He looked at Nathan and Joshua and grinned. “Don’t know if Brother Joseph would approve, but there’s not time to think about that.” And with that, he swung back to the task of bringing order to the chaos all around him.
Still shaken, Nathan stood motionless for a moment. He turned. The air was thick with smoke, and that, added to his burning eyes, made it difficult to see. Then he grunted in satisfaction. He could see that Solomon and Josh had the two lead wagons of the Steeds into the blackened area. The others were coming on hard behind them. They would be all right now. He lifted his shovel and broke into a run, seeing a tongue of flame licking its way southward through a thick clump of grass.
As he stomped it out, he heard someone come up behind him. He turned. It was Brigham Young. He was looking north, where the flames were now a good two hundred yards away. To the east the fire had died, denied by the creek of any further eastward advance. “I think we did it,” Brigham said.
Nathan nodded, turning to look the other way. All the wagons were into the black now. So were the animals. Beyond them, still roaring in fury, the main fire was now less than a hundred yards away. But suddenly it didn’t seem frightening anymore. When it finally reached where they now stood, it would find nothing more on which to feast. He looked back to Brigham. “Yes,” he said softly, “I think we did.”
On the ground it was nearly full dark now, except for the flickering light of the small campfires which spread out in any direction. The western sky was still a pale velvet purple tinged with the softest of yellow-orange, but night was almost fully upon them. Mary Ann Steed sat back, leaning against a chest that Joshua had gotten for her. She was alone for the moment. The mothers and older children were getting the younger children to bed. Nathan and Derek were off with the stock. The rest of the men were at the wagons, securing things for the night.
After their scare with the fire, Brigham had decided to stop where they were. The fire-scorched prairie was several hundred yards behind them now. The soot-blackened faces were washed; the blankets and quilts that had been used in the battle against the fire were hung on wagon tongues and over tent ropes to dry. But the people stayed near their wagons, tending small fires that were banked and dying now that supper was over.
Mary Ann wondered if this reticence was an instinctive reaction to the fire of that afternoon. When it was all over, everything had turned out okay. No wagons were lost. No one was injured, except for a few superficial burns among the firefighters. When Brigham Young called a halt, he had dubbed the place Camp Rolling Prairie. And that it was. They were still out in a vast sea of grass. The prairie was like a frozen sea, with great swells and gentle troughs of undulating endlessness. And maybe the thoughts of a sudden breeze carrying a spark into the grass and starting the ordeal all over again was heavy on everyone’s mind. Or maybe it was just that the day’s crisis had left them exhausted and drained and they had only enough energy to sit around their fires and contemplate the day.
She certainly was drained and exhausted. In six months Mary Ann Morgan Steed would celebrate her sixtieth birthday. Tonight she could feel every one of those years. It was the bone-deep weariness that did not quickly go away with a good night’s rest. If they had called for a dance, she would have gone and watched, envying the boundless energy of youth. But to sit here quietly with the family was even more appreciated.
She looked up. Nathan and Derek were coming toward her with several other men. In the deep shadows she could not see who they were. But they were talking and one of them suddenly laughed. It was deep and rich and she recognized that it was Heber Kimball. Heber’s company of fifty had come in at about two o’clock. Others had straggled in until almost six. Then she heard Brigham Young say something in response. She sat up, brushing down her skirts and fussing momentarily at her hair.
As they came into the circle of light, she started to rise, but Brigham stepped swiftly to her. “No, no!” he said, laying a hand on her shoulder. “You stay right there.”
As she settled back down, he dropped beside her, making sure she wouldn’t feel like she had to be on her feet. Heber came over too, reaching out his hand. “And how is one of my favorite people?” he boomed pleasantly.
“I’m fine, Brother Kimball.”
“Good. Good.” He too sat down on the thick grass, folding his legs until he was comfortable. The other men followed suit, encircling the fire as they found places to settle in.
Mary Ann was surprised at who had just graced their campsite. There were five members of the Twelve—Brigham and Heber, Willard Richards, Parley Pratt, and John Taylor. The latter two were a surprise, since she had heard they were camped a few miles ahead of the group here at Rolling Prairie. William Clayton, camp clerk, was beside Brigham Young. The rest were either company captains or presidents—Albert Rockwood, Howard Egan, Ezra Benson, Charles Rich. She felt a sudden twist of anxiety. Was this a formal visit? Had they come to call one of the family members to another assignment?
Seeing her face, Brigham laughed. “Now, Mary Ann,” he said gently, “don’t you be getting all worried. We had just finished up a meeting with all the captains when Nathan and Derek happened by. We decided we just might come and pay you all a visit.”
Embarrassed by his perceptiveness, she nodded. “What a pleasant surprise.”
Brigham chuckled, but as if to prove that they weren’t there on official business, he said nothing more, just sat back beside her and listened to the men talking. The sound of their voices brought the others out of their tents, and soon all but the younger children were seated around, laughing and visiting informally. They spoke about the fire. There was still excitement in their voices and a little awe at what they had experienced. Then the conversation moved to the other companies that were still behind them, or those who had not even started as yet. The mood sobered as a discussion arose about those still left in Nauvoo and how soon they might be starting out to follow them. But that quickly lightened again as Heber began telling a story of trying to shoe one of his oxen. Since an ox could kick like a mule, and since it had a hard time balancing on three legs, the best way to shoe an ox was to turn it upside down with its legs in the air. Heber had tried to do that all by himself, and soon they were all holding their sides as he described what he had gone through to do it.
