“Papa! Papa!” Emily cried. It was lost in the shouts of a hundred other children doing exactly the same thing, but somehow he picked her voice out. His head turned just a fraction as he approached and he winked at them. Then he snapped back to the front and marched on by, his right arm up to hold his rifle, his left arm swinging back and forth in cadence with the others.
Benjamin watched them pass, rank after rank, row after row. As the final company passed by, he leaned over to Mary Ann. “We owe John C. Bennett a great debt of gratitude,” he said loudly enough to carry over the noise.
She looked up and nodded. The Nauvoo Legion was authorized by the Nauvoo Charter, and John C. Bennett was the man primarily responsible for the Nauvoo Charter.
“If we had had this in Far West,” Benjamin said grimly, “it would have been a far different story.”
Chapter Notes
As stated in the novel, the article critical of the Church and Parley Pratt’s reply to it were printed in the Millennial Star in November 1840 (see MWM, p. 215). The reply of the archbishop of Canterbury to the request of the ministers was reported by Wilford Woodruff (see MWM, pp. 125–26).
The growth statistics given by Derek do not include the incredible success Wilford Woodruff and John Taylor had prior to April 1840 when Brigham and the rest of the missionaries arrived. The best calculations would indicate that there were approximately six thousand converts to the Church as a result of the mission of the Twelve to England. (See MWM, pp. 301–2.) Total Church membership at the end of 1839, just before the missionaries started to arrive in England, was over sixteen thousand (see Deseret News 1993–1994 Church Almanac [Salt Lake City: Deseret News, 1992], p. 396), which means the British mission swelled the Church’s population by more than a third.
Wilford Woodruff records the account of the woman possessed of an evil spirit. While in Manchester, he was asked to go and heal the woman. There were several nonmembers in the room, skeptics who had come to see if the Apostle could work a miracle. Reluctantly, Wilford blessed her, but with no results. Her raging only increased. He then cleared the room and administered to her again, with the immediate results here described. (See MWM, p. 92.)
The general conference of 6 April 1841 began with a grand march by the Nauvoo Legion. Hymns were sung and Sidney Rigdon gave an impassioned speech about the significance of the occasion. Then the cornerstones of the temple were laid. (See HC 4:326–31.) Largely through the lobbying efforts of John C. Bennett, the Illinois legislature approved the Nauvoo Charter on 16 December 1840. This not only legally incorporated the city of Nauvoo but also authorized the city council to form a militia, much as other cities of any size were allowed to do. At its height, the militia had as many as five thousand men. They were well equipped, with many of the men having arms and the Legion itself having some light artillery pieces. (See Philip M. Flammer, “Nauvoo Legion,” in Encyclopedia of Mormonism, ed. Daniel H. Ludlow, 5 vols. [New York: Macmillan, 1992], 3:997–99.)
Chapter Thirty-Three
There was a loud crash and a piercing scream.
Will came out of his bunk in one leap. The ship shuddered like a frightened animal as it plowed into a wave higher than its foredeck and tons of water crashed over its length. Then, fighting to get its head out of the sea, the prow rose sharply.
“Watch out!” Will shouted at a shadowy figure across the steerage compartment from him. The man jumped to the side as a heavy travel trunk went hurtling by, smashing through a barrel of beans like an ax chopping through birch bark, and slamming into the bulkhead hard enough to splinter the wood.
Will made a leaping dive for the trunk as the ship crested the wave and plunged downward again. He grabbed on to one of the lashing ropes tied to a support beam, shoved his hand through the handle of the trunk, and hung on. In a moment, the deck changed its pitch from a sharp upward angle to what seemed like almost straight down. The trunk wanted to follow, and Will’s arm felt like it was being jerked from its socket.
