The Work and the Glory

by Gerald N. Lund

  The second change was that they now shared the trail. There were several other emigrant parties moving westward. Most of these were smaller parties—half a dozen to maybe twenty wagons—but several were from Missouri. When those emigrants learned that there were Mormons close by, tension filled the air. The rumors that the Mormons had come out to slaughter any emigrants, and especially Missourians, was still going up and down the river. With about a hundred and fifty men, the Mormons far outnumbered the Missourians, and the non-Mormons well knew it. But Brigham wisely kept apart from them as much as possible, and no clashes resulted.

  That did not mean, however, that there wasn’t considerable competition for the best grazing and watering sites. Often one company would rise and leave without breakfast so as to get the jump on others.

  William Clayton still took very seriously his charge to keep a careful record of the trail and continually left “signposts” for the following companies. One was a buffalo skull on which he left a notation of date and distance. On another board he noted the mileage and the date, then said, “All well.” On the twelfth of June, just before five o’clock in the afternoon, an advance group of the Pioneer Company reached what was known as “the last crossing of the Platte.” As they reached this significant point, William Clayton put up another of his trail markers: “Fort John, 124 miles. Winter Quarters, 655 and 1/4 miles.”

  Matthew was driving. Kathryn and her baby were on the wagon seat beside him. Rebecca, who had been in the back feeding Leah, was now on her knees on a blanket, looking out from between them. Nathan, Derek, and the two boys were walking alongside. As they came over a slight elevation, they saw the river below them and the flats near the river dotted with white wagon tops. Matthew reined in. “There she is,” he said.

  “What, Papa?” Benjamin cried. “What is it?”

  “That’s the North Platte River again, son,” Derek said, hoisting him up on his shoulders. “That’s where we’re going to camp tonight. See those wagons off to the left? Those are the men who went ahead of us.”

  “Look,” Nathan exclaimed, “there’s the cutter taking someone across.”

  Even from a distance, they could easily spot the Revenue Cutter. The boat was midway across the river. Two men were rowing what looked like a full load of goods across to the far side.

  Matthew turned and looked at a second group of wagons clustered in a circle about a quarter of a mile away from their group. “And those must be the Missouri companies.”

  Derek frowned. “I hope there’s no trouble. We normally don’t have to camp quite that close to them.”

  Their attention was drawn away from the river when Heber C. Kimball came riding toward them on his horse. When the Steeds stopped to look, several other wagons in the company also pulled up alongside of them. Others were now coming up behind them. Elder Kimball stopped a few yards away. He turned in his saddle to point. “Brethren, you can see where the advance group has made camp. It’s a good site. Brother Brigham wants us all to camp there.”

  “Have we already started to ferry our stuff across?” Nathan asked. “I see the cutter’s already working.”

  “No. Actually we are ferrying goods for the Missouri com-panies.”

  “What?” Matthew exclaimed in surprise. There were also several other cries of dismay.

  Heber turned again to look toward the river. The cutter was now reaching the far bank, and there were men there waiting who immediately began to unload it. “There’s no way to take a loaded wagon across that river. It’s too dangerous. So we carry across their loads; then they try to swim their wagons across. And without much success, I might add.”

  “Why would we want to take their goods across?” Kathryn asked, still quite surprised by that news.

  Heber gave a short laugh. “Because they’re paying one dollar and fifty cents a load for us to do it. Since yesterday we’ve already earned thirty-four dollars, to be paid in flour at two dollars fifty cents a hundred weight.”

  Nathan gave a low whistle. “Two dollars fifty cents per hundred is Nauvoo prices. At Fort Laramie, flour was selling for ten dollars a hundred weight.”

  “Exactly,” Heber said, smiling. “As Brother Woodruff said just before I left camp, ‘It is as much a miracle to see our supplies replenished in the midst of the Black Hills as it was for the Israelites to find manna in the wilderness.’ ” Then he sobered. “The Lord continues to bless us, and may his name be praised for that.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Rebecca said, feeling a great surge of rejoicing. She and Kathryn had used the last of their flour three days before. If there was a new supply, that would be a great blessing to them.

