He heard someone call his name and stood up to look in the direction of the sound. It was James Reed, standing near the back of one of the Donner wagons. He was waving his arm. “Peter, can you come over here?”
“Yes, Mr. Reed,” he shouted back. He turned to Margret Reed. “I’ll be back and help with supper as soon as we’re through.”
She waved a hand. “See if you can talk Mr. Reed into coming back with you.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He trotted away, circling a little so as not to spook the animals that were grazing nearby. In a few moments he joined Mr. Reed, who waited for him.
“We’ve got some news,” he said, laying an arm on Peter’s shoulder as they turned and started for the wagon. “I’d like you there to hear this. It will make a difference as to what we do.”
“Yes, sir. What is it?”
“Come on over here and sit down.”
In the circle made by the Donner wagons several men were already seated. In addition to George and Jacob Donner, Peter saw that most of the teamsters and hired men were there as well. Two more men were just coming from the herd, led by George Donner’s lead driver. There were also several men whom Peter did not recognize.
Once everyone had found a place to sit down, George Donner stood up. As was his manner, he jumped right into what was on his mind with no preamble or introduction. “Let me start right out by saying that we’ve got some people here who would like to travel with our party until we can join with a more substantial train. We’ll make introductions in a minute, assuming you’re of a mind to accept them. If not . . . well, then, there isn’t much point in introducing them.”
Peter tried not to smile. George Donner was not rude, at least not intentionally. He was just direct, not given much to small talk. Some found that disconcerting, though personally Peter liked it. The strangers didn’t seem offended but were nodding at his words. And out here on the trail a simple but effective democracy prevailed. All would have a say in who traveled with them.
“My brother and me,” George went on, “along with Mr. Reed, feel inclined to recommend that we accept them. Can’t ever have too many people in a train once you leave civilization. Besides that, these people are well equipped. They have plenty of supplies, good teams, serviceable wagons. We’d like to put it to a vote.”
Reed leaned forward slightly. “Tell us what that would mean for wagons and teams,” he suggested.
Donner grunted. “Seven or eight more wagons and seven more working men.”
The man who sat on the end of the group of newcomers raised his hand. “My son is fourteen and full grown. Make that eight working men.” There was a definite lilt to the man’s speech, and Peter guessed this was Virginia’s Irishman.
Uncle George, as everyone called him, looked around the circle. “All in our party who are in favor of accepting these additions to our train raise your hand.”
Every hand came up. He nodded in satisfaction. “Welcome, then,” he said to the newcomers. “You are now free to travel with us. Each family head will have one vote, same as the rest of us. Why don’t you introduce yourselves to those who haven’t met you yet.”
The man on the end started out. Peter had been right. His name was Patrick Breen and he had come from Ireland some years before. He was traveling with a wife and seven children and a single man, Patrick Dolan, who was a friend and had his own wagon.
Virginia had been wrong about the so-called “Dutchmen,” however. They were actually Germans. To Peter’s surprise, the one called Keseberg, a tall, virile-looking man, looked very well-to-do. So did another man named Wolfinger, who was traveling with the Kesebergs.
When they were done, Donner got right back to business. “Now, Mr. Reed has a problem to lay before us.” He turned. “James?”
Reed stepped forward, smiling warmly. “We are pleased to have you travel with us,” he said to the new men. “We all want to go to the same place and get there as quickly as possible, so I think we can help one another do that.”
All around the circle, heads were nodding.
Continuing, Reed gazed around the circle. “There is a problem, however. We learned this evening that the wagon train headed by Colonel William Russell with which we hoped to join up left Independence headed for California about a week ago.”
