Fire of the Covenant

by Gerald N. Lund

  It was a grim spirit the emigrants brought to the meeting that morning. No one needed to ask why they had been called to assembly. For the past three days, the fourth handcart company had not moved. For the past three days, parties of men both on foot and on horseback spread out across the prairie searching for their lost cattle. For the third time in as many days, those parties returned at dark without recovering a single head of livestock.

  This was a crisis of major proportion. A few of the cattle had not run that far and came back to camp during the first night. The rest were gone. The emigrants were already critically late. To stay in place for three full days was disastrous.

  What a dilemma! Maggie thought as she watched the people gather in, looking for all intents and purposes as though they had come to a funeral. The beef cattle were critical to the company’s needs. In addition to the thousands of pounds of meat they represented, they also offered the meat in the diet that was so critical in maintaining physical stamina. When you walked fifteen to twenty miles a day pulling three or four hundred pounds in a cart behind you, stamina was enormously important. The loss of the beef cattle was serious.

  But even more critical were the draft animals. Most of the oxen that pulled the wagons had been turned out to graze just before the buffalo appeared. A few of them had returned, but not many. The company was now short a significant number of teams. They had little choice but to try and find them.

  Yet here was the dilemma. Even as they sought for the meat they needed and the animals required to haul their flour, they were consuming that flour at an alarming rate. The flour ration for the company was sixteen ounces per adult per day, twelve ounces for older children, eight for the young ones. With about four hundred people in the company, they were consuming roughly three hundred pounds of flour per day. This three-day delay had cost them almost a thousand pounds of flour, while they had not moved one single mile closer to their destination! Was it any wonder that a dark gloom had settled over them?

  “Brothers and sisters?”

  Every eye turned to James Willie, and to no one’s surprise he jumped right in without a preamble or introduction. “Here is our situation. We have lost thirty head of cattle. I don’t need to tell any of you how critical they are to us. But we are satisfied that further search is useless. Either they have run off to who knows where with the buffalo, or, more likely, they are now fattening the pots of the Omaha Indians we saw the other day. Either way, there is nothing we can do now but press on.

  “We no longer have sufficient oxen to pull the wagons. The wagons are full of flour that we need if we are going to get far enough to meet the wagons from Salt Lake. We have no choice but to round up the milk cows and the beef cattle and put them under the yoke.”

  That was not expected and a low murmur rumbled through the group.

  “I know,” he muttered. “That’s going to be like trying to hold a nest of yellow jackets in your bare hands. They are going to fight like the devil.” He blew out his breath. “What is worse, these are not draft animals and so this will almost certainly slow us down. These unbroken teams are not going to be able to pