And then Josh’s eye was drawn upward. There on the roofs of the adobe houses on both sides of the streets were uniformed men with rifles held at attention. It was the men from Colonel Doniphan’s regiment come to welcome the Mormons, and there must have been at least a hundred of them.
From somewhere up ahead, and he couldn’t distinguish exactly where, he heard a man’s voice shout out. “Red-dee!”
The men on the roofs all stiffened to attention.
“Shoul-derarms!” The command floated across the stillness broken only by the sloshing of the men’s marching feet.
With impressive precision the men above them snapped the rifles up to their shoulders, barrels pointed at the sky.
“Red-dee. Take your aim. Fire!”
A hundred rifles exploded as one. The muzzles belched fire and smoke, and several of the children screamed joyfully and clapped their hands over their ears. Almost instantly Josh smelled the acrid odor of black powder burning.
“Fire at will!”
Gleefully, almost like children themselves, the men on the rooftops began blasting away at the sky in an unrestrained welcome to the arriving troops.
Josh turned and looked at Sergeant Williams, his face split with a huge grin. “I think we’re here,” he called over the noise.
Williams was more sobered by their welcome. “Welcome to the war with Mexico,” he answered. “Let’s hope this is as bad as it gets.”
Chapter Notes
On 9 October 1846 one of the most remarkable miracles in the history of the Church occurred at Montrose, Iowa, across the river from the now all-but-deserted city of Nauvoo (see SW,pp. 213–14). The details found in this chapter are not exaggerated in any way and come from the eyewitness accounts of those who were there. A few months later, after hearing what had happened, the Council of the Twelve wrote the following in a letter to the missionaries in England: “Tell ye this to the nations of the Earth! Tell it to the Kings and nobles and the great ones—tell ye this to those who believe [in] that God who fed the Children of Israel in the wilderness in the days of Moses, that they may know there is a God in the last days, and that his people are as dear to him now as they were in those days, and that he will feed them when the house of the oppressor is unbearable, and he is acknowledged God of the whole Earth and every knee bows and every tongue confesses, that Jesus is the Christ.” (As cited in SW,p. 214.)
Chapter 30
The second division of the Mormon Battalion marched into Santa Fe late in the afternoon of the twelfth of October, three days behind the advance company. This time there was no formal welcome from Colonel Doniphan’s regiment, but many of the battalion members met them about a mile east of town and escorted them in.
Josh was very pleased to see that though Derek looked a little peaked, he was sitting up beside Rebecca on the wagon seat and was driving the team. Josh ran over to join them as soon as he saw their wagon. “Welcome to Santa Fe,” he called up happily. “Is everything all right?”
“We’re very tired, but we’re fine.”
“How’s Derek doing?” he asked Rebecca.
“Holding on,” she answered.
“Thanks to not having Doctor Death treating me, I’m doing all right,” Derek corrected her. “I’m still a little weak, but I’m—”
“That’s too bad. I was going to take you two out on the town tonight.”
“Out on the town?” Rebecca repeated, smiling at his enthusiasm.
“Oh, yes. Santa Fe is wonderful. I want you to try some of the Mexican food.” He got a wicked look. “Like their pepper pie.”
Derek hooted. “Why do I sense a trap in that remark?”
Josh grinned. “It was a real experience. I wouldn’t want you to miss it.” Then he brightened. “That reminds me. We have a new battalion commander.”
They both looked surprised. “What happened to Lieutenant Smith?” Derek asked.
“The army doesn’t feel like he’s a senior enough officer.” He flashed a broken smile. “I knew you’d be heartbroken at that news.”
“So who will take command?” Rebecca asked.
“His name is Philip St. George Cooke. He’s a lieutenant colonel.” Josh was speaking in a rush now. “He’s the one who captured Santa Fe without any incident. Because of that, General Kearny has great confidence in him. Kearny put Cooke in charge.” He chortled with glee. “I wish I could have seen Lieutenant Smith’s face. They say he was absolutely dumbfounded.”