There were cries of disappointment and a groan or two. Reed nodded. “I understand it has grown into a big train—almost fifty wagons and still growing.” He let that sink in for a moment. “I talked to some men at the courthouse. They strongly recommend that we catch up and join in with them. They’re not sure there will be another group that large leaving here this season. It’s already mid-May. Therefore, as the Donners and I have discussed this, we would propose spending tomorrow stocking up and making preparations, then moving out first thing Tuesday morning—”
He stopped again. This time it was mostly groans, and they came from the men in their company who had barely unhitched their oxen just an hour or two before. “I know, I know,” he said. “We’d planned to rest for two or three days here, but if we’re going to catch them, we need to leave as soon as possible, and we’ll have to push right along to overtake them. But I think it’s the wisest move.”
Keseberg shrugged. “The problem is with your group, Mr. Reed,” he said. “We’ve been here for over a week waiting for someone to come. We’re ready.”
“Mr. Breen?” Reed asked.
“We just got in yesterday, but we’ll be fine.”
Reed looked around the circle for a moment. “Those in favor of rolling out first thing Tuesday, then?”
Once again every hand came up, some reluctantly, but they were up.
“Then it’s done. Let’s go to work. There’s a lot to do before then.”
As the men rose to their feet and began to talk, Peter turned away. This was not going to be good news for Reed’s wife and mother-in-law. Nor for Kathryn either. She was doing well, but he could tell she was tired too. They all needed a substantial rest.
“Peter?”
He turned back. Reed was motioning to him. “Wait for a moment. There’s something else you need to know. I’ll walk back with you.”
“Who?”
Peter touched a finger to Kathryn’s lips. Their tent was just a few feet away from the Reeds’ wagon. When he spoke, he spoke softly, but he pronounced the dreaded words slowly and distinctly. “Lilburn W. Boggs.”
For a moment he could tell it still hadn’t registered; then she gasped audibly. “Not . . . ?”
“Yes. Former governor of the state of Missouri. The man who called out the militia against the Mormons.” He blew out his breath. “The man who signed the extermination order against our people.”
“He’ll be traveling with us?”
“It’s very likely, yes. Apparently he’ll be joining up with Colonel Russell’s group, just as we plan to do. He and his son and a whole party from Jackson County are headed to California. According to Mr. Reed, several of them are known Mormon-haters.”
Kathryn had come up on one elbow to stare at Peter in the darkness. Now she dropped back again. “I can’t believe it. Governor Boggs. After all these years.” He could almost feel her shiver at the thought.
Peter sighed. “Mr. Reed said he was surprised at how strong the feelings against the Mormons are here in Independence, even after so long.”
That brought another question to mind. “Did you tell Mr. Reed that we are Latter-day Saints, Peter?”
“No. But I’m sure he knows. He never talks about it, but . . .”
She was nodding in the darkness. She had felt the same thing with Mrs. Reed. When Kathryn and Peter had come to Springfield with the purpose of signing on with one of the emigrant parties going west, they had decided they would never hide their Church membership. But neither would they flaunt it. If they were asked, they would answer and answer honestly. Otherwise they simply did not talk about it. But several things Mrs. Reed had said over the past several months had made Kathryn wonder if
she knew. Thankfully, it seemed to make no difference to the Reeds.
“How did he come to tell you?” she asked.
“As the meeting broke up, he took me aside and said there was something that he thought I should know. Then he told me.”
“But he didn’t say anything about us being members of the Church?”
“No. He just told me. Said he thought I’d want to know.” He was thinking back. Mr. Reed’s announcement had taken Peter so much by surprise that he hadn’t listened too closely to the rest. “He did say something like, ‘Don’t worry about it. There won’t by any problems. I’ll see to that.’ ”
“Which means he does know we’re Latter-day Saints.”
“I think so.”
“In a way that’s good.”
“Yes. He could be a powerful friend if we ever need him.” He took a breath. “But that’s not all the bad news.”
“No,” she cried. “What else?”
“News of our people is filtering down from the northern counties.”
“Really?” she exclaimed, coming up on an elbow again.
“Yes. Evidently some Latter-day Saints have been coming down into the northern settlements trying to trade goods for grain and food.”
“Is there news of—” Her voice had gone tight.
“No, no one in particular. Mr. Reed didn’t know enough to ask specifics. It’s just that . . .”
