The Work and the Glory

by Gerald N. Lund

  At Sutter’s Fort in Upper California, the observance of the Fourth of July was brief but intense. There was the raising of the flag, an impromptu march around the compound by the children, a few speeches, and a seven-gun salute to independence. It was interesting to Will and Alice that Captain John Sutter and the other Swiss immigrants who had come with him to America and founded New Helvetia, or New Switzerland, participated in the festivities as fully and as enthusiastically as those who were native-born Americans.

  But then he decided that wasn’t so surprising after all. Derek and Peter came from England. Jenny and Kathryn came from Ireland. And while they still loved their mother country, they considered themselves as fully American now.

  Once the celebration—in duration no more than an hour and a half—was over, people resumed their normal activities. Will was back at Sutter’s Fort now permanently. They had finished cutting the lumber for the sawmill upriver and were letting it cure. In the fall Sutter planned to hire a full crew to go back and start construction. In the meantime Will was helping bring in the crops. Sutter and Will had gone in partnership and had purchased a small sailing vessel. They would start shipping wheat and vegetables down the Sacramento River to the San Francisco Bay area in another week or two. Will would captain the boat but for now was helping bring in the goods that would serve as his freight.

  Alice had brought Jared out to watch as Will directed a group of about thirty Mexicans and Indians whom Sutter had hired to load the shocks of grain onto waiting wagons. These would be hauled to a threshing floor, and then the wheat would be taken upriver a mile or two to Sutter’s new gristmill.

  Alice had brought a blanket and found a grassy spot on a nearby creek bank. Jared tried once to venture into the grass, but thereafter seemed content to crawl around his mother or play with some toys she had brought along.

  Off to her left a movement caught Alice’s eye. Two men on horseback were coming towards them. She turned. Will and his crew were throwing the sheaves of grain onto a wagon and had not seen the approaching men yet. As they drew closer she recognized the gray mare that the lead rider was on. “Will?” she called.

  He poked his head around the wagon, now piled almost to its capacity.

  She pointed. “I think it’s Mr. Sutter.”

  Will took off his hat, swiping at his forehead with his sleeve as he peered at the two riders. Satisfied that it was John Sutter, he said something to the other workmen, then came over to stand beside Alice. Jared immediately crawled to Will and started pulling himself up on his trousers. Will picked him up, talking softly to him.

  The second man with Sutter was a big man with a thick beard but a pleasant-looking demeanor. They swung down and both men came over to where Will and Alice waited. Sutter spoke even as they approached. “Will Steed, I’d like you to meet Thomas Rhoads from up on the Consumnes River.”

  Will shifted Jared to his left arm and held out his hand. “How do you do, Mr. Rhoads.”

  Sutter had an amused look on his face. “I thought you called each other ‘Brother.’ ”

  That took Will aback for a moment as he looked more closely at the man. “You’re a Latter-day Saint?”

  “I am. I think you know my two boys—John and Daniel.”

  “Ah,” Will said, understanding now. John and Daniel Rhoads had been two of the heroes in the rescue of the Donner Party, and Peter had told him they were Latter-day Saints. “I do know them,” he said. “And two fine sons they are, Brother Rhoads.”

  “Thank you. They’re good boys.”

  “This is my wife, Alice, and this is our son, Jared.”

  Rhoads touched the brim of his hat in acknowledgment.

  Sutter came in again. “Tom has come down from the Consumnes to do some trading. He was asking about you.”

  “Oh?” Will said.

  “Yes,” Rhoads said. “You probably know about the colony of New Hope.”

  Will nodded. New Hope was the name Sam Brannan had given his attempt to establish a colony near the junction of the San Joaquin and Stanislaus Rivers. He had taken twenty families from the Brooklynthere to start farming the rich land. Unfortunately, like so much, it seemed, of what Sam Brannan put his hand to, the colony had refused to be governed any longer by Brannan’s rules, feeling that they were set up primarily to enhance his own position. Brannan had lobbied hard to get Will to join them, but thankfully Will had started in with John Sutter by then.