“I would give a month’s wages for that sight,” Derek agreed.
“Another express came in this afternoon from General Kearny confirming the change. The men who have served with him say that Colonel Cooke is a strict disciplinarian but fair and well respected by his men.”
“That would be a nice change,” Rebecca said with a droll smile.
A head suddenly popped out from the wagon cover between Derek and Rebecca. It was Benjamin. “Josh!” he cried.
Instantly another head appeared. “Josh!” Christopher pushed past his brother until he was half onto the wagon seat.
“Hello, boys,” Josh said, reaching up to grasp Christopher’s hand. “I’ve missed you.”
“Can we walk with you, Josh?” Christopher asked. He looked at his mother. “Can we, Mama? Please.”
“We’re less than a mile from town,” Josh said.
Rebecca nodded and the two heads disappeared. There was a happy squeal from inside the wagon. Josh went around to the back in time to catch four-year-old Benji and set him down on the ground, then give a hand to Christopher. They strode forward again until they were walking alongside their parents.
“You’ll love it here, Rebecca. The people bring in all kinds of things to trade. You can buy just about anything—apples, peaches, pears, pine nuts, grapes, carrots, potatoes, bread, corn, melons, onions. Oh, you should see the onions. They’re as big as saucers. They eat them raw, like turnips, and they’re really quite sweet to the taste.”
He turned to the boys. “And you’ve got to try the pine nuts. They’re about this big”—he showed them with his fingers—“and in a hard shell, which you crack with your teeth. They’re delicious.”
“You sound like a representative for the town fathers,” Rebecca said, laughing.
Now the smile died as Josh looked up at his aunt and uncle. “There’s some news that’s not so good.”
“What’s that?” Derek asked.
“In the express that came from General Kearny today, Colonel Cooke got his orders. He’s to get sixty days’ rations for us, and then we’re to follow the general’s trail to the Pacific. Then we’ll probably go by boat up to Monterey.”
“What’s so bad about that?” Derek replied. “I didn’t expect to stay here very long.”
Josh looked away. “Colonel Cooke met with all of the officers today. He says that the march ahead is going to be a very difficult one.”
Rebecca’s face fell. “No, Josh. Don’t tell me.”
“Yes. While he was complimentary of what we have done thus far, he has a lot of concerns. Our clothing is tattered and worn. Our mules are utterly broken down.” He glanced quickly at Rebecca and away. “He says it was a mistake to let families enroll with the battalion. We’re at war out here. It’s no place for women and children.”
“But Colonel Allen promised,” Rebecca cried. “He promised.”
“It’s the sick too,” Josh went on. “Colonel Cooke says we have too many that are old, too many that are too weak to make the kind of march that lies ahead of us. He’s proposing that another detachment be sent back to Pueblo.”
Rebecca was staring forward, her lips pressed into a thin line. “I won’t go, Derek. I won’t leave you.”
“The lieutenant colonel says the sick detachment will spend the winter at Pueblo with the first detachment and then will be taken, at government expense, west in the spring.”
“I won’t,” Rebecca said again. “I’m sorry, but I won’t.”
Josh looked only at Derek
. “Our officers have agreed that this is the best thing to do.”
“Did they even ask the men?” Derek cried.
“No. We were not consulted.”
“Figures,” he muttered.
Now Josh couldn’t meet the look of either of them. “The decision is final. They’ve already started making up the roster.”
Rebecca was outraged. “I’ll go talk to this Colonel Cooke. I’ll—”
There was a deep sigh. “All of your family is on the list to go to Pueblo, Aunt Rebecca,” he said quietly. “Including you, Derek.”
Once Peter and James Reed left their camp, they had made good time, pressing forward sometimes until after dark. Had Glaucus been her old self, Peter would have been hard-pressed to keep up, but the horse was almost as exhausted as the men and made no better time than a walking man. They took turns riding her, trying to conserve their strength.