“What, Peter?”
“The latest word is that our people are only about halfway across Iowa Territory now.”
“No!”
“Yes. That means that we are now out ahead of them. And we leave again in two days.”
“How can that be? They left Nauvoo in February.”
“They’re having a terrible time, according to the reports.”
“What does that mean for us, Peter?” This was even more depressing than his other news.
He let out his breath in a deep sigh of discouragement. “I’m not sure. We’ll just have to hope we get more news as we move west.” He was trying to put the best face on it, but she knew this wasn’t good. She didn’t have the heart to ask him about it further, however.
Chapter Notes
After a welcome five-day stay in the Juan Fernández Islands in which the Brooklyn company was able to resupply both food and water, they set sail again on 9 May 1846. Instead of going north to California, the ship continued northwestward to the Sandwich Islands, later to be called Hawaii. (See “Voyage,” pp. 58–59.)
The references to the tenpin alley (a forerunner of bowling) and the grog shops that had sprung up in Nauvoo at this time come from a letter written by John Taylor (see David R. Crockett, Saints in Exile: A Day-by-Day Pioneer Experience, vol. 1 of LDS-Gems Pioneer Trek Series [Tucson, Arizona: LDS-Gems Press, 1996], p. 305).
The emigrant party led by George and Jacob Donner and James Reed left Springfield, Illinois, on 15 April. They did not arrive in Independence, Missouri, the final outfitting center for the Oregon-California Trail, until 10 May. Some of those who would eventually become part of the Donner-Reed party and participate in the tragedy that befell them in the high Sierras joined the Donners somewhere about this time. However, it is not always clear exactly where and when that took place. For convenience, several are shown here as joining the Donners on 10 May at Independence, Missouri, though it may have been a few days later and a few miles beyond Independence. All the names used here are actual people who were members of the Donner Party. (See George R. Stewart, Ordeal by Hunger: The Story of the Donner Party [Boston: Houghton Mifflin Co., 1988], pp. 20–22; Walter M. Stookey, Fatal Decision: The Tragic Story of the Donner Party [Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1950], pp. 84–88.)
It is known that Lilburn W. Boggs, ex-governor of Missouri, was in the same train as the Donners and the Reeds for a time. He evidently left Independence not long before the Donners and caught up with Colonel Russell’s train on 15 May. Later, Boggs and his group did not take the southern route taken by the Donner Party but stayed with the main part of the Russell train on the better-known northern route of the Oregon-California Trail, which went by way of Fort Hall (near present-day Pocatello, Idaho). Thus he was not part of the ordeal suffered by the Donner Party.
Chapter 18
Garden Grove Camp, May 12, 1846 (Tuesday)
This is my first entry in my “new journal.” I said before that I would be writing this in the back of Mama’s journal. But day before yesterday, when Mama saw how much I am writing and how much she is writing, she decided we are going to fill up her book too fast. So yesterday Papa traded some molasses with Sister Carter and got two dozen sheets of foolscap for me to write on. Anyway, in case this ever gets separated from the first part, my name again is Rachel Garrett. I turned fourteen on January 24, 1846. I am the oldest daughter of Jessica and Solomon Garrett. (Actually Solomon is only my stepfather, but I explained that in the other journal and you will have to read it there.)
This has been a sad day in a way. A decision was made that will split our family, at least for a time. President B. Young and the Twelve have made some assignments. Four of the Twelve were asked to leave immediately with their three companies—Elders Parley Pratt and Orson Pratt are traveling together—to go ahead and find a place for another settlement like Garden Grove. It didn’t surprise us to learn that Matthew was asked to go with Elder Parley Pratt’s advance party. Jenny is sad, but she expected it. They left yesterday afternoon. But today, the council decided that Pres. Y. is going to take a group and go too so that they can help build that settlement quickly. To our surprise, Uncle Nathan and Uncle Joshua were asked to go with him. They will leave tomorrow morning on their saddle horses and leave their families to come on later with Uncle Derek and my cousin Josh to help them. The rest of the family will wait a few days before going on, so by the time they reach the new settlement, things will be ready for them. I asked Mama why their families couldn’t go too, since some families are going with Pres. Y. She said she thought it might be because our teams have been doing so poorly and need to recruit their strength somewhat. She also wondered if Pres. Y. wants more men to help build the settlement before all the families come. Then she reminded me that when our leaders ask us to do something, even if it’s hard, you do it without having to understand everything.
