Fire of the Covenant

by Gerald N. Lund

  There were soft murmurs, but the people spoke in awestruck whispers. If the sea ahead was full of these, they were in store for an anxious few days. Then Maggie noticed that Ingrid Christensen was standing at the rail just in front of her. Next to her were Sarah and Reuben James. Smiling, Maggie pushed forward. It had been two and a half weeks now since she had first met Ingrid formally. All of her students were doing well—in fact, remarkably well—but of all of them, Ingrid was the brightest and the quickest. She had a good ear for hearing the correct pronunciation. She also had an impish sense of humor. When she chose she could speak her English words with hardly an accent. Other times she poured them out with such an atrocious Danish accent that Maggie would break out laughing.

  Sarah came to class to help Maggie whenever she could. More recently, Emma and Hannah had started coming too. The five girls had quickly become friends, and Ingrid often left her family—she was traveling with her uncle and aunt—to spend time with the Jameses and the McKensies.

  “Hello,” Maggie said, pushing in between them.

  “Ah, Maggie,” Ingrid said. “Hello.” She pronounced it “Hah-loh.”

  “Isn’t that beautiful?” Sarah said, turning back to the iceberg.

  “Incredible,” Maggie said in awe. “Absolutely incredible.”

  “What means incredible?” Ingrid asked quickly.

  Maggie hesitated. “Wonderful. Marvelous.”

  Sarah jumped in. “Outstanding. Amazing.”

  Ingrid still looked blank. Then Maggie thought of a French word. It wouldn’t help Ingrid, but it seemed so appropriate at the moment. “C’est magnifique,” she breathed.

  Sarah nodded slowly. “Yes,” she said. “C’est magnifique. It is utterly magnificent.”

  “Incredible,” Ingrid said, trying the word out carefully.

  They laughed, enjoying the moment together.

  Suddenly there was a shout. Once again it was Robbie. He was at the rail several yards closer to the bow, jumping up and down and pointing at the water. Seeing him, Reuben left them and pushed through the people to join him.

  Everyone turned and looked down. There was a stiff wind and the ship was under full sail. It was racing westward at seven or eight knots, as the sailors said. It was fast enough that the water hissed as the sharp edge of the ship’s bow cut through it. Then Maggie saw what had caught Robbie’s eye.

  There was something there, just beneath the surface, in perfect harmony with the ship’s progress. No, two somethings. “Look!” she cried. “Beneath the water.”

  Several started pointing. There was a flash as the surface of the water was momentarily broken. For one instant they caught a glimpse of a shining gray-green skin.

  “What is it?”

  “Sharks,” someone cried.

  “No!” came the instant response. “There are no fins.”

  But there was no mistaking it now. There were two shadowy shapes racing through the water, weaving slightly as they kept pace with the ship. A cry went up as one of the shapes momentarily broke the surface again, this time enough that they could see that it was not just a fish. It was five or six feet long. And the wet skin flashed like smooth rubber.

  “What could it be?” a woman called out.

  “It’s the mermaids,” came a voice.

  In surprise, everyone looked up. Hanging easily from the rigging was one of the sailors. He leaned out so he could look almost straight down at the water. “They love to race the ship,” he said, ignoring the skeptical looks from some. “Sure sign there’s a storm coming. Always that way. Mermaids bring the storm.”

  “Are they really mermaids?” Robbie called up in wonder.

  “Bet your anchor on that,” the man said. “If any of you ladies have got a hand mirror, go get it. If you hold it out far enough, they’ll come up to look at their hair.”

  Maggie studied his face to see if he was feeding them another tall tale from the sea, but he seemed to be as fascinated as the rest of them.

  “What are mermaids?” Ingrid asked.

  “Sea-maidens,” Sarah said. “Girls, like us. But half fish.”

  “Ah, yah,” Ingrid said. She murmured a word which Maggie didn’t understand.

  They all watched in wonder for several more minutes, and then the flashing shapes dove deep and disappeared. After two full minutes it was clear they weren’t going to come back.

  “Too bad,” the sailor called. “You could have seen them up real close.” He swung down and walked away in disgust.

  James Willie stood near the back of the crowd. He waited until the man was out of earshot and then he stepped forward. “There are no sea-maidens,” he said with a smile. “No mermaids. That’s an old sailor’s superstition.”

  “Then what are they?” Reuben James called out.

  “Dolphins. For some reason they sometimes like to race the ship.”

  Maggie had to smile at the look of disappointment on Robbie’s face. He knew President Willie was right, but dolphins were not nearly as intriguing as mermaids.

  As the crowd began to break up, Maggie turned to her two friends. “Well, that’s quite a day,” she said. “Mermaids and icebergs all at once. We’d better talk about this in class tonight.”

  V

  Tuesday, 10 June 1856

  Maggie rose up on one elbow as Sarah James climbed into the berth beside her. “How is she?”

  There was only one lamp lit in the lower deck, and in its faint light she saw Sarah’s head move slowly back and forth. “Not good.”

  “Thrush?”

  “Yes, the ship’s doctor thinks so.” Actually the ship’s doctor was the first officer, who had responsibility for dispensing what little medicine they had. “She’s got white spots all inside her mouth.”

  Maggie lay back, the sorrow piercing her like a lance. Jane James had become the delight of the McKensies as well as of her own family. Chubby as a cherub, always quick to smile and respond to whoever paid her attention, she was a child who loved to cuddle. Jane had become the little sister that Maggie had not had since Hannah was a baby. To see her lying in her bed, whimpering softly, barely moving, left Maggie sick at heart.

  “What time is it?” she asked, deciding to change the subject and get Sarah’s mind on something else.

  “It’s after three. You’ve got to sleep, Maggie. I’m sorry I woke you up.”

  Maggie reached out and put an arm around this girl who now seemed more like her twin than a friend.

  “President Willie and Elder Atwood gave her a blessing,” Sarah whispered, her voice breaking. “Maybe that will help.”

  Maggie nodded, not knowing what else to say.

  “Will you pray with me, Maggie? for Jane?”

  “I’ve been praying all night, Sarah.”

  “I know. Let’s do it again.”

  •••

  Maggie found Sarah and Emma at the railing near amidships. They were holding each other tightly, the breeze whipping at their shawls and tousling their hair. It was a gray morning, and the seas were heavy. Maggie held onto a rope strung along the passageway to steady herself.

  As she approached the two sisters, the ship’s bell began to toll slowly. Maggie looked up, hating that sound as intensely as she hated anything she had ever heard.

  Somewhere below, William and Jane James were sewing up a tiny blanket around the still form of their daughter. In a few minutes the brethren would bring her up topside, where she would be consigned to the cold gray waters of the North Atlantic.

  Maggie stopped and bent over slightly, holding her stomach to stop the pain. “O Lord, why?” she cried. But instantly she pushed it away. Just because there was pain didn’t mean there had to be blame. This was life. And for His own purposes God had chosen to take little Jane James to Himself. She remembered what her mother had said when word had come shortly after eight o’clock that the baby had died. Hannah, barely able to speak through her sobbing, had asked why the priesthood blessing had not changed things. “‘Seek
not to counsel thy God,’ ” their mother said, quoting from the prophet Jacob in the Book of Mormon, “ ‘but seek to take counsel from his hand, for he counseleth in wisdom and justice and mercy.’ ”

  She straightened and quickly walked to where Sarah and Emma stood. They heard her coming and turned. Tears streaked their faces. Maggie opened her arms and Sarah fell into them. “I’m so sorry,” Maggie whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

  VI

  Friday, 13 June 1856

  Maggie and Hannah McKensie, Sarah and Emma James, and Ingrid Christensen were sitting on crates near the back of the ship. Supposedly they had come to wash off the breakfast dishes. But the dishes still sat in a pile and the five of them were seated in a circle. As usual, Maggie was drilling Ingrid on her English. She reached down and picked up a cup. “What is it?” she asked.

  “Cup,” came the immediate reply.

  She held up her hand and wiggled her fingers.

  “Fingers.”

  Now Sarah came in, glad for an opportunity to participate and take her mind off of her family’s loss three days before. She began to point to herself.

  “Nose. Eyes. Ears. Mouth. Hand.” Ingrid rattled off the answers as Sarah touched each item.

  “Very good,” Maggie said, really pleased. She found deep satisfaction in the success of her students. The Hansens—her married couple—had dropped the class. Sister Hansen had learned that she was with child and was having a difficult time with the stomach sickness. They would try to pick up their study again when they got off the ship, but until then it was too much to ask. But the other three were doing very well. Ingrid was making noticeable progress. The Pederson brothers were doing well too. Elder Ahmanson made all three of them speak in English as much as possible. She guessed they were understanding about a third of what they heard now and could communicate about half of that back.

  Just then they heard voices behind them. They turned to see Eric and Olaf Pederson with Johan Ahmanson and John Chislett, the captain of the guard. They were examining the lashings on some of the large crates. They did not notice the girls, but Maggie saw Sarah straighten, her eyes fixed on Eric. Without thinking, Sarah reached up and smoothed down her hair. The three younger girls reacted in a similar manner. Though Olaf treated each of them—Ingrid, Hannah, and Emma—with studied equality, each had secret hopes that she might be his favorite.

  Maggie decided to have a little fun. “Ingrid?”

  She turned.

  “In English. Who is that?” Maggie pointed.

  “Olaf Pederson,” Ingrid said, turning back to watch him.

  Hannah giggled. She knew exactly what Maggie was doing. “There are four people, Ingrid, not just one.”

  She blushed. “And Eric. And Brother Ahmanson. I know not . . . I don’t know other’s name.”

  “And what is Olaf to Eric?” Maggie prodded. “What is their relationship?”

  Ingrid’s mouth screwed up for a moment; then she brightened. “Brothers,” she said.

  “Good.” Maggie smiled now, looking at Sarah, whose eyes were still fixed on Eric. Maggie decided to tease her a little. “And how would you describe Eric to Ingrid, Sarah? What word would you use?”

  Sarah was startled. She went scarlet, glancing quickly at the figures behind them, who still were not paying any attention to the group of girls, then lowered her eyes. “C’est magnifique!” she breathed softly.

  The memory of that day when they had seen their first iceberg flashed back into Maggie’s mind. She was shocked that Sarah had said it, and with such feeling. She was usually so demure and so private about her feelings. “Mademoiselle!” Maggie said in mock horror.

  Hannah and Emma hooted aloud. Ingrid, who couldn’t follow the French, looked puzzled.

  Sarah now was the color of the bright red on the British flag that flew above them. Suddenly feeling a little guilty, Maggie reached out and touched her hand. “I’m sorry,” she mouthed.

  “I can’t believe I said that,” Sarah whispered back, laughing softly now.

  Then before Maggie could answer, there was a cry from high above them. “There she be!”

  Every head turned upwards. In a box-like structure on the top of the mainmast, which the crew called the “crow’s nest,” one of the sailors was leaning way out, pointing wildly. “There she is. I see it. I see it.”

  All across the deck, heads lifted, then turned in the direction he was pointing. The girls jumped to their feet. Eric and Olaf and the other brethren forgot about the lashings.

  “What?” Johan Ahmanson called. “What is it?”

  “Watch!”

  And after a moment, there it was. A flash of light, barely above water level.

  “That there is the Fire Island lighthouse,” the man bawled. “We will be in New York Harbor by tomorrow morning. Welcome to America!”

  Chapter Notes

  The details of the ocean voyage are drawn from journal entries and histories written later by members of the various handcart companies. The story of the “mermaids” comes from Mary Ann Stucki Hafen (see Recollections of a Handcart Pioneer, p. 19).

  The statement by Brigham Young about the fire of the covenant was given on September 28, 1846, under the circumstances described here by Brother Willie (see Richard E. Bennett, “ ‘Dadda, I Wish We Were Out of This Country,’ ” p. 163).

