The Undaunted

by Gerald N. Lund

  David leaned forward and glanced at Abby, who was sitting to his left on the other side of Molly. She was looking at him, her eyes mocking. “That’s John Taylor,” she whispered. “He’s the president of the Church now.”

  Molly turned and gave him a strange look. “You don’t know who John Taylor is?”

  “I don’t know who your sister is,” he growled.

  “We have need of other settlements as well,” Elder Snow was saying. “On the Little Colorado and the Salt Rivers in Arizona, for example. The time has now come to move those plans forward. Therefore, I have asked the stake clerk to read a list of names of those being called in this conference to serve as missionaries and help establish these new settlements.”

  That did it. That was the confirmation they had all been waiting for. The room virtually exploded with conversation. Again Elder Snow stopped, waiting until it died away. “After the stake clerk is finished, I shall ask for a sustaining vote on the proposal.”

  Elder Snow moved back to his chair and sat down as a man with grey hair and spectacles came forward. He officiously removed a folded paper from his jacket, smoothed it out on the pulpit, then peered up over his glasses to see if everyone was paying attention. That made David smile. You couldn’t have found a person over age five in the room whose eyes weren’t glued on the man. He cleared his throat and began to read.

  “The following names are put forward to you to serve as missionaries to be called to Arizona, or as otherwise directed.” He paused, letting the anticipation build. “Silas S. Smith.”

  There were gasps and exclamations of approval all around them. Patrick McKenna, who sat on the other side of David, leaned over. “He’s from Paragonah, just north of here. Highly respected. Member of the legislative council. The fact that his name was read first probably means he’ll be captain.”

  “Shhh!” someone behind them said.

  Fortunately, the clerk had anticipated just such a reaction and had paused for it. Now he went on, pronouncing each name slowly and distinctly. “S. H. Rogers. Davis Rogers. H. H. Harriman. George Hobbs. H. Harrap.”

  With each name there were exclamations of surprise or approval. From somewhere directly behind them, David heard a woman’s voice cry out as a name was read, “Oh, no!” David turned to see who it was and saw a woman’s head drop. She began to cry softly.2

  “Solomon Wardell. Carl Decker.” As the clerk read each name, ripples of surprise, shock, happiness, dismay, and bewilderment continued to spread through the congregation.

  “Hans Joseph Nielson. Francis Webster, Jr.”

  Sarah leaned over to her husband. “Did he say Jens Nielson?”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Hans Nielson. Or Joe.” Then to David, “He goes by Joe. He’s Bishop Nielson’s oldest son.”

  “John Lister. Jacob Gould. Simon Topham. P. J. McKenna.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, David saw Patrick and Sarah stiffen as if hit by the same blow. Molly gasped. Abby’s hand shot out and grasped Carl’s arm so hard that her knuckles showed white. David could see Patrick out of the corner of his eye. His face was stiff, his mouth pinched. But then he began to nod. He seemed relieved to finally know.

  “David Hunter,” the clerk was droning on. “George Urie. Samuel Rowley.”

  Solemn as a judge, he folded the paper and nodded to Elder Snow. “Elder Snow, that completes the reading of the names as given.” He returned to his seat.

  Elder Snow came back to the pulpit. “Brothers and sisters, I would now propose that we sustain the proposal as read. All in favor, please show it by the uplifted hand.”

  Hands shot up all around David, including the McKennas’. As he looked around, as near as he could tell every hand was up.

  He suddenly realized Molly was giving him a sharp look. “Raise your hand,” she mouthed.

  He was startled. “I’m not . . .” But he was. He was a member of this stake, in name, at least. And more and more, with the help of the McKennas, he was in reality as well. Feeling a bit foolish, he slowly raised his right hand along with all the others.

  “Those opposed may likewise signify.”

  Again David turned to look. Not a single hand was visible.