  “Well, Tom Stout—he’s the leader at New Hope—and a couple of other men came by my place the other day hoping to trade for some wheat and produce.” He reached in his pocket and withdrew an envelope. “They brought this and asked if I would bring it down here the next time I came.”

  “It’s for me?” Will asked in surprise.

  “Yes.” He handed the letter to Will, who took it eagerly. He looked at the name on the back, then turned to Alice in amazement. “It’s from Private Josh B. Steed of the Mormon Battalion.”

  “It’s from your father?” she exclaimed in amazement.

  “No, not Joshua, Josh. My cousin.” He opened the letter and skimmed the page quickly, then turned it over. “It isfrom Josh. Can you believe it? He’s here in California too. Down at a place called Pueblo de Los Angeles.”

  He turned back to Rhoads. “We just learned the other day about the Mormon Battalion. I was going to write down there and see if by chance any of my family had come. Now I don’t have to.”

  He handed the letter to Alice. “Brother Rhoads, thank you. This is wonderful news.” Then he turned to Sutter. “I may have to ask for some time off, Mr. Sutter. If we’ve got family down there, I’d like to go and find them.”

  Thomas Rhoads was shaking his head.

  Will stopped. “Why not?”

  “Because Brother Stout got another letter, this one from one of the officers of the battalion. They’re coming this way as soon as they are discharged.”

  “Really?” Will exclaimed. “And when will that be?”

  “Their discharge date is in less than two weeks. Then it just depends on how fast they get themselves up here.”

  In Pueblo de Los Angeles the celebration of Independence Day started at dawn. The whole command—the Missouri Volunteers, the New York Volunteers, the soldiers of the regular army, General Kearny’s Dragoons, and the Los Angeles detachment of the Mormon Battalion—lined up in formation, then paraded inside the fort as the sun came up. The New York Volunteers furnished a regimental band from their ranks. It played “The Star-Spangled Banner” as the flag was raised over the fort. To Josh Steed’s surprise, in spite of all that the government of the United States of America had done to—or rather had not done for—his people, he was deeply stirred at the sight of the flag rising slowly to catch the breeze and snap crisply over the stockade. He saluted proudly as it rose to the top of the pole. Then he and all the rest of his Mormon companions in arms joined in lustily when one of the officers led them in a series of nine cheers.

  They sang “Hail, Columbia!” and then the First Dragoons gave a thirteen-gun salute to the country. They broke for breakfast in a cheerful and festive mood. At eleven, they assembled again, this time before a large audience of Spaniards and Indians, and marched around the parade ground for a second time. Once again they sang “Hail, Columbia!” A lieutenant from Kearny’s Dragoons read the Declaration of Independence—another thing that stirred Josh as it never had before. Colonel Stevenson, the fort commander, gave a short patriotic address. Then the Band of Ciudad de Los Angeles (or City of the Angels) played “Yankee Doodle,” much to the Americans’ great delight. In a final blast of celebration, the men shot off their guns twenty-eight times, one for each of the states in the Union.

  Finally, shortly after noon, the men were dismissed and, except for those on duty, were given the rest of the day off.

  The town was still filled with raucous celebration. As Josh looked in the saloons and cantinas, it was clear that “celebration” in the minds of most of the soldiers meant one th
ing: spend as much money as you had on rum, ale, or whiskey and drink yourself into a stupor. Josh watched two men stagger by, holding on to each other and laughing so hard that tears streamed down their faces. “And this is their idea of fun?” he said to Tuttle.

  “They say it is,” the older man said thoughtfully, “but I’ve always wondered if they really do think so. I guess they do. They certainly come back to it time after time.”

  “Say,” Josh said, “do you think there would be anyone at the post office on a holiday?”

  Tuttle laughed shortly. “Well, since the post office is in the general store and cantina, my guess is that it is open. Why?”

  “I wrote a letter a couple of months ago. It probably never made it, but I’d like to see if anyone has written back.”

  “Who in the world were you writing to?”