Having Nathan and Joshua gone for a week or so is still not the saddest news, though I can tell that Aunt Caroline and Aunt Lydia are very sad. The saddest part is that our immediate family—especially Papa—has been asked by Pres. Y. to stay here in Garden Grove to help get things ready for those who are still coming. That means our family will be the only ones among the Steed family group to stay for more than a few days. But I won’t be staying and neither will Luke. Mama and Papa have decided I should go with Lydia and the others. With Nathan gone, Lydia will need help with the baby and the other children. Luke will go with Aunt Caroline to help drive their wagon. Josh is old enough—he’s almost fifteen now—to drive for Aunt Lydia and his own family, but Aunt Caroline has no one, so Luke will become the teamster for her. Papa has been teaching him how to handle the oxen ever since we left Nauvoo. He’s a year younger than Josh, but does very well. He is so proud to do this all by himself!!! He’s already calling himself a bullwhacker.
Mark—who is still not even twelve yet—is not happy. He keeps begging Papa to let him go too, but Papa says no. It helped a little when Papa said he will let Mark start learning how to drive our team so he can become a bullwhacker too.
As I think about it, I’m not— Have to quit. Pres. Young and his brother Lorenzo D. Young are outside.
Nathan waited until all the family had gathered around the campfire, including the small children. He stood beside Brigham. Brigham’s younger brother, Lorenzo Dow Young, had taken a seat on a length of log and was content to be in the background.
Rachel was the last to come, darting out from the tent and walking quickly to sit with her family. “Sorry,” she murmured to Nathan, “I was writing in my j
ournal.”
“Good for you, Rachel,” Brigham spoke up. “That’s very important. As you know, our beloved Brother Joseph felt very strongly about recording our history.” He turned and let his eyes sweep across the campground with its myriad fires and the white wagon tops looking like giant cotton balls in the dwindling light. “And this is history too. We are the Camp of Israel, and future generations yet unborn will be forever grateful for records which chronicle this event.”
Rachel blushed deeply. She had not said it as a way to draw attention to herself but as an apology for keeping President Young waiting. Emily Steed, who sat beside her mother, was staring at Rachel with wonder and envy. She and her cousin had started out keeping journals together, but Rachel was so much more diligent than she had been. Emily had written maybe four or five entries all told since they had promised each other to write whenever possible. She looked up at Lydia. “Mama, I’m going to do better with my journal,” she whispered.
“That would be good, Emmy.”
“Well,” Nathan said when it was clear Brigham was through, “I happened to see Brother Brigham and Brother Lorenzo while I was fetching water. Since there is only one topic of conversation around every campfire this night, I decided I would ask the President if it’s true, or if it’s just another one of those rumors that gets started in the camp.”
“About the valley, you mean?” Solomon asked.
Nathan nodded. “When I mentioned that we had heard about it and wondered if it was really true, Brother Brigham said he would stop and talk to us all.”
Brigham was nodding. “You know what they say. ‘Rumor runs in ten-mile strides while Truth is still getting out of bed.’ It never ceases to amaze me how susceptible our camp is to this kind of thing.”
Joshua raised his head a little. “So it’s all a rumor, this story about your vision of the valley?”
“No, no,” Brigham said hastily, “I didn’t mean that. I was just saying how quick we are to believe anything we hear. I’m not sure what all is being said, and if it’s not being embellished a little in the telling, I’ll be surprised, but no, the story is basically true.”
Pillar of Light Page 433