It was clear that the Fieldings were much better off than some of the Saints who had been driven out of Nauvoo. Mary’s clothing was reasonably clean, and she didn’t have that pall of malnutrition as so many of the others had. As she threaded her way through the camp, it became obvious she was headed toward where several wagons stood close together to form a hollow square.
She called out and waved as she approached. A man stood up and waved back. Nathan saw that it was Joseph Fielding, Mary’s older brother. When they came up, Joseph’s eyes widened and his mouth formed an O, but Mary put her finger to her lips. She stepped in between Joshua and Nathan, taking each of them by the hand. Then she led them around the back of one of the wagons. A woman was standing there with her back to them, bent over an overturned washtub, sorting something on it.
“Melissa?”
“Yes?” She straightened and turned. The momentary surprise at seeing two strangers with Mary registered on her face; then suddenly her eyes flew open and she gasped.
“Do you recognize these two brethren?” Mary said, with a twinkle in her eyes.
Whatever it was that Melissa had in her hands crashed to the ground as she threw her hands to her face, not believing what she was seeing. Without a word, Nathan opened his arms and went to her, with Joshua right behind him.
Joshua knelt down beside the makeshift cot in the small tent. He reached out and took Carl’s hand, holding it against his chest. “How bad is it, Carl?”
He shook his head. “Three broken ribs,” he said in a strained whisper. “Maybe four.” He had to stop and catch his breath, and both Nathan and Joshua heard the wheezing rattle in his throat.
Nathan looked at Joseph Fielding. He nodded. “One of them punctured his lung. That’s the one we’re worried about. The others seem to be healing—slowly, but healing.”
Joshua turned back and laid his hand against Carl’s cheek. “It’s all right, Carl. Nathan and I are here. It will be all right.”
Nathan stood and turned to Melissa. “What about the children? Are they all right?”
It was as if he had loosed the floodgates. Her face crumpled and tears instantly filled her eyes. She turned away, her body shuddering with sobs.
Stunned, Nathan looked at Mary Smith. She took a deep breath as she put an arm around Melissa and drew her close to her. “Mary Melissa was very sick when they were driven out. She got thrown in the water.” She began to rub Melissa’s back. “She died two days after they came across.”
“Oh, Melissa,” Nathan cried, stepping to her and taking her from Mary. “Oh, my beloved Melissa, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s my fault.”
It came out as a hoarse croak. Nathan and Joshua turned to Carl in surprise. He was weeping. “I should have listened.”
Melissa pulled clear, wiping at her tears with her apron, and went to Carl, dropping to her knees beside him. “No, Carl. You did all that you could.”
He shook his head. Then he looked up at Joshua. “Have you come to take us west?”
Joshua couldn’t hide his surprise. “Are you willing to go west, Carl?”
“You ask Melissa,” he said. “You ask Melissa. Whatever she wants to do, that’s what we’ll do.”
Melissa dropped her head against his shoulder, sobbing heavily now. “I want to be with my family, Carl.”
He reached out a hand, moving it slowly and gingerly, and laid it on her head. He stroked her hair for a moment, then looked up at Joshua and Nathan again. “You heard her,” he said. “Take us to the family.”
“That’s what we’ve come for,” Nathan responded softly.
Suddenly Carl half raised his head. “I don’t want to be a Mormon,” he managed to gasp.
Joshua grinned. “That’s what I once said too, Carl.” Then instantly he sobered. “There won’t be anyone in this family, or anywhere else, that will make you a Mormon against your will, Carl.”
He lay back, wheezing heavily now. “I just wanted you to know before you decided.”
Nathan leaned forward. “Carl,” he said gently, “our love for you and our respect for you have nothing to do with what you choose to believe. You just rest now. We’re here, and we’re taking you home.”
In the end, there were only forty-two out of the nearly three to four hundred people in the Montrose camp who volunteered to leave for Council Bluffs with the seven wagons brought by Orville Allen. After a full day of preaching and persuading and, in a few cases, downright begging, they had convinced barely ten percent of the total number in the camp of the poor that they should start west immediately. In many cases there were good reasons—too ill to travel, husbands or fathers away trying to find food—but in most cases it came down to a simple lack of heart.