As the laughter subsided and the conversation quieted somewhat, Brigham looked at Mary Ann more closely. “How are you doing?” he asked quietly.
“I’m doing fine,” she said immediately.
He smiled. “Yes. Somehow I thought you’d say that. Are you really?” His eyes held her gaze and penetrated deeply.
“Yes,” she responded more slowly. “I’m tired, of course, but who isn’t after a day like today?”
There was a brief nod. His face was somber in the firelight. “I was thinking about Ben today, Mary Ann. What a privilege it was for me to have known him.”
His comment was so unexpected that it caught her off guard. There was a sudden glistening in her eyes. “It was a privilege for me to have been his wife.”
There was a soft chuckle. “If he were here right now, you know what he’d say, don’t you?”
She laughed too, nodding through the tears. “He’d get all gruff and say that he was the lucky one.”
“Exactly. And that’s part of what made him the man he was. He never lost that sense of humility that is so much a part of those who truly love God.”
“I know,” she said, grateful now that Brigham had turned the conversation that direction. Though she was reminded of her grief at losing him, it was as if he had called Benjamin to her side for a moment and she could feel his gentle and comforting presence. It filled her with a great sense of peace.
Brigham looked over at Lydia, who was sitting beside Nathan, leaning against him. “I guess you know that your husband is the hero of the day,” he said.
Nathan looked surprised. Lydia just nodded. “I was very proud of him.”
Joshua was bobbing his head vigorously. “That ide
a to use a counter burn was brilliant. By the way, President, what did you mean by that comment today that you hoped Joseph would approve of us throwing the rattlesnakes into the fire?”
“Oh, that?”
Josh raised his hand. “I know, President Young. Papa told me.”
“Then tell him, Josh. Tell your Uncle Joshua about Joseph Smith.”
Josh turned his body so that he faced his uncle more squarely. “It was while Pa was on Zion’s Camp. That was in . . . ?” He looked at his father.
“Thirty-four,” Nathan answered. “The spring of eighteen thirty-four.”
“Yes. Well, on the march one morning, some men woke up and there were rattlesnakes nearby.”
“Nearby is right,” Nathan agreed. “Some had curled right up against us to get warm.”
“Ooh!” Emily shuddered.
“When some of the men were about to kill them,” Josh continued, “Brother Joseph rebuked them. He said something about how would men and animals ever lose their hatred for each other if we killed them all the time, or something like that.”
“That’s pretty close,” Brigham said.
“Then he got a stick and carried them away from the camp,” Josh finished.
“That’s right,” Nathan said, smiling at his son. “You remember it well.”
“Well,” Brigham drawled, now speaking to Joshua again. “I still believe that Joseph’s point was a good one, but today I didn’t think we had a lot of time for making our peace with the animal kingdom. So I hope Brother Joseph understands.”
“I hope it burned them all up,” Elizabeth Mary said, bringing a laugh from all of them.
Brigham decided to change the subject. “We are grateful to Nathan for his quick thinking today, but we probably ought to offer a few words of thanks to the Lord as well. That could have been a disaster for us.”
“Amen,” Nathan said fervently. Others were nodding, faces sober as they remembered those tense few minutes earlier in the day.
“For all the difficulties,” Willard Richards came in, “for all the challenges of mud and rain and broken wagon axles, the Lord has truly been with us.”
“Amen,” several said now in unison.
Brigham straightened, turning to his clerk. “William, this would be a wonderful time for your song.” He turned to Mary Ann. “Brother Clayton received some good news from Nauvoo.”
“Really?” Mary Ann said, turning to the Englishman. “What was it?”
“Well,” Brother Clayton answered, “one of the brethren received a letter and in it there was news of my Diantha. She had a fine, fat baby boy.”
“Really?” Rebecca spoke up. “That’s wonderful, William. How is Diantha?” Because Derek and William Clayton were both Englishmen, the Ingallses and the Claytons had become good friends back in Nauvoo.
A momentary shadow crossed William’s face. “Not as well. She has the mumps and is troubled by the ague, according to the report, but all in all, they say she is doing better than when I left her.”
He turned to the others. “All of you may not know, but because Diantha was with child, and because she was so ill, I was forced to leave her behind with friends to care for her. As soon as we find a suitable resting place somewhere along the trail—I hope in the next week or two—President Young has said I can send for her and the baby.”
Rebecca nodded at that. Along with other Church leaders, William Clayton was one of those who had been asked to take plural wives. Diantha was the youngest of his four wives. She was slight of build and fragile by nature, and when she found she was with child, it only aggravated her tendency toward illness. As clerk to the Church, William Clayton served as scribe to Brigham Young and the Twelve. He kept a journal of the trail and tried to estimate the mileage for each day. He was also charged with the overseeing of several wagons which contained the Church’s property—histories, sacred manuscripts, record books, artifacts, temple furniture, and the like. When Brigham and the main body of the Twelve finally crossed the Mississippi River, he agonized about going on ahead and leaving Diantha behind. But with rumors that the armies were near and that they had warrants for the arrest of all the Church leaders, he finally decided the safest thing for his family was for him and his other three wives to leave with Brigham, find a place where they would be safe, and then quietly send back to Nauvoo and get Diantha out.