  “So far, we’ve taken in about thirteen hundred pounds of flour,” Heber went on, “along with some bacon and a few pounds of cornmeal. We’ll distribute that throughout the camp tomorrow.” Now the smile wreathed his whole face again. “I would say that the Revenue Cutter has earned its name. And more than that. When our men came up yesterday afternoon, they said the Missourians were friendly but wary. All of them had bowie knives and pistols in their belts to let us know they were prepared for any trouble. Then late yesterday afternoon one of their men decided to swim across the river by himself. The fool kept his clothes on, thinking he’d be all right. When he got about halfway across, he started floundering, screaming and yelling that he couldn’t make it. Fortunately our men had seen him and took out after him in the cutter. They got there just in time to save his life.”

  “Oh, that’s good,” Christopher said, who had been listening to all this intently.

  “More than good, son,” Heber said. “Next thing we knew, the knives and the pistols had disappeared and the Missourians invited some of our boys over for a hot supper prepared by their cooks. So the boat has paid rich dividends in other ways as well.”

  He picked up the reins and prepared to go. “Well, come on down. We need to get camp set up as soon as possible. As you know, it’s the Sabbath tomorrow, but how much a day of rest it will be remains to be seen.”

  Sunday or no Sunday, the challenge of getting across the river weighed heavily on Brigham Young’s mind. Well over a hundred yards wide, filled with limbs and logs big enough to stave in a horse, the North Platte during the spring runoff was enough to give anyone a chill just looking at it. This was not going to be a simple crossing, and yet every day spent here was one less day for growing crops when they reached their final destination. After the morning worship services, Brigham called for a meeting with the Twelve and the various captains. There was no debate about whether to unload the wagons and ferry their goods across on the Revenue Cutter. The question was how to get the wagons across even if they were empty. After what the Missourians had experienced, the Twelve were understandably nervous about trying to swim them across. Two courses of action were decided upon. First, a group of men would take wagons south the eight or ten miles to the mountains—the Black Hills—to cut long poles. These would be used to lash the wagons together in sets of twos or fours so that they would not roll over in the current. A second team, under Howard Egan’s direction, was given the assignment to start cutting timber along the river and build a raft large enough to carry a wagon. To no one’s surprise, Matthew was assigned to that team because of his carpentry skills. Derek and Nathan were asked to take their wagons with the group that went to cut poles. By afternoon of that day, both teams were hard at work fulfilling their assignments. The work of finding a way across the flood-swollen river had begun.

  Chapter Notes

  On the first day of June, 1847, advance scouts, including Brigham Young and Heber C. Kimball, reached a spot across the North Platte River from Fort Laramie. As they were deciding on a campsite, they saw some men across the river approaching from the southwest, the direction of the fort. Brigham sent the Revenue Cutter across for them, where they discovered they were part of the Mississippi Saints who had wintered in Pueblo. They had been waiting at Fort Laramie for about two weeks by then.

  Th
ough the most common name for the trading post near the confluence of the North Platte and the Laramie Rivers was Fort Laramie, officially at this time it was named Fort John, presumably for John Sarpy, who had built it (see LeRoy R. Hafen and Francis Marion Young, Fort Laramie and the Pageant of the West, 1834–1890[1938; reprint, Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1984], p. 70). William Clayton consistently referred to it as Fort John; in other journals it is called Fort Laramie.

  The Black Hills mentioned often in trail journals were not the current Black Hills of South Dakota. Rather, this was the name given to the range of mountains that parallel the North Platte River in what is now eastern Wyoming. Heavily forested, they appear black from a distance, which prob-ably generated the name.