He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. When the rough weather had started four days ago, the captain had given Will permission to sleep in steerage with the passengers for just this kind of contingency. They were sick and frightened and inexperienced in riding a ship in a storm. Will had come off a double watch just an hour before, exhausted beyond belief, and fallen into his bunk. He was almost instantly asleep in spite of the wild ride. That’s when everything started to break loose.
He jerked his head to the left. A woman screamed as the braces of her bunk tore out of the bulkhead, dumping her and a little girl onto the deck with a crash. Fortunately, they were in the lowest bunk and it was a short drop to the deck, but they both shrieked in terror as the deck slanted upward again and mother and daughter began sliding across it.
Up ahead of him another bunk gave way and a man was dumped onto the man in the bunk below him. That bunk couldn’t handle the extra weight and it too ripped free. The two men slammed down against the deck and cried out in pain. Will’s fingers were numb as the leather dug into the flesh, but he clenched his teeth and hung on the harder. The two men writhing on the floor were right where the trunk would pass if he let it go. It would smash them as easily as it had the barrel.
As the ship leveled again for a moment, Will whipped the lashing rope through one handle, then shoved the trunk against the nearest bulkhead and frantically tied the rope down, securing the trunk from slipping further. Suddenly he was aware of someone beside him. It was Brigham Young and Heber Kimball, both with faces as white as the foam on the sea, but teeth set and determined. “We’ve got to get things secured,” Brigham shouted into Will’s ear, “or someone is going to get killed.”
Will nodded, grabbing for Brigham’s arm as the ship rose again and he nearly lost his balance. “Get every man who can walk. You take the forward compartment. Tell them to hang on when she’s going up or down, then work quickly while she’s more level.”
“Right.” The ship leveled, creaking and groaning like a living thing, preparing to shoot downward again. They ran like deer for the next hold.
Will looked around. Derek was half out of his bunk. Wilford Woodruff was beside him, trying to help him. They clung grimly to the bunk and to each other as the deck tipped downward again. On the next break, they were staggering across to him. Both had been violently ill for several days now and could barely walk.
Will met them halfway. “We’ve got to get anything that’s loose tied down,” he shouted. “Work while the ship is level. Stay close to something to hang on to.”
He darted away, moving from bunk to bunk, hollering instructions. Matthew, right below Derek’s bunk, tried to get up, but instantly collapsed back down again. Of all the passengers, he had been one of the sickest. “Stay there!” Will commanded. “You’ll just get hurt.”
They worked frantically for half an hour, shadowy figures in the semidarkness. The heavier items were their first objective. Then they began grabbing at smaller loose objects rolling or flying about. They helped people back into their bunks, put women and children who had lost their beds in with others, jamming two and three into bunks where there was barely room for one.
Through it all, Will was grateful for two years of sea experience. This storm was as bad as any he had weathered, and even some of the crew were seasick. That was why he had been working double watches. But Will was fine. His body anticipated the rolls and pitches and adjusted accordingly without conscious thought anymore. And compared to some tasks, the problems in the passenger compartment were simple to deal with. The day before, he and the bosun had scrambled up thirty feet of mast when the top foresail snapped clean off and tangled in the rigging. That was like trying to hang on with one hand to some massive, fiendishly powerful bucking horse while keeping the other hand free to untangle the rigging.
From the very start, any hopes for a pleasant passage to America had been dashed. They were barely out of Liverpool when they ran into contrary winds. That made for rough seas and slow progress. T
hen, three days out, the winds rose to gale force. For the next four days, the winds howled unabated, and life became a living nightmare for the passengers. On this night, it had worsened, turning even the most harmless of objects into lethal weapons.
Finally feeling like things were under control, the men began to straggle back to the main compartment. They held on to the beams or clung to tables. They were sick, and numbed by the misery around them and their own living hell. Brigham and Heber and John Taylor made their way over to the center beam, and then Brigham raised one hand. “Brethren,” he shouted, “we cannot bear much more of this. Our people cannot bear much more of this.”