Rebecca knew that he worried constantly about Diantha. He had not heard recently of her condition. Knowing how depressed and discouraged he had been, she could only imagine how relieved he must be to have finally heard that things were all right back in Nauvoo.
“So,” Brigham prodded, “tell them what happened.”
Clayton seemed embarrassed. “Well, as you know, I’m a musician.”
“Well, now,” Mary Ann said with a smile, “there’s an understatement if I ever heard one.” William Clayton was a member of the William Pitt brass band. He was an accomplished player of the violin, the horn, the drums, and the pianoforte. He had been one of those who had earned critically needed funds by arranging concerts in the various Iowa settlements along the route. They also frequently played in the evenings for the Saints.
“But I am not an accomplished songwriter,” he went on. “I’ve written a few songs, but I’m much better at playing what others have written.”
“But you wrote a song?” Caroline asked. All of them were listening intently, and it was clear that not even all the other men had heard this account as yet.
“When I learned of the birth of my son, though I was still greatly concerned about Diantha’s health, I felt to rejoice at the news that she had finally had the baby and that he was fat and healthy and well. I decided to name him William Adriel Benoni Clayton.” He chuckled. “That ought to be name enough for any boy. Anyway, after I heard the news yesterday morning, the feeling of joy and gratitude lay heavy upon me. Desiring to express the feelings of my heart, I went off by myself. When I returned two hours later, I had composed a song.”
“Do you have it with you, William?” Heber Kimball asked.
“No, but I do not need it. I know the words by heart.”
“Then sing it for us,” Willard Richards exclaimed. He looked around at the others. “It’s a wonderful song.”
“Yes, William,” Brigham said quietly, “after today, I think it would be appropriate for you to sing it for us all.”
He nodded and got to his feet. “I wish I had thought to bring my violin.”
“You have a wonderful voice,” Derek exclaimed. “Just sing it for us.”
“All right.” He hesitated for a moment, looking around at his audience. “The music comes from an old English folk tune—Derek and maybe Jenny will likely know it well. It’s long been a favorite in the British Isles. It’s called ‘Good Morning, Gossip Joan.’ ” He was enjoying himself now. “Fortunately, someone here in America rewrote it into a song you may be more familiar with. It’s called, ‘All Is Well.’ ”
“Ah, yes,” Mary Ann said. “I know that song.”
“Well, I have kept the title but revised the tune somewhat to fit the rhythm of the words. But the words are all new.”
“Brother William is far too modest to say this,” Willard Richards said, “but he felt strongly inspired as he wrote.”
William’s head lowered slightly. “Yes, that’s true. The Spirit rested upon me and I felt the words flowing from the power and inspiration of the Lord.” There was a wry smile. “With that glowing introduction, you may find the whole thing quite a disappointment.”
“Sing it,” Brother Brigham commanded.
“Yes, sing it,” several others called out.
He walked to the edge of the circle, and dropped his hands to his sides. His head came up and his eyes half closed. Then in a clear, sweet tenor voice he began to sing.
Come, come, ye Saints, no toil nor labor fear;
But with joy wend your way.
Though hard to you this journey may appear,
Grace shal
l be as your day.
The notes floated across the camp. All around them, voices hushed. Laughter stopped. Heads turned toward the dark figure who stood near the Steed campfire.
’Tis better far for us to strive
Our useless cares from us to drive;
Do this, and joy your hearts will swell—
All is well! All is well!
If William Clayton was mindful of his audience, it no longer showed on his face. It was as though he were back at Diantha’s side, comforting and congratulating her.
Why should we mourn or think our lot is hard?
’Tis not so; all is right.
Why should we think to earn a great reward
If we now shun the fight?
Gird up your loins; fresh courage take.
Our God will never us forsake;
And soon we’ll have this tale to tell—
All is well! All is well!
Finally now his chin lowered again, and he looked squarely at those who watched with rapturous, upturned faces.
We’ll find the place which God for us prepared,
Far away in the West,
Where none shall come to hurt or make afraid;
There the Saints will be blessed.
His voice rose joyously.
We’ll make the air with music ring,
Shout praises to our God and King;
Above the rest these words we’ll tell—
All is well! All is well!
He stopped. The last notes died away. Not a sound broke the silence. For a moment, Mary Ann wondered if he was through. But he did not move. She saw in the faint light that tears were streaming down his face. But when he finally started again, there was not the slightest quaver to his voice. He sang out clearly and triumphantly. It was a cry of faith and affirmation and covenant.
And should we die before our journey’s through,
Happy day! All is well!
We then are free from toil and sorrow, too;
With the just we shall dwell!
But if our lives are spared again
To see the Saints their rest obtain,
Oh, how we’ll make this chorus swell—
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