Chapter 26
The Arkansas River was a true curiosity to Rebecca Ingalls. It was a wide streambed of mostly dry sand with only occasional pools of water. In other places, where there was no water, they could dig down a foot or two and have water bubble up. In many places the men speared fish with their bayonets in the shallow pools, and occasionally found live fish buried in the wet sand. It was a wonder, and Rebecca was pleased to be camped beside it. There had been more than one night in the last month when they had camped without water. Even if they had to dig for it, there was plenty here to be had.
“More grits?” Rebecca asked.
Derek grinned, setting his now empty plate aside and rubbing his stomach. “If I eat one more spoonful, I’ll get me a tummy ache, and then I’ll be riding in Doctor Sanderson’s ‘black wagon’ tomorrow.” He pulled a face. “As good as your cooking is, Becca, nothing is worth that.”
She nodded, pleased to have Derek sitting up again and making jokes. He had frightened her terribly. For the next three mornings after Doctor Sanderson—or Doctor Death, as everyone was now calling him—had decided Derek was sick, he forced him to ride in the official sick wagon, dubbed the “black wagon” by the men, and to take his “treatment.” The prescription was always the same: calomel powder mixed with molasses, followed by a dose of arsenic—all given with that terrible rusty spoon. And each day Derek grew progressively worse. There was no choice. If he didn’t submit to treatment, he could not be put on the sick list. If he wasn’t on the sick list, there was no riding in the wagons. On the fourth morning, he had motioned her close. “Take me as far as you can today,” he whispered. “Then if I die, dig a hole and put me in it.”
Frantic, she had sought out Josh, who had immediately gone for Tom Williams. The big sergeant listened, nodded once, then turned and walked away. Half an hour later, as they were starting breakfast, he was back, rolling a large pork barrel along with him. He also carried a small bottle of liquid in his pocket. “Sister Ingalls,” he said, “one more day of treatment, and your husband will no longer be with us. Yet we can’t risk having the good doctor find out that Brother Ingalls is still sick and not being treated. So I have a suggestion.”
“What?”
“He’s already experiencing discomfort,” Williams went on. “What I am about to propose won’t change that, but it will change the form it takes.”
Rebecca and Josh were listening intently. “We are willing to try anything to escape the doctor’s poison,” Rebecca said.
The sergeant held up a small bottle. “I was able to purchase some quinine this morning from those trappers that came in last night from Bent’s Fort. This will do better for the ague than any calomel and arsenic.” He turned and thumped the barrel. “It will be cramped, but it’s a place to hide.”
It was such a unique idea that Rebecca had clapped her hands and laughed aloud. Josh just stared, then slowly began to nod.
It had worked perfectly. When it was time for the battalion to roll out, they gave Derek his blanket and put him inside the barrel, which was now inside the wagon. He had to sit with his knees jammed up against his face and his head bent down a little, but he fit. Several times during the day, making sure that the wagon flap was closed and that neither Lieutenant Smith nor Doctor Sanderson was nearby, Rebecca would pry off the lid and give Derek quinine and water. Once they reached camp and had the tents pitched, Josh and Sergeant Williams would lift Derek out and carry him to his bed. Josh answered for him at roll call each morning.
The change was immediate and dramatic. By the end of the first day, he was coherent again. By the third morning, he got himself into and out of the barrel. After five days in hiding, the barrel was returned and Derek began to walk alongside the wagon for short distances, riding on the wagon seat beside Sergeant Williams only when he had to. The last three days, he had started marching with the men again. Whenever Sanderson rode by, Derek had made a point of calling out to him so that the doctor could see for himself that Derek was better.
“It’s so good to see you eating again, Derek,” Rebecca commented.
“It feels so good to be up once more.” He grinned. “And out of that barrel.”
“Thank heavens for that barrel,” she said fervently.
“Yes. If it weren’t—”
There was a shout and they both turned their heads. Josh was running toward them with the two Ingalls boys racing along at his side.
Derek and Rebecca both stood. For a moment there was concern, but then they saw that the three were excited but not frightened. As the three of them rushed up, Christopher spurted ahead. “Mama. Papa. There are Mormons in camp.”
“Mormons?” Derek said with a smile. “We’re all Mormons, son.”
“No, new Mormons.”
Derek gave Josh a questioning look. He smiled. “You know that group of government teamsters that rode in this evening?”
“Yes.”
“Well, we just found out there are seven Latter-day Saints traveling with them. There’s to be a meeting at Captain Hunt’s tent in just a few minutes.”
Captain Jefferson Hunt looked around, letting the last of the people settle down on the ground in front of his tent. When the last ones sat down, he stood up. “Brothers and sisters, we have a surprise for you.” He turned and motioned to where seven men stood together in a small circle. “Brother Brown, why don’t you come forward. You can explain your situation better than I can.” As one of the seven stepped forward, Hunt turned back to the assembled Saints. “Let me introduce Brother John Brown, originally from Illinois but lately from Mississippi.”
Brown was a lean man with a sharp face and an angular nose. His beard was thick and bushy. His face was tanned deeply by the sun. His eyes were dark, and sparkled with energy. “Brothers and sisters,” he began in a deep, pleasant voice, “my name is John Brown. Like you, I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
The people looked at each other in surprise. A Mormon out here in the middle of nowhere?
“My brethren and I are on our way back to Mississippi to get our families. This spring, under the direction of Brother Brigham Young, I was asked to put together a company of our people and head west. President Young suggested that we not detour up to Nauvoo but rather go straight to Independence and then westward along the Oregon Trail until we caught up with the main body of the Saints. This we did. Then in early July, at a place called Ash Hollow, we met some trappers going east, back to the States. They had come from Oregon. You can imagine our dismay when we asked them how far behind our people we were and they told us that there was no group of Mormons out ahead of us.”
He paused, his mouth pulling down with the memory of that day. “We didn’t know what to do. We talked about wintering at Fort Laramie, but then a trapper by the name of Reshaw told us about a settlement on the Arkansas River called Fort Pueblo. He said it was of a reasonable climate and that we could buy corn there.
“After much discussion, we decided to wait out the winter there. Next spring, when President Young and our people start west, we’ll go back up to Fort Laramie and meet them, then continue on west with them to our final destination.”
One of the men raised his hand. “Where is this Pueblo from here?”
“On past Bent’s Fort. We left there on the first of September. Today is what? the twelfth?”
Several nodded.
“So Pueblo is twelve days from here, probably a little more if you’re traveling with wagons. By the way, is there anyone here by the name of Steed or Ingalls?”
Derek and Josh both started, then raised their hands. “I’m Derek Ingalls. This is my nephew Joshua Steed.”
Brown seemed a little surprised, then smiled. “Know a couple by the name of Peter and Kathryn Ingalls?”
Derek leaped to his feet. “Yes. Peter’s my brother.”
Brother Brown seemed pleased. “Well, you’ll be interested to know that we met them near Fort Laramie.” He quickly told them
how Peter had sought them out and asked if they would take Kathryn with them, then rode on west with the emigrant company. When Brown finished, he smiled. “Did you know that Kathryn is in a family way?”
Rebecca cried out. “Really?”
“In about four more months, I think. She was a delight to us. She has already started a small school for our children.”
Captain Hunt spoke up. “Originally our plan was to go to Bent’s Fort, but now that General Kearny has captured Santa Fe, our orders are to march directly there. Otherwise, you might have been able to work out a way to see her.”
Rebecca stood now, smiling happily. “Brother Brown, I’m sure there are going to be a lot of invitations for supper tonight, but we would be most pleased if you would come and sup with us. I’ve still got a pot of stew on the fire and a pan of grits just waiting for someone with a big enough hunger.”
John Brown inclined his head, smiling back at her. “My brethren can accept those other invitations. I would be pleased to join with you. I suspect we have a lot to talk about.”