The two of them caught up with the Donner group on the second day. Reed sadly told his longtime friends about the tragedy. He told them he had accepted the banishment to avoid further trouble and also to go ahead for food. There had been no word from Stanton and McCutchen as yet, so no one thought to question that. A shortage of food was on everyone’s mind. After a brief discussion it was determined that Walt Herron would go with them. The Donners also offered them food for a week, but Reed refused. Those staying behind needed it more desperately than those going ahead. The three of them finally agreed to accept enough for three days, planning to stretch that out over six or eight days by supplementing it through hunting. They also decided that they would not take any more horses. There again, those still coming on with wagons had a more desperate need than the three going on ahead.
After eating breakfast with the Donners, the three men moved on.
On the fifth day—the third day after leaving the Donners—Reed, Herron, and Peter came to what were known as “The Sinks,” where Mary’s River simply disappeared in the desert vastness. They decided to go day and night across the “Fortymile Desert” and made it in about twenty-eight hours, stopping only once to sleep for a couple of hours. When they reached the Truckee River, they left letters for Reed’s family to let them know he was all right, shot a couple of geese, and pressed on. The geese were a welcome treat but a bad omen. They were Canada geese and were part of the large numbers that were headed south.
At Truckee Meadows, they let Glaucus graze for half a day while they rested at the base of the Sierra Nevada. When they started again, they followed the track of the companies that had gone before them, but clearly no one had been on it for a week or more. By then their food was gone and there were no more geese to be found. There was plenty of water to drink, but nothing to eat. They debated about stopping long enough to hunt for game, but James Reed was driven with a great urgency to return to his family. If they stopped to hunt, there was no guarantee they would be successful. If they weren’t, it would delay them further and make their food situation all the more critical.
The Sierra Nevada was a great mountain wall looming before them, often shrouded with dark clouds, showing brilliant white crowns when it was clear. It was mid-October, and neither the clouds nor the snow were encouraging. No one rode Glaucus now. Reed held her reins and she followed along, as painfully slow as the men. Now, two days after starting to climb, they were within an estimated five or six miles of the pass. The trail had become steeper and they plodded onward, heads down and too exhausted to speak.
Peter was thinking of Kathryn, focusing on the trail only enough to keep his feet moving forward one step at a time. That was no surprise. Kathryn was constantly on his mind of late. As usual, whenever he thought of her now, a great sense of gratitude welled up inside him. When he thought about what it would have meant to have her still with them—hacking their way across the Wasatch, stumbling through the hell of the Salt Desert, now with him gone on ahead—it made him shudder.
“Look!” James Reed leaped forward and dropped to one knee. He fumbled in the pine needles and dried grass. Then he held up his hand triumphantly.
Peter leaned forward, staring. It looked like he held a small pebble. Walt Herron moved over beside Reed. “What is it?”
“A bean!” He waved it back and forth like a flag.
“A bean?” Herron said stupidly.
“Yes. If there’s one, there may be others. It evidently dropped out of one of the wagons.”
Had they been able to see themselves, and had the circumstances been different, they might have laughed aloud. Three grown men moved slowly along the wagon track, scouring the ground with their eyes as though they were looking for gold. Each time they found a bean, there was a glad shout and great rejoicing.
They found seven in all, and then there were no more. Some careful wife had evidently seen the beans leaking out of the sack and fixed the problem. When it was evident that their “bounty” had ended, they solemnly divided them up. Herron—who was doing the worst on no food, or at least who made the most noise about it—got three. Peter and Mr. Reed each took two. They washed them down with water from the river, now a tumbling stream, then moved on again, more disheartened than ever.
Two hours later it was Peter who saw their next startling sight. “Wagons!” He virtually screamed it at his companions.
“Where?” Herron exclaimed.
“There. Through the trees.” Ahead of them about fifty or sixty yards, the wagon track took a sharp bend to the left. Beyond that, through the pine trees, they could see splashes of white and portions of wagon wheels.
“It is!” Reed cried. He raised his hand and began shouting. “Hey! Halloo the wagons!” It came out not much more than a hoarse croak.
