the Restoration. And now they were gone. Was pride really so heady a mistress that it took down even those kinds of men?

  “Take Oliver Cowdery, for example,” Brigham went on, still half musing, not realizing he was answering Matthew’s very question. “Do you know what he said to Joseph once?”

  “What?”

  “This was before he had started to fall away from the Church. One day he told Joseph, ‘If I should leave the Church, it would break up.’ ”

  Matthew almost hooted, but then realized how tragic that statement really was. “He really said that?”

  “Yes. And he meant it.”

  “What did Joseph say?”

  “I wasn’t there, but George A. Smith was. He said Joseph was incredulous. ‘What?’ he demanded. ‘Who are you? The Lord is not dependent upon you. Do what you will, the work will continue to roll.’ ”

  “Which has certainly been the case,” Matthew replied. “Look at all that’s happened in the Church since Oliver left—settling Nauvoo, work for the dead, missionary work in many places, another temple, the move west.”

  “The kingdom rolls forth like the stone cut out of the mountain, just as Joseph said it would. And because of pride, Oliver is left behind. Sidney Rigdon, who tried to exalt himself and become the leader, is left behind.” Brigham was shaking his head slowly. “Think of it, Matthew. Even the Twelve, even those who are ordained to be special witnesses of the Savior, are not immune to the infectious poison of pride. Thomas B. Marsh. William McLellin. Lyman Johnson. John Boynton. William Smith. Not only did half the original Quorum fall away, but most of them turned against the Church and bitterly fought to bring down Joseph. Why? Because they feel like they are wiser and more in tune with God than those called to preside over them. And so they refuse to take counsel.”

  There was total silence. Even the rumbling of the wagons across the bridge and the shouts of the teamsters as they led them across seemed distant and muted. Brigham stared off and beyond them, his thoughts far away. When he spoke it was with sadness and yet also with a curious sense of strength and conviction. “And do you know what, Matthew? They don’t break up the work of God. They only break themselves against it.”

  He straightened, took a deep breath, and turned back to the bridge. He reached out and laid a hand on Matthew’s shoulder. “But thank the Lord, there are many of those who do follow counsel. And you’re one of them, Matthew. Before he left, Captain Averett told me that it would have taken him twice as long to build the bridge without your help, dear brother.”

  “Well, that’s hardly the case,” Matthew started, “there were a lot of good men who—”

  There was a sudden twinkle in Brigham’s eye. “Are you suggesting that Captain Averett was not telling me the truth?”

  Flustered, Matthew stammered a little. “Well, no, I . . .”

  Brigham laughed heartily. “Then just say, ‘I’m glad I can be of service, Brother Brigham.’ ”

  “I’m glad I can be of service, Brother Brigham,” Matthew responded meekly.

  “Thank you. So am I.” Smiling, he started to turn away, then stopped. His hand lifted, pointing toward a wagon that was just starting to cross Shoal Creek. “Say, isn’t that the Hendrickses’ wagon?”

  “Hendrickses?” Matthew said, turning. “I don’t think I know them.”

  “Sure you do. James Hendricks and his wife, Drusilla?”

  Matthew started to shake his head.

  Brigham motioned for Matthew to follow as he
strode away. “Come on. Enough of this gloomy talk of people who won’t follow counsel. I want you to meet some who do, even when they have good reason not to. This will be something that will cheer and lift up both of us while you’re waiting for your family to arrive.”

  “Tell me again who this is and why we are going to see them.”

  They were picking their way carefully through the campground, watching for puddles or those patches of ground that seemed to be only damp but which often proved to be a thin crust of drying soil over two or three inches of thick prairie mud.

  Caroline looked at Joshua. “James and Drusilla Hendricks. We knew them—or rather, I knew them—in Nauvoo. Remember when your mother formed the Steed family women’s council a few years back to help those in need?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, Sister Hendricks was one of those we helped from time to time.”

  He shifted the sack of flour that he carried on his shoulder so its weight was more comfortable. “And why this sudden urge to go see them?”

  “Matthew said he and President Young saw them crossing the bridge today.”

  “Oh.” There was a wry look. “And will we be visiting all of the families that crossed over the bridge today?”

  She smiled sweetly. “No. Just the Hendrickses.”

  “But . . .” He wasn’t really fighting her on this, he was just curious. He had come back from getting water from the river. Matthew was there, talking to the family about a visit he and Brigham Young had made. The moment Joshua came up, Caroline had grabbed him, found a sack of flour and a slab of bacon, and insisted they make a visit before supper. “Why them?”