Only five of the ten teamsters who had volunteered to go to Nauvoo to rescue the poor Saints were ready by Monday morning, but Brigham didn’t want them to delay further. The rest would follow when they could.
As Joshua checked the yoke on his oxen and the chains which were fastened to the wagon tongue, Caroline watched him silently. When he finished, he patted the horses’ noses, then came over to where she was. “I don’t want to leave you,” he said.
She stepped up to him and laid her head against his chest. “If it were under other circumstances, I wouldn’t want you to either. But I think we both know that this is what the Lord wants.”
He nodded. “Evidently. I don’t know if we can convince Carl to come with us, but at least we’ll be there to help them if they need us.”
“I’m so proud of you,” Caroline said, looking up at him.
He seemed a little surprised. “Why?”
“For being close to the Spirit.” There was a teasing smile. “This is the same man who once threatened to leave me if I joined the Church.”
“I never said that.”
“Close to it,” she retorted.
He shook his head, then pulled her close again. “I said a lot of foolish things back then, but I was never crazy enough to say I would leave you.”
“No,” she murmured. And that was true. They had experienced rocky times because of their differing views about the Church, but there had never been any question about his loving her.
“Well, the rest of the family is over there wondering what we’re doing. I’d better go.”
He tapped the near ox on the shoulder. “Go, boy,” he urged. They moved forward to where Nathan had his wagon ready and the rest of the family was waiting.
As Joshua’s wagon pulled in behind Nathan’s, Solomon and Matthew came over. “Looks like you’re ready,” Matthew said, with some longing in his voice.
“We are,” Joshua answered.
“Are you sure all four of us shouldn’t be going?”
Joshua laid his hand on his youngest brother’s shoulder. “No, I’m not, Matthew. But I know this. It will probably take us a month or more for the round-trip. If we wait until mid or late October to start building our cabins, that will not bode well for us. And you’re the carpenter, remember? It’s not that we don’t want you along, it’s just that you are needed here.”
Matthew held up his hands. “I know, I know. I was just grousing a little.”
“I understand. We’ll tell Melissa why you didn’t come.”
“You just bring them back with you,” Solomon said.
Nathan nodded slowly. “We’re certainly going to try, but I don’t have high hopes. Not with Carl feeling as he does.”
“Ready,” Joshua said.
“Then let’s roll them out. The others are probably at the ferry by now.”
“Rebecca. I need to ask you a question.”
She turned onto her side so that she faced him. They spoke softly so as not to wake the children. “What?”
“Lieutenant Smith has decided to send a detachment of men to Pueblo.”
“He has?” That rocked her. Rumors had been rife in camp for the past two days that their martinet commanding officer wanted to get rid of some of the sick men and, more important, the women and children.
“He’s assigned Captain Higgins to take command of the detachment. There will be ten of the sickest men sent along with several of the wives and children. He’s calling it the family detachment.”
“Colonel Allen promised that we wouldn’t be split up.”
He sighed. “I know. Levi Hancock explained that to Lieutenant Smith, but it got him nowhere. Colonel Allen is dead. The original plan was for us to meet up with General Kearny at Bent’s Fort, so Kearny ordered all of our supplies to go there. Now that he’s conquered Santa Fe and we’re going straight there, we have to bypass Bent’s Fort, which means we are short on rations.”
“Are you one of the sick they plan to send?” she asked quietly.
“No.”
“Then I’m not going either.”
“Rebecca, Kathryn is at Pueblo. It would be safe there.”
“I’m not going, Derek. Not without you.”
“Listen, Rebecca. It could become very difficult traveling now.”
“Are you going to Pueblo?” she asked again.
“Rebecca, you have—”
“Then it’s settled.” She reached out and touched his mouth with her fingertips, letting him know that it really was settled.
By Tuesday, the fifteenth of September, the “Battle of Nauvoo” was over. A committee of citizens from Quincy had come to the city, just as they had during the hostilities of 1845, and negotiated with both sides to see if they could find a way to peace.