  Elder Snow smiled. “The voting has been unanimous, brothers and sisters. Thank you for your sustaining faith.”3

  President Lunt returned to the pulpit and announced the rest of the program. There were several speakers, including himself, but none of them made more than brief reference to what had just transpired. Then the congregation stood and sang a hymn. Again President Lunt stood. “It will now be our pleasure to turn the remainder of our meeting over to Elder Erastus Snow of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. Elder Snow.”

  The Apostle got to his feet, murmured something to the stake president as he touched his arm, then came to the pulpit. He stood there for a moment, letting his eyes take in the congregation in both the lower hall and the balcony. Patrick had said Elder Snow was in his early sixties, but David thought he looked younger than that. Unlike most of the other Church leaders, he was clean shaven, which perhaps gave him a more youthful look. He had a high, receding hairline, quick, perceptive eyes, and a pleasant demeanor. It was obvious that he felt like he was among friends, for he seemed completely comfortable.

  When the noise stopped, when all of the crying babies had been shushed or taken out, and all the fidgeting little boys quieted by a hand on the shoulder from their fathers, he began.

  “Brothers and sisters, as many of you know, this matter of establishing a settlement in the area of the San Juan River was much on the mind of our beloved President Brigham Young before his death. And it has been of similar concern to President Taylor.4 Now, the decision has been made to move forward. Nor is it done. There will be other calls extended, and we ask any who have an interest in this matter to volunteer themselves as well.

  “We fully understand the impact this decision will have on you, on your families, and on our communities, so we believe it important for you to understand why the decision was made.”

  He looked around, searching faces, then held up one finger. “The issues are these: First, our missionaries continue to have success around the world, and more and more Latter-day Saints are answering the call to come to Zion. We have not only filled up the valleys and fertile farmlands of Utah Territory, but we have extended settlements to the surrounding states and territories. But the influx of people is not over. More are coming. We need more settlements.”

  He held up another finger. “Second. A few years back, we experienced a long, drawn-out war with the Navajos, a war that wrought havoc among us and caused a loss of life on both sides. A treaty was eventually signed,” he continued, “and we made peace. But that peace was nearly destroyed just four years ago when some young Navajo braves were brutally murdered by wicked men. Only the courageous and tireless efforts of men like Jacob Hamblin, Thales Haskill, and others prevented full-scale violence from erupting.”

  The mood in the hall had gone quite somber now. Elder Snow himself was very grave. He raised three fingers. “Third. For the past decade, cattlemen from Colorado have been bringing large herds into our territory to strip off our grasslands. Many of the cowhands they hire are ruffians and hooligans, crude men who drink hard and are quick with a gun. Recent discoveries of gold, silver, and other precious metals have also brought vast numbers of people into the mountains of southwest Colorado. Some of these so called ‘boom towns,’ with all their attendant vices and social ills, are no more than a hundred miles from the Four Corners area. Others gravitate to that area naturally because there is no law there, no civilization to curb their violent ways.

  “Who lives in that area now? A few decent people, but mostly it is populated with bank robbers, horse thieves, cattle rustlers, train robbers, jail breakers, tramps, and ne’er-do-wells looking for trouble. In short, every kind of desperado and general criminal imaginable are moving into that country over there. And that is not all. Because there
is no nearby military presence, the Indian tribes, who have a long tradition of raiding the herds and flocks of their neighbors, now sweep down from Colorado or raid across the San Juan with impunity.”

  There was not a sound in the hall. This was not what the people had been expecting.

  “‘Oh yes, Brother Snow,’ you may say, ‘that is a terrible picture that you paint. But what has that to do with the Parowan Stake, or with the Cedar City Ward? There are two hundred miles of impassable badlands between us and them. We are at peace with the Navajos, with the Utes, and with the Paiutes. Let the outlaws and the ruffians fight it out amongst themselves. It cannot touch us in St. George. We are safe in Kanarraville. Parowan and Paragonah are secure.’”

  He slammed a fist down. “But I tell you in all soberness, my brothers and sisters, Parowan is not secure. Cedar City and St. George are not safe. We are all at risk.”