  Chapter 41

  The men of the Pioneer Company began the task of crossing the river at four a.m. on Monday morning. Since the Steeds had women and children with them, Derek stayed behind to help the family with a fire and breakfast. Matthew and Nathan went to the river where the first division of the company was to meet. They were not surprised to see that Brigham Young already had one of his wagons there and was unloading it.

  Even as they set to work transferring the President’s goods to the Revenue Cutter, more wagons got into line. Two of these also belonged to Brigham; others were from Heber C. Kimball’s second division. They formed a “bucket brigade,” and the goods were handed from man to man, quickly filling the cutter to its capacity. It could hold from fifteen to eighteen hundred pounds, which was about the equivalent of a fully loaded wagon. For the first trip they left enough room to take three other men across in addition to the rower. They would serve as the unloading crew on the other side. They also carried a coil of rope which they strung out as they went across. This would be tied to the raft to help pull it across the current.

  As the boat pushed off, Brigham turned to the men. “Let’s have some from the second division unload the wagons,” he said. “The rest of you come help with the raft.”

  The raft Howard Egan and his team had hastily built the day before was just a rod or so from where the unloading was taking place. It was not surprising that the raft was fairly crude—two logs set about eight feet apart, then a base of thick branches lashed onto them to serve as a platform. Working quickly in the lightening darkness, they pushed the raft into the water, unhitched the team from the now unloaded wagon, and rolled it onto the raft. To be sure it didn’t roll off during the crossing, the wagon had to be secured with ropes. The only way to do that was to take them from the wagon and tie them to the two base logs. But that could only be done if someone was in the water, so Nathan took one side and Matthew the other.

  “Whoo-ee!” Matthew exclaimed as the icy water embraced his legs. “Now, there’s how to wake up in a hurry.” Gasping, he moved to the far end of the raft. The water was now up to his waist. Nathan was taking quick in-and-out breaths as he waded out on the other side.

  “Here, let me give you a hand.”

  Matthew was not at all surprised to see that it was Brigham Young who waded in beside him. Brigham was not one to expect others to do what he wasn’t willing to do himself. On the far side, Heber Kimball went in to help Nathan. That was no surprise either.

  “I’ve been meaning to tell you something, Brother Steed,” Brigham said as the man above handed them the end of a rope and they started to secure it.

  Matthew snatched it, fed it through one of the cracks between the poles, then sunk down to his neck in order to reach under the log and grab the end of it. As he came up, gasping for breath, Brigham took the rope and cinched it tight. “What is that, Brother Brigham?” Matthew said between clenched teeth.

  “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about your personal hygiene. I think it’s time you took a bath.”

  “Thank you,” Matthew said as they tied the knot and then tested it to make sure it was taut. His teeth were rattling like musket fire now. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

  Brigham laughed as they moved to the back of the raft and secured the second rope. In a moment, with help from those on shore, they shoved the raft into the river. The two men riding with the wagon had long poles and began to push the raft into the current. On the far side two more men began hauling on the rope to help bring it across.

  After two hours’ work, it became painfully clear that this wasn’t going to do. The transfer of the goods was going well. Using the Revenue Cutter, the goods from the wagons were being moved across the river in good time. But the rafting was terribly slow. The current was just too powerful. They took a second rope across to use for pulling the raft over, but even then, once the current caught the raft, it was like trying to hold in a team of runaway mules. They had to either let the current take it or risk breaking the ropes. When they finally got a wagon across, they were generally a quarter to a half mile downriver from where they started. Then once they got that wagon off, they had to manhandle the raft back upstream far enough that they could send it back across, again angling with the current so that it would reach the loading point on the south bank. That took just over an hour per wagon.

  Shortly after eight o’clock Brigham called for a halt. Most of the men were soaked to their necks, and though the sun had come out, they were still deeply chilled. “Any suggestions, brethren?” he asked. “This clearly is not the answer. We’ll be five or six days at this rate.”