And Nathan was not about to fault them for that. What they had been through was enough to break even the strongest of men, and if they wanted to wait for something a little more certain than the seven-wagon rescue group, then he understood. But the Allen group couldn’t wait with them. It had taken them almost a month to come from the Missouri. If it took that long going back, it would be the first of November before they reached the Missouri River. That meant snow and freezing temperatures. The rescue company had brought food, clothing, and bedding, but they had used up some food just getting here. They would leave all but a few essentials with the poor Saints and hope they could find places along the trail to purchase or work for more. Forty-two people wasn’t many to take back, but if the rescue wagons didn’t get rolling, there would be forty-two more people consuming what little food there was. So within thirty-six hours after their arrival, they were ready to start back.
Nathan looked down the line of wagons. Going back it wouldn’t be just seven of them. They had added twenty more wagons now, along with sixteen oxen and four horses to pull them. But, he thought, six of those forty-two people were his own family. That alone justified their coming.
Joshua went around to the back of his wagon and pulled open the canvas flap. They had made a bed in Joshua’s wagon for Carl. Melissa would stay with him to care for him. The three boys and Sarah would sleep in Nathan’s wagon. “You about ready in there?”
Melissa’s head appeared. “We are.”
From Nathan’s wagon, young Carl waved. “We’re ready too.”
“Good,” Nathan said, then turned to see if Orville Allen was about ready to give the signal. Suddenly he leaned forward, staring at the western sky. “What’s that?”
Joshua turned. “What?” And then he too saw it. A dark cloud had appeared just above the prairie to the west of them. Only it was not a cloud. It was blacker, and moving rapidly.
“Look at the birds!” someone up the line shouted, pointing in the same direction.
And birds they were. It was a huge flock of whatever they were and coming directly toward them.
“There are hundreds of them,” Melissa said in awe. But they just kept coming and coming in an endless stream from below the horizon.
“Not hundreds,” Nathan cried. “Thousands! What are they?”
All up and down the wagon line, people were shouting and pointing now. In the camp, people came running from their tents and shelters, then stopped dead, struck with astonishment.
Now the first of the birds were approaching the lead wagon. The whir of their wings was like the sound of a huge hive of bees stirred up to anger. Joshua recognized that distinctive whir almost instantly. “They’re quail,” he cried.
As if a flock that huge were not surprising enough, as the first few birds approached the front of the train, suddenly they began to drop out of the sky. In moments, it was as though a great hailstorm had swept over them, only the hail was black and round and about the size of small loaves of bread. Some continued to fly over them, but most tumbled out of the sky in unbelievable numbers. A bird hit Nathan’s wagon cover and bounced off, plunging to the ground, where it fluttered helplessly. Three more hit Joshua’s wagon. Melissa yelped and ducked as one sailed through the opening and crashed i
nto Carl’s bed. One bounced off of Nathan’s shoulder and dropped to the ground. It sat there motionless, looking dazed. He reached down, thinking it would fly. It didn’t move, and in a moment he held the warm body in his hands and could feel the incredibly fast pulse beneath his fingertips.
“I got one! I got one!”
Nathan turned. Three birds had lit on the back of Nathan’s oxen. Carl’s boys, who had jumped out of the wagon at the first cries, were trying to catch them. Two flew away, but the third didn’t move as David reached out and took him.
Now there were quail everywhere and people going after them in a frenzy. This was meat. This was food! To a camp on the verge of starvation, it was incredible. Food was falling from the sky.
“They’re too exhausted to fly,” Joshua shouted, ducking his head as another bounced off the top of his wagon and fell to the ground.
There was a shriek from Nathan’s wagon. He turned and ran around to the back. Sarah, Melissa’s eight-year-old, sat on her bed with a look of total astonishment on her face. A quail was sitting on her lap, motionless except for its head, which bobbed up and down and turned this way and that.