There were only grim nods. No one was going to dispute that. “We must petition the Lord for help. I would like my brethren of the Twelve to gather around me as best they can, and then we shall unitedly pray.”
Will awoke with a start. The first thing he was aware of was that it was quiet, with only the barest of creaking from the ship’s timbers. Next he realized the ship was barely rolling. There was the gentle up-and-down motion that was part of ship life even on the calmest of seas, but that was all. Then, as he turned his head, he saw that the hatch was open and bright sunlight and fresh air were streaming into the hold. He breathed deeply, savoring the smell of the sea like it was medicine to the soul. He swung his legs over, careful not to disturb Matthew and Derek below him, and dropped to the deck. He pulled on his shirt and headed for the ladder.
It was an absolutely breathtaking day, the air clear as a crystal goblet, the sun bright and warm and welcome. He looked up, hardly believing his eyes. The sails were full, and pulling the ship through the water at a steady clip. He had to look twice at the sun and calculate the direction before he realized that the wind was blowing straight out of the east. The contrary winds were gone. He shook his head in wonder, remembering Brigham’s prayer of the night before.
There was no one about except for crew. The passengers were all still down in their bunks, finally able to sleep and rest. Breathing deeply, Will started forward, reveling in the day. As he came around the mainmast, he stopped in surprise. There was a figure at the railing up ahead, right at the bow of the ship. Then Will smiled, not really surprised. It was Brigham Young.
“Good morning,” Will said as he came up.
“Oh,” Brigham said, turning around, “it’s you. Good morning, Will.”
Looking around at the calm seas, Will gave a little shake of his head. “Can you believe this day?”
Brigham laughed softly. His face looked tired and haggard and he hadn’t shaved for several days, but his eyes were bright and alert and invigorated. “Actually, no I can’t. That’s why I came out. I had to see it for myself.” There was a pause. “And to give thanks.”
Will only nodded. He was wrestling with that himself. It was not common for a storm to blow itself out so quickly, but it wasn’t totally unusual either. But to have it happen so quickly after the prayer? He would have to think about that.
“Thank you for your help last night, Will. I don’t know what we would have done without you.”
“It was nothing. I’m just glad we got it under control.”
“Very glad,” Brigham said fervently.
Turning and leaning on the rail, Will looked down to where the prow split the sea, turning it green and white as it shoved it aside. “The sea is not always such a difficult lady,” he said. “Sometimes she can be quite decent to you.”
“Maybe so,” Brigham muttered, “but as for me, I’d be downright pleased if I never had to make her acquaintance again.”
Will laughed. “Really, she’s not that bad. You can come to love her.”
“You can come to love her,” he retorted. “I’ll keep my affection for something a little more reliable.”
That really didn’t surprise Will. There were many who hated the sea. Some—including a few sailors he knew—merely tolerated and endured her. Only a few really loved her, and at this moment, Will realized again that he was one of them.
Brigham turned around and leaned back against the rail. “Will?”
He looked up. “Yes?”
“Matthew told me about your desire to know if the Church is true.”
Will only nodded. Matthew had asked if Will minded if he told others, and Will had said no because it gave him the opportunity to ask some of the questions he wanted to ask.
“Do you mind if I ask you some questions?” said Brigham.
“Not if you don’t mind if I ask you some back.”
“Fair enough.” Brigham tipped his head back, letting the wind ruffle the reddish hair, and letting the sun fall full onto his face. “How long have you been trying to find out if the Church is true?”
“Since I left Nauvoo. That was the last part of January.”
“And?”
There was a quick shake of his head. “I don’t know. I’ve learned a lot. My feelings have changed significantly. But . . .” He didn’t finish. He just blew out his breath.
“Do you think the Lord answered our prayers this morning?” The Apostle’s arm swept out, encompassing the sea and sky.
Will turned and looked out across the ocean’s breadth. “It sure seems like it,” he finally said.
“It sure does.”
“And yet . . .”