They broke into a stumbling run, but as they came around the bend and saw the three wagons in full view, they slowed to a halt. There were no horses, no oxen, no life of any kind.
“They’re abandoned,” Peter exclaimed bitterly.
They stared for several seconds, the disappointment so sharp as to make them twist in pain. Then Reed started forward. “Maybe they left some food.”
They tore into the wagons like madmen. Whoever had decided that they couldn’t make it over the pass with these wagons had left considerable goods behind—books, cooking utensils, tools, toys, blankets, bolts of cloth. But to no one’s surprise, they found not one scrap of food—not a forgotten crust of bread, not a rusting tin of sardines, not a barrel that hadn’t been completely emptied before it was tossed aside.
After fifteen exhausting, bitterly disappointing minutes, they came back together, heads down, panting heavily. “Nothing!” Reed whispered. “Not so much as a whiff.”
Peter and Herron nodded, too weary to confirm that they had had no better success.
Suddenly Reed leaned forward. The other two raised their heads to see what he was staring at. To their surprise, he went to the second wagon. A bucket hung from the side. Peter had seen it earlier and checked it, but it was the bucket for the grease they used to lubricate the axles and the hubs. He had gone on, looking for better things. Reed took it off its hook and peered into it. There was a grunt, more of interest than of triumph. Curious, Peter moved over to see what he’d found. Herron stayed slumped on the wagon tongue.
“What is it?” Peter asked.
“Axle grease,” Reed said, wrinkling his nose. He had a wooden spatula and scooped up some of the dark brown mixture. Then suddenly he began to scrape in earnest, wiping the grease against the wagon wheel. “Look!” he cried again, holding up the bucket.
Peter leaned over, putting his face right next to it. He saw a white streak in the bottom in sharp contrast against the dark grease. Then the smell hit him. It was so awful that he recoiled as though he had seen a rattlesnake in the bucket.
“What?” Herron called. “What is it?”
“It’s tallow,” Reed said, holding the bucket away from his own face. “Probably hog tallow, judging from the smell. They didn’t mix it in very well when they made the grease.”
“A
nd rancid as a dead carcass,” Peter said, backing up a step.
Herron leaped up, hollering something unintelligible. He came hobbling over and peered into the bucket. He pulled a face, but he didn’t pull away. “Sure it’s rancid,” he agreed, “but it’s food.”
“You can’t eat that,” Peter cried in disgust.
Herron whirled on him. “You got any other suggestions?”
Reed blanched. “Walt, that’s not edible.”
“Give me a bite.”
“Walt!”
“I’m not going to die on this mountain. Give me a bite. If we can keep going for just another couple of days, we can make it.” When Reed just stared at him as if he had finally gone mad, Herron slapped the bucket. “Give me a bite.”
Reluctantly, Reed took the spatula and scraped out a glob about the size of a walnut. Herron stared at it for a moment, took a deep breath, then opened his mouth. Gingerly, Reed held the spatula up to Herron’s mouth.
Herron gulped it down without chewing it. He nearly gagged for a moment, but then he swallowed hard and the impulse passed. “Another one,” he demanded.
Peter turned away. Even four or five feet away, the smell tied his stomach in knots.
He heard the spatula scrape the bucket. He looked around in time to see James Reed take a small bite of the stuff. Reed, however, made the mistake of biting down on it once and nearly threw it back up before he managed to swallow it.
“Give me another bite,” Herron said.
Reed was still struggling to keep his down, but he scraped up another small ball of the stuff. Herron gulped it down again without hesitation. “More!”
Reed shook his head. “No, Walt. Any more and it will kill you.”
Suddenly Reed doubled over and groaned in pain. The bucket and paddle dropped from his hand. He turned and ran, nearly smacking into one of the wagons, then stumbled on, groping his way like a blind man.
Peter started after him as the violent retching began. “Are you all right, Mr. Reed?”
“I can’t see,” came the strangled reply. He fell to his knees, retching violently now but waving Peter back. “Leave me be,” he gasped.
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