Nathan walked away from the wagon, taking care where he stepped. The ground was covered with them now. Not all just sat where they landed. A few ran away, but others walked calmly amid the running figures. If one did try to take flight again, it would rise up to about the height of the wagon cover, circle around two or three times, then drop again to the ground. It was absolutely amazing. They were flying into tents, landing on tables, perching on the back of animals, crashing into everything. Small children were scooping them up and running to show their parents. On a wagon tongue there were half a dozen perched like roosting chickens. Four stood on an overturned washtub. One man had an armful and was weeping joyously as he ran to show his family.
“Catch them,” Orville Allen was shouting. “Catch as many as you can.”
It took nearly half an hour before they were gone. Many were caught by the astonished Saints. The remainder rested for several minutes, then flew off again, headed for the river. Barely had the people begun to recover when another shout went up. As they turned, the sound was heard again. Another flock, easily as large as the first, appeared. Once again they barely reached the camp when they began to fall from the sky. Now the people were ready for them. One man grabbed some chicken wire and quickly fashioned a makeshift trap. In five minutes he had snared a dozen birds. Men grabbed birds as quickly as they could catch them. They would wring their necks, hand them to a waiting child or wife, then go after another.
Nathan and Joshua worked out a system with the three boys. The boys would catch the quail and run them to their uncles, who would then kill the birds and hand them to Melissa, who filled one bag, and then a second.
The second flock did not stay as long. After three or four minutes they rose again as a body and whirred away. Now the people turned to the west, waiting expectantly. They were not disappointed. Within minutes a third flock appeared.
The pattern went on until noon, when Orville Allen came running down the line of wagons, calling for everyone’s attention. When they turned to him he raised his hands. “Leave them alone,” he cried. “We have all we can eat.” As the people looked at him in surprise, he went on, reasoning with them. “Though we are driven by our enemies,” he cried, “the Lord has not forgotten his people. His eyes are continually upon us for good. Let us not show ingratitude by taking more than we have need.”
At once the killing stopped. Parents called to children; men straightened from their chase. Though there were quail flying all around them, they had enough.
“Brethren and sisters, I would suggest that the first thing that you do is go to your wagons, go to your tents, go wherever you want to go and drop to your knees and thank your merciful God. Then set to work to make use of God’s bounteous gift. Clean the birds. Cook them however you can. Boil them, smoke them, salt or dry the meat. Do whatever it takes to preserve the meat for days to come.”
As Allen spoke to them, a thought that had been on Nathan’s mind all morning came back to him. He stepped quickly to the back of his wagon and reached past Sarah to his small valise. In a moment he stepped back. As the captain finished, Nathan waved his arm. “Captain Allen, can I read something to the congregation?”
Allen saw the Bible in Nathan’s hand and nodded in approval. “Come over here, Nathan, where all can hear you.”
As he stepped away from his wagon, Nathan thumbed quickly through the first part of the Bible. When he found the sixteenth chapter of Exodus, he stopped and turned around. A great hush now fell over the crowd. He lifted the book and began to read in a loud voice: “ ‘And the Lord spake unto Moses, saying, I have heard the murmurings of the children of Israel: speak unto them, saying, At even ye shall eat flesh.’ ” He paused, letting his eyes skip a line or two; then he went on with great solemnity. “ ‘And it came to pass, that at even the quails came up, and covered the camp.’ ”
He closed the book and lowered it to his side. The silence stretched on for several seconds before he spoke. “Brethren and sisters, in days of old, God watched over the children of Israel. He worked mighty miracles in their behalf. Today, we who are part of the modern house of Israel have seen God work a mighty miracle in our behalf. Let us never forget what we have seen here this day.”
Off to Nathan’s left, a voice spoke one word: “Amen!”
As one, the people bowed their heads and answered, “Amen.”
“Bat-tal-yun. Halt!”