  The shocked silence stretched on for what seemed like a full minute. David and Patrick exchanged glances. Sarah was giving her husband anxious glances. Abby was sitting forward, her eyes fixed on the man at the pulpit.

  “So what is the answer to this terrible dilemma? How do we prevent another Grass Valley? How do we make sure that another non-Latter-day Saint doesn’t grab a rifle and shoot more Navajos down in cold blood?” One hand came up to his face, and he rubbed pensively at his eyes. “I tell you, this weighs heavily on my mind both in the waking hours of the day and in nightmares that trouble my sleep.

  “I know what I ask of you, my brothers and sisters,” he went on, his voice dropping dramatically, causing everyone to lean forward a little. “This will be unlike any settlement we have thus far established. You will be far from the nearest towns. You will be going into a harsh and cruel climate. Your neighbors will be thieves and robbers, violent and wicked men, sometimes hostile Indians. There will be no sheriff to call on, no nearby military garrison to flee to. There are not even established wagon roads as yet by which help can be sent to you.

  “I do not wish to alarm you, but you need to understand what we are asking of you as you go to your homes today and discuss what you shall do. Why do we ask such a difficult thing? Because we have no choice. There is only one real solution to our problem. We need a settlement that will become the buffer between our established settlements and the growing problem with the Indians and the outlaws.”

  He gave a short, humorless laugh. “Buffer,” he mused. “That’s not a comforting term, is it? Other analogies come to mind as well. What we need over there is a rod that will draw the lightning away from the other settlements down upon itself. You shall be like the shock absorbers on a carriage, taking the jolts to yourself so they do not upset the balance for the rest of us.” He shook his head slowly. “None of those are very comforting images, are they?”

  Then his voice deepened, and he spoke the next with great emphasis. “But that is exactly what we need, my good brothers and sisters. We need someone to act as a buffer, someone to absorb the shocks, someone to diffuse the lightning bolts of war.

  “I know what some of you are thinking. ‘Yes, Elder Snow, we understand the need there, but surely you are not talking of sending women and children? A fort, perhaps. Maybe several companies of militia to establish order. Surely not a settlement of families in a place as dangerous as you describe?’ Well, I have pondered much, prayed much, about that very question. And here are my conclusions. A settlement is the only thing that will bring a permanent solution to the problem there.”

  As murmurs started again, he thundered, “Yes! I say again: A settlement is the only permanent solution to our problem. Think about it. You cannot have a permanent influence for good without families. You cannot have law and order without lawful and orderly people. We need people who will come to stay, who will till the land and build schools and erect churches. We need people who will work with the Indians instead of killing them. We need citizens who will drive out the criminal element with the very presence of their goodness.”

  There was a long pause. David Draper was reeling. It was a stunning concept. Daring. Bold. Lasting. A real solution. Not a mustard plaster stuck on a festering sore. Even he had been swept up by the passion of this man.

  Elder Snow stood there for another long moment, pensive and deep in thought. When his head finally lifted, his voice was vibrant with conviction. “Shall I tell you what we need there, my dear brothers and sisters? If we are ever going to find a permanent solution, what we need is, very simply, a people of uncommon valor.”5

  Notes

  ^1. Francis Webster, one of the 1857 handcart pioneers, was living in Cedar City at this time. One day in Sunday School, the teacher was being critical of the decision of Church leaders to send the handcart people forward so late in the season that year.

  On that occasion he said: “I ask you stop this criticism. You are discussing a matter you know nothing about. Cold historic facts mean nothing here, for they give no proper interpretation of the questions involved. . . . I was in that company and my wife was in it. . . . We suffered beyond anything that you can imagine. . . . I have pulled my handcart when I was so weak and weary from illness and lack of food that I could hardly put one foot ahead of the other. I have looked ahead and seen a patch of sand or a hill slope and I have said, I can go only that far, and there I must give up, for I cannot pull the load through it. I have gone on to that sand and when I reached it, the cart began pushing me. I have looked back many times to see who was pushing my cart, but my eyes saw no one. And I knew then that the angels of God were there. Was I sorry that I chose to come by handcart? No. Neither then nor any minute of my life since. The price we paid to become acquainted with God was a privilege to pay, and I am thankful that I was privileged to come in the Martin Handcart Company” (cited in McKay, “Pioneer Women,” 8).