  Jane James, nine months old, died of “thrush of the mouth,” a disease caused by a parasitic virus, and was buried at sea on 10 June 1856, just four days before the Thornton reached New York Harbor (see Turner, Emigrating Journals, p. 7).

  The calling of someone to teach English classes is the author’s extrapolation and is not based on any specific journal references. It is known from several entries, however, that language barriers were a concern to the leaders of the various companies.

  Chapter 6

  New York City, New York

  to

  Iowa City, Iowa

  I

  Sunday, 15 June 1856

  Sarah James leaned over and whispered into Maggie McKensie’s ear. “Do you think you can sit through a worship service where the benches are not swaying up and down?”

  Maggie laughed softly. “It certainly feels strange, that’s for sure.”

  Hannah McKensie, Ingrid Christensen, and Emma James were sitting directly behind Sarah and Maggie and heard what Sarah had said. Emma James, always the tease and full of life, leaned forward. “To feel normal, in addition to having the room rising and falling we’d have to exchange the chairs and benches for boxes and crates and barrels.”

  Hannah giggled behind her hand. “And have a sailor in the crow’s nest looking down on us while we sing.”

  They all tittered at that, and Sister Jane James turned and gave them a stern look. They immediately straightened and looked to the front, striving to be a little more prim and proper. But Sarah was right, Maggie thought. It had been only early yesterday morning that their ship had tacked with the wind off Sandy Hook and entered the first of New York Harbor. At eight a.m., a steamboat, appropriately named Achilles, the legendary strong man of Greek mythology, came alongside the Thornton, threw her a line, and towed her towards the city.

  They had been extremely fortunate. A doctor had come on board just off Staten Island and pronounced the passengers fit and healthy with no need of quarantine. That was remarkable. President Willie had warned them that some ships were held up for days while they awaited their health inspection and that some of the doctors would exercise their authority and make anyone who didn’t look perfectly fit spend a week or more in quarantine. If there were any signs of real illnesses, such as smallpox or cholera, a whole shipload of passengers might spend a month or more in a quarantine center. Being already very late in the traveling season, that would have been disastrous for the emigrants going to Utah.

  A short time later, an equally remarkable event happened. The official from the New York Custom House came on board and, obviously bored, asked a few superficial questions of a few
of the passengers. Satisfied, he then passed off all of their luggage without an inspection of any kind. And so by sundown, after forty-two days at sea, they docked at Castle Garden, a large building set aside specifically for incoming emigrants, and stepped on solid ground again.

  That was not even twenty-four hours ago, and here they were in New York City joining with the local branch of the Church for worship services. Not even one full day yet. No wonder they missed the perpetual motion of the ship, the rolling with the waves, the swaying from side to side, the sighing of the wind in the rigging, and the crackling of the canvas.

  Maggie smiled to herself. Missed was probably not the best term. “Noticed its absence” might be a better way to put it. She had never in her life been so glad to be able to walk a few steps as she had been to walk down the gangplank of the Thornton, never to see it again. And if she spent the rest of her life on dry land and never more set foot on a sailing vessel, it wouldn’t cause her any noticeable grief.

  She pulled out of her thoughts as a stir suddenly swept through the room. Two men had entered the room at the back. Several of the Saints immediately stood to shake their hands. Maggie turned to watch. The first man was President James G. Willie, their group leader. The other she didn’t recognize, though he seemed to be attracting the greatest amount of attention among those of the emigrants.

  William James leaned over to Maggie’s mother. “Do you know who that is?” he asked.

  She shook her head. Maggie, Sarah, and the others were shaking their heads as well.

  “That’s Elder John Taylor,” Brother James said.

  Maggie started and peered more closely. Here was a name that was well known to the Saints but a face not recognized by many of them. An Englishman himself who had emigrated to Canada back in the late twenties, he had been a missionary to Great Britain, serving considerable time on the Isle of Man, but that had been several years before Maggie’s family had joined the Church. He was very distinguished-looking, with a neatly trimmed Greek-style beard and hair that curled in soft waves and was already showing traces of premature gray, though he was not yet fifty years of age.