It took several seconds, but eventually the meandering double line of men came to a stop. Private Josh Steed raised his head and peered through the rain. Lieutenant Smith had turned his horse to face his men and had one arm held high, as if he would stop them by the sheer force of his body. Josh wiped the water from his eyes. It was raining hard and many were soaked, even through their rain slickers. But in spite of all that, a ripple of excitement went up and down the line.
Even through the rain they could see the first buildings of Santa Fe—low, flat-roofed houses made of adobe,as the Mexicans called it. Around them, cedar trees covered the hillsides and made a most pleasant setting for the town.
“All right, men, listen up,” Smith shouted. “We’ve done what some thought we could not do. Today is Friday, October the ninth. That is one day ahead of when we were commanded to report to Santa Fe.”
A ragged cheer went up and several waved their arms.
“We are now a day ahead of Colonel Price’s calvary company.”
Now the cheer roared out. Colonel Sterling Price’s group were all Missouri volunteers, and there had been some gentle competition between them and the Mormons. Not only did they have horses, but they had left Fort Leavenworth two days ahead of the Mormon Battalion.
“You’ve done yourself proud,” the lieutenant went on. “And now we’re going to march into the town like the soldiers that you are.” He raised up in his stirrups, then whipped out his sword and held it up high. “Battalion! Fix bayonets.”
There was the rattle of metal as men fumbled inside their slickers for their bayonets and attached them to their muskets. The officers all drew their swords and held them vertically in front of them. Josh looked at Sergeant Williams and grinned. “We’re pretty shabby-looking soldiers, I’d say.” And that was true. They had no uniforms except for their white belts and bandoliers. Many of them, including Josh, had worn holes through the shoulders of their shirts where they carried their muskets. Their boots were scuffed and many had worn through the soles. Their hair was long and shaggy, their beards untrimmed.
Williams smiled back at him. “True enough, but we’re here. Eight hundred sixty miles from Fort Leavenworth, and we did it in less than two months. And we’ve come a thousand from when we left our families. We may look shabby, but I’m proud to be a part of this.”
“Me too,” Josh said earnestly. In spite of all the hardships—the storms, the collapsed shelters, the long, hard march
es, the days without water, the “tender mercies” of Doctor Sanderson—at this moment it was thrilling to think that he was part of the Mormon Battalion.
Lieutenant Smith waited for the men to finish attaching their bayonets, then spoke again. “All right. We’ll go in columns of four. Keep your eyes to the front. Colonel Doniphan is in command here and is waiting for us. I want to go in like soldiers.”
“Alexander Doniphan from Missouri?” someone called out.
“Yes, I believe that’s where he’s from.”
A murmur of excitement broke out up and down the ranks. Josh turned to his companion. “Who is that?”
“Well,” Williams replied, obviously pleased, “if it is the same Doniphan, he is a great friend of the Mormons. He was the one who saved the Prophet Joseph Smith’s life during the Mormon War of eighteen thirty-eight when he refused to carry out an order to have Joseph and Hyrum executed. He will be a blessing to us.”
“Bat-tal-yun!Ten-shun!” The men straightened quickly, moving into four columns, checking to make sure they were dressed into neat lines. Smith swung his horse around to face toward the town and went up in the stirrups again. “For-wurd”—he stabbed the air with his sword—“march!”
To Josh’s surprise, in spite of the heavy rain, what looked like the whole town turned out to see them. Men, women, children, donkeys, and dogs all lined the street as they entered the town. Umbrellas, ponchos, thin boards, and even some large bowls were used to ward off the rain. Most were Spanish-looking, with jet-black hair, large dark eyes, and olive skin. The children were the most friendly, waving and shouting out “Buenos días, señores. Bienvenidos!” The adults were more reserved, and Josh could discern two distinctly different reactions in their faces. Some seemed glad to see them. Others were sullen and resentful. Then he reminded himself that they were at war with Mexico and that these people were the conquered and the Mormon Battalion was part of the group that had conquered them. Santa Fe had fallen to General Kearny without a serious struggle; nevertheless, an occupying army was in their town.
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