Triumphant, Thomas Brockman, the commander of the opposing forces, set down his demands for an end to the conflict. It was more an ultimatum than a proposal. The “posse,” as he insisted on calling his forces, still had numerous arrest warrants for various Nauvoo citizens, Mormon and non-Mormon alike. Those warrants would be set aside and there would be no destruction of either persons or property, on the conditions that the citizens surrender their arms and that all Mormons, with the exception of a committee of five men and their families who were authorized to dispose of properties, be out of the city within five days.
By that time, Colonel Johnson, who had fallen critically ill during the battle, had turned the command over to William Cutler and Daniel H. Wells. Though many of the citizens were furious with the harsh demands and wanted to fight on, Wells urged them to accept the offer. They were heavily outnumbered, he pointed out. Sooner or later they would be defeated and have to give up anyway. If they did it now, lives could be spared.
But it was William Cutler who finally convinced them. He stood slowly after Wells had finished and looked around. “Brethren,” he said in a dejected tone, “it is reasonable that we leave Nauvoo. Not only for the reasons Brother Wells has so clearly stated, but also because the time has come for us to depart. God has called upon us to go, and most of our brethren and sisters have already done so. If we refuse to follow his command, then perhaps he will let the mob loose on us so that we are at last driven out. Not that they will get any glory for it. Someday they will have to suffer for the wrongs they have committed against God’s people. Let us go. I hope the day is coming when we shall no longer have to suffer from the mobs as we have done here.”
Carl Rogers, thoroughly shattered by the knowledge of how desperately wrong he had been in refusing to leave, lifted his hand and asked for an amendment. He wanted a guarantee that the sick and the helpless would be protected. When that was agreed to, he raised his hand in favor when the vote was called.
The next morning there were some brief skirmishes, but shortly after noon both sides agreed to sign the treaty. Hostilities were to cease immediately. The Saints would begin preparations for their final departure. The foll
owing day the forces under the command of Thomas Brockman would be allowed to enter the city uncontested.
When word came to the Spartan Band that the treaty had been signed, Carl Rogers surrendered his rifle to one of the members of the Quincy committee, then immediately turned around and started for his home.
Melissa stopped rocking and looked at Carl. He saw her, but went right on folding up Mary Melissa’s bedding into a tight bundle. “We can’t do this, Carl,” she finally said.
“I don’t think we have a choice.”
“Carl, you can see how sick she is. If we try to move her—”
His head snapped up. “Melissa!” The sharpness of his tone stopped her. “I’ve got some money hidden,” he said more softly now. “Once we get across the Mississippi, we’ll go downriver to Keokuk. Then we can buy tickets to St. Louis.”
“What happened to Peoria?” she said. She hadn’t meant to sound bitter, but it had an edge to it when it came out. She saw him visibly flinch and was instantly sorry. “I’m sorry, Carl. I didn’t mean that. I know you tried to get us out.”
“But I didn’t, did I?”
“I’m sorry, Carl. I’m just so worried about Mary Melissa.”
“As I am, but I am also worried about that mob, Melissa. Maybe they’ll honor the conditions of the treaty, but Brockman is a barbarian. And he leads a whole battalion of savages. We have got to be ready to move immediately if they decide not to honor their word.”
“I know,” Melissa said meekly, looking down at her sleeping daughter. For several days she had been flushed and hot. Now she was pale and listless, refusing to eat or drink anything. To Melissa, that was even more frightening. The only time she slept now was when Melissa rocked her in her arms.
Suddenly Carl cocked his head, listening.
“What?” Melissa asked.
He didn’t answer, but got up and went to the window and opened it. Now it came clearly to them, and it sent instant chills up and down both of their backs. Across the tops of the houses, looking up Mulholland, Carl saw the enemy that he had fought so bitterly for the last week marching triumphantly down Mulholland Street toward them. But there was no kind of order. The men were like a thousand banshees, yelling, whooping, hollering, shrieking, firing off their weapons into the air. It was the most horrible sound Melissa had ever heard, and she pulled the baby closer to her instinctively.
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