  “Remember how about the first of April we learned that the ship Brooklynhad arrived in Yerba Buena? My cousin and his wife came on that voyage.”

  “Yeah, I do remember now.”

  “It’s a long shot. I didn’t even know where to send it for sure. But I’d like to make sure there’s nothing.”

  Tuttle shrugged and changed directions, cutting across the street to where there was a small store and cantina all tucked into one flat-roofed adobe building. “There it is. Let’s go find out.”

  They crossed the road quickly, dodging a passing cart filled with turnips and carrots, then ducked into the store. An older Mexican man with a beautifully long, thick mustache was in the cantina portion of the building. When he saw them come in, he wiped his hands on his apron and came out to greet them. “Sí, señores, may I help you?”

  “My name is Joshua Steed,” Josh said. “I was wondering if a letter has come for me.”

  “No, señor Steed. Nothing for you.”

  Josh’s face fell. “Are you sure?” The man hadn’t even checked the row of pigeonholes behind him where there were several letters showing.

  The Mexican smiled, revealing bright white teeth beneath his mustache. “We receive only one or two letters a month, señor. Believe me, if one had come for you, I would know it.”

  “Okay.” It was hard not to show his disappointment. “Thank you anyway.”

  “With which group of the americanosare you, señor?”

  “The Mormon Battalion.”

  “Ah.” He seemed pleased. “And are you mormones?”

  They both nodded.

  “I shall bring a letter out to you if one should come. I know where you are camped.” The grin flashed again. “In the meantime, I think it would not do much good to invite you into my cantina to celebrate along with the others.”

  The two Latter-day Saints laughed easily. “I don’t think so,” they said, “but thank you anyway.”

  Chapter Notes

  Since Daniel Spencer’s company was the first of the Big Company to leave the Elkhorn, it is likely that his company found the “North Platte Post Office” first. If they were making a little better time than the Pioneer Company, which seems to be the case, they would have reached the spot where the letter was deposited sometime around the Fourth of July.

  It was while the Pioneer Company was camped at Green River on 4 July that thirteen men from the Mormon Battalion came to the camp. One returned with the five guides sent back by Brigham Young; the rest went on with the Pioneer Company to the Valley.

  The description of the Independence Day celebration held by the Mormon Battalion is only for the group that was at Los Angeles, which consisted of Companies A, C, D, and E (see MB,pp. 157–58). Company B was still in San Diego on that day but had already received orders to march to Los Angeles, where they would be discharged with the rest of the battalion (see MB,p. 140).

  It is a little confusing to have two leaders with the same last name associated with the Pueblo group. JohnBrown was the original captain of the Mississippi company who led them to Pueblo. Then he returned to Mississippi. He came to Winter Quarters and traveled west with the Pioneer Company. The second sick detachment of the Mormon Battalion sent back to Pueblo was put under command of Captain JamesBrown. John Brown continued on with Brigham Young. James Brown brought the main Pueblo company to the Valley.

  Chapter 45

  It was the twelfth day of July, their fourth day out of Fort Bridger, and they were definitely into mountain country now. The first day out of Bridger they had come to a steep hill that dropped so precipitously that they had to lock the wagon wheels and put several men on ropes tied to the back of each wagon. That had been the steepest slope thus far, but it had been only a harbinger of what was to come. Two days before, as they crossed a ridge beneath the shadow of a peak they named Aspen Mountain, Elder Orson Pratt’s barometer registered 7,315 feet above sea level. After passing below the peak’s brooding presence, where snow was still visible even though it was mid-July, they discovered that the other side of the mountain was very much steeper than what they had already come up and over. As William Clayton put it, it was like “jumping off the roof of a house.” The problem was that wagons were not great jumpers. Here they not only locked the wheels but hooked up block and tackle to each wagon and, for the heavier ones, also harnessed teams to ropes tied on the back. They had made it without incident, but it had been a harrowing experience.