Brigham smiled, understanding. “And yet it could just be a happy coincidence.”
“Yes. So, how do you know? How can you tell if it’s real or not?”
“Well, let me tell you about a man I once knew who had some of those very questions.” He turned to face forward again, gazing out without looking at Will. “This was years ago, in upstate New York. The young man I’m thinking of was a plain man, a simple man. He was religious in his heart, but frustrated by what he found around him.”
Will was watching him closely, immediately guessing that he was talking about himself.
“He got disgusted with what he called the long-faced, pious worshippers who bowed their heads on Sunday and acted like heathens every other day. For example, he knew one man and woman, both good churchgoers, who asked their minister if there would be two different banquet tables set in heaven; they were afraid they might have to eat with their hired hands up there. This disillusioned man also knew ministers who would not help a hungry man in need. And then there were the Bible-pounding preachers who were as sour as pickles left too long in the brine.”
Will was chuckling. “Yeah, I’ve known one or two like that.”
“So eventually, this man just kind of withdrew, determined that he would try and live as the Savior asked, yet give up on regular religion.”
“But?”
Brigham looked a little startled by the question. He had slipped away into his memories. “What?”
Will laughed. “Here you are, an Apostle of Christ. Something must have happened to you.”
There was that slow grin again. “Yes, the young man was me, all right.”
“So what happened?”
“Well, Samuel Smith, Joseph’s younger brother, came around with some copies of the Book of Mormon. A brother and a sister of mine got hold of copies and started reading them. They got me to reading it too.”
This was getting to the heart of what Will wanted to know. “So when you read it, did you know it was true?”
Brigham thought about that. “Yes and no.”
Will frowned, and that made Brigham smile. “Well, that’s really the best answer. Let me explain. From the very first I felt there was something to Mormonism and said as much to Phineas—that’s my brother. He agreed. But at the same time, I wasn’t willing to just accept it at face value. You’ve got to remember, I was this hardheaded New Englander. I had seen too much of sham religion. I had heard too many sermons that didn’t satisfy.”
“I see.” Will did see, and it made him feel better. That wasn’t a bad way to answer his own question. Will Steed, do you believe the Church is true? Yes and no.
“When I undertook to sound out the doctrin
e of Mormonism,” Brigham continued, “I supposed I could handle it as I had the doctrines of the other churches. But instead, I found it completely different. I liked the way the Book of Mormon seemed like scripture, and answered some of the questions the Bible didn’t. I liked the idea that here was a religion that could embrace truth wherever it was found. I liked the way it answered some of the vexing questions I had. But what really surprised me the most was that I found it impossible to take hold of either end of Mormonism. It went from eternity, passed through time, and went back into eternity again.”
Will was suddenly impatient, not sure what all that meant. “But eventually you came to know it was true, right? How did that happen? I keep asking and I just can’t seem to get an answer one way or another.”
Now Brigham turned to face him fully. “Will, let me tell you something. Some people are natural believers. There’s something down deep inside that’s kind of like a lodestone. They just know and they never seem to doubt. Your Grandmother Steed is one of those. So is your Uncle Nathan.”
“And Derek. He said he and Peter knew the Book of Mormon was true almost the first moment they started reading it.”
“Yes, Derek is another one. What a great soul he has. But others aren’t like that. Others are more stubborn or hardheaded or more inclined to want to study things out. Whatever the reason, it just doesn’t come so easily to them. And I was one of those.”
“You were?”
There was a firm nod. “Will, I was given my brother Phineas’s copy of the Book of Mormon to read sometime in the late spring or early summer of 1830. Do you know when I finally decided that Mormonism was true?”
“No, when?”
“I was baptized on April fourteenth, 1832.”
Will just stared at him.
“That’s right—1832! Two full years later! That’s what it took me. I studied, I pondered, I watched and waited. I wanted to see if the Mormons lived up to what they taught. Two full years, Will. You think about that.”
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