  Zebedee Coltrin, who was in Stephen Goddard’s company of ten, raised his hand. “We’ve got the poles now. Let’s try lashing two wagons together with the poles for floats, then raft them across.”

  John Pack, who was in Nathan’s company, spoke up. “My wagon’s got some iron in it—tools and sheet iron for blacksmithing. We didn’t want to risk poking a hole in the cutter by taking it across that way. But the weight might serve as ballast and hold the wagon from rolling too easily.”

  Brigham nodded. “It’s worth a try. Bring your wagon beside this one here.”

  They worked swiftly, securing four of the long poles to the two wagons—one on the outside of each, and two together between them. Back into the water Nathan and Matthew went, helping guide the wagons as other men pushed them far enough out into the river that they began to float.

  For a time it looked like Coltrin’s idea was going to work. The two wagons drifted quickly downstream but the men with the ropes pulled the wagons steadily across toward them. Then, just as they reached the opposite bank, the front wheels struck the river bottom and stopped short. Unfortunately the backs of the two wagons were still in the full current. There was a sharp crack as the river took the wagons. Ropes began to pop and the two inside poles snapped like twigs. As the men watched in horror, the river lifted the first wagon and rolled it onto the second, snapping the bows and dumping all of John Pack’s iron into the river.

  “All right,” Brigham said grimly, “let’s see if this is any better.”

  The men in the river came out, hugging themselves to get warm, as the men on shore pushed the wagons farther into the water.

  This time they had four wagons lashed together, hoping that the broader base would prove more stable. It was almost noon now, and they still had only five or six wagons on the north side. To their dismay, a stiff breeze had sprung up, blowing directly from the southwest. With their high canvas covers, the wagons were just like sailboats. Between the current and the wind, the men lost what little control they had.

  Halfway across, the upstream wagon started to roll. It was as if there were no ropes, no poles, no other wagons. It simply lifted up, like a child climbing out of a washtub without permission. The bows started to snap, sounding like pistol shots, and then the wagon rolled onto its side, two wheels twisting slowly above the water. With six men pulling on the ropes from the far side, they finally dragged the four wagons up onto the far bank. Two of the wagons were damaged—not terribly, but sufficient that the idea of lashing four wagons together was abandoned.

  “All right,” Howard Egan said. “The problem is, the w
agons are empty. There’s no weight to hold them down.”

  Matthew thought about reminding him of the iron and tools in one of those they had sent across, but said nothing.

  “Let’s take only one wagon but send a man with it. He can stand on the one side and let his weight keep it from rolling.”

  Brigham pursed his lips thoughtfully as he considered that. Several were shaking their heads, but they were running out of options. “All right,” he finally said. “You want to try it?”

  “Yes.”

  They rolled Egan’s wagon down to the river, secured the ropes from the far side, removed the wagon tongue, then pushed the wagon into the water. Egan stood on the wagon seat, steadying himself by holding on to the front bow. As the wagon reached the depth where the wagon box began to float, Egan grinned jauntily. “Okay, let her rip.”

  Brigham was shaking his head. “Be careful, Howard.”

  Matthew didn’t like what he saw either. The wind was blowing strongly now and whipping at the canvas. With a quick movement, he ripped off his shirt and plunged into the water. “I’ll go with you,” he shouted, reaching out and grabbing the edge of the tailgate with one hand. He tossed his dripping shirt into the wagon, then got a firm grip on the tailgate with both hands, edging to the side where the current struck it to add his weight to Egan’s. At its deepest point, the channel was about six feet deep. Supposedly, except in a spot or two, a man could touch bottom most of the way across. But in this current, that didn’t mean a lot, so Matthew simply floated, letting the wagon pull him across.

  When the current took them, the back end of the wagon began to swing around. “Pull! Pull!” Egan shouted to the men with the ropes on the far side.

  “Tell them to keep the nose into the current,” Matthew called. “If the current takes her broadside, she’ll roll.” The wagon bed was already starting to tip ominously.