  Finally, though there were mountains on every side, they had entered a gently sloping canyon easily manageable by the teams. For the moment, the Steeds were about midway in the column of wagons, which was moving not in a single line but spread out four across to keep the dust down. Nathan and Derek were walking alongside the wagon while Peter drove, with Kathryn and the baby beside him. Christopher and Benji were walking beside their father. Rebecca had taken Leah with her and went back to walk with Elizabeth Crow.

  “Well, at least the road is not crowded anymore,” Derek said, breaking the silence.

  “That’s for sure,” Peter answered. “By now the word is out on the Donners. Only a fool would take the Hastings Cutoff now.”

  “Present company excepted,” Nathan drawled.

  Peter laughed. “I meant all the way across.”

  Nathan nodded, knowing what he had meant from the beginning. “It is good not to have to compete with a hundred other companies for feed for the teams.”

  They fell silent again as they trudged along. They were now into their third month on the trail, and the days were too long to try to keep up a conversation at all times. After several minutes Kathryn spoke up. “Peter, do you think President Young sent Sam Brannan back because he was tired of hearing about California?”

  Peter chuckled softly at the thought. “To be honest, I wondered that myself.”

  At Fort Bridger, Brigham Young had learned from Bridger’s partner that the rest of the way was pretty mountainous. The five guides he had sent east from the Green River had specific instructions to find the main companies coming from Winter Quarters and to let the Pueblo group come on by themselves. After hearing the report Brigham changed his mind. To be safe, he sent Sergeant Williams back to find the Pueblo company, and then to everyone’s surprise—no one more than Brannan himself—he asked Samuel Brannan to accompany him.

  “I don’t know,” Nathan said. “Elder Brannan didn’t seem to mind too much.”

  Before they could respond to that, they heard hoofbeats. Turning, they saw Heber C. Kimball approaching from behind them. “Pull up, folks. I’ve got an announcement.”

  All around him wagons pulled to a stop and people moved to where they could see him. When it was quiet the Apostle went on. “Those of us who stayed behind where we nooned haven’t left yet. President Young is too ill to travel.”

  “Mountain fever?” Kathryn asked.

  “I’m sure it is. It’s what all the others have—a blinding headache, aching joints, fever and chills.” He dropped his eyes. “He’s even been a little delirious. We’re going to stay there at Pudding Rocks and see if more rest will help him.”

  They nodded. The camp had nooned o
n a small creek they called Coyote Creek. Just to the north of them on a rocky ridge there had been a curious set of rock formations. They were strange columns made up of layers of rocks which looked as though some giant child had carefully let drops of thick pudding plop one on top of the other until they were thirty and forty feet tall. When someone noted the resemblance to pudding, the pioneers had immediately dubbed the place “Pudding Rocks.”

  “How many wagons are still back there?” Nathan asked.

  “We have eight. It’s mostly my company. Go on ahead and find a good camping place. We’ll try to catch you by nightfall.”

  “We’ve got both Derek and Peter with our wagon now, Brother Heber,” Nathan spoke up again. “Would you like me to come back and help with your group?”

  Heber started to shake his head, then changed his mind. “Maybe that would be wise. The President is in so much pain, several of us have to lift him each time he needs to move.”

  “Done,” Nathan said. “Let me get my rifle.”

  Elder Orson Pratt, who was leading the column, had seen Heber come up and now came back to join them. “Do you want the other members of the Twelve to come back with you, Heber?”

  “No. The President wants you to push on for now. Let us see how he does. Then we’ll get word to you.”

  They found a good camping site and stopped for the night, but the wagons that stayed behind did not come up. A rider came up to report that their President was still very seriously ill.

  During the next day they did not move forward but waited, hoping for an improvement in Brother Brigham’s health. To pass the time, some men went exploring on horseback and returned to report that they had found a large cave nearby. That excited a great deal of interest, and others, including Peter and Kathryn on one of their horses, rode out to see the cave that afternoon. When they returned, Derek and Rebecca took the horse and also went. When they got back, the family was just starting to prepare supper.

  Derek unsaddled the horse, then came over to stand beside Peter. “Any word on President Young?”