  ^2. It was customary at this time to issue mission calls in public meetings, with no prior warning, no previous personal interviews, or other preparatory actions. There is also evidence that some spouses or other family members reacted to their calls with open dismay (see Miller, Hole, 10).

  ^3. With the exception of the McKennas, all of the names come from the minutes of the conference (Parowan Stake Historical Record, in LDS Church Archives, No. 22125, 174; as cited by Miller, ibid., 16). Not all of the names read that day are included here. The official minutes show that John Joseph Nielson was called, but the Jens Nielson family say that it was Hans Joseph Nielson, oldest son of Jens Nielson (see Carpenter, Jens Nielson, 35).

  ^4. Several sources agree that before his death Brigham Young contemplated what eventually became known as either the Hole in the Rock Expedition or the San Juan Mission. However, his death in 1877 postponed any action for a time (e.g., see Andrew Jenson, “Pioneers and Pioneering”, 710–11; Miller, Hole, 4–9).

  ^5. Kumen Jones, who was an important member of the Hole in the Rock expedition, wrote the following: “At the suggestion of Apostle Erastus Snow, himself a pioneer, statesman, colonizer, and patriot, whose prophetic visions pierced the future, the decision was reached to plant a colony somewhere in the neighborhood of the ‘Four Corners’ where the territories of Utah, Arizona, New Mexico, and the state of Colorado cornered together. This was at a stake or district conference held at St. George in the latter part of the year 1878. And at a stake conference held at Parowan, Iron County, Utah about the 27 day of December 1878 a number of young men were called to explore this part of the country” (Kumen Jones, “Writings,” 2).

  While the minutes of the Parowan stake conference confirm that Elder Erastus Snow was present, no details are given about his address. Elder Snow’s remarks in this chapter are therefore my creation. Nevertheless, the concepts he shares are an accurate reflection of the circumstances and conditions that led Church leaders to determine to create a presence in the southwest corner of Utah Territory (see, e.g., Albert R. Lyman, “Fort, Part IV,” 44–45; and “Fort, Part IX,” 506; Burton, “Back Door to San Juan,” in Miller, Hole, 8–9).

 
It has been surprising to see how many historians and even members of the Church believe that, although the San Juan Mission was an incredible example of faith and courage, in concept it was seriously flawed, and that the mission itself was a mistake. Therefore, having Elder Snow reflect the compelling reasons behind the decision may help correct such misperceptions.

  The phrase “uncommon valor” comes from Blankenagel, Portrait, 15.

  Book IV

  Book IV

  Reaction 1879

  Chapter 26

  Sunday, December 29, 1878

  The McKenna family were among the last to leave the Old Rock Church following stake conference. They had sat there for several minutes after the meeting ended, stunned by what had just happened and the enormity of its implications for them. When they finally stood up to go, President Lunt, who lived in Cedar City, called several other brethren from Cedar City to gather with him and Elder Snow. Patrick was one of those summoned. There was a huddled conversation that lasted two or three minutes; then Patrick returned to the family.

  “There is a special priesthood meeting at seven-thirty this Thursday for all of those called from Cedar City and nearby towns. He will give us more specifics and answer questions.”

  Sister McKenna, who seemed to be the hardest hit from the morning’s announcement, managed a wan smile. “I would think there might be one or two of those.”

  “I’ve got a couple of hundred myself,” her husband said. Then he turned to David and Carl. “There is much to do in Cedar City before the meeting. So I would like to leave at first light. I’ll ask the dining room to have an early breakfast for us.” He turned. “David, when are you scheduled to leave on your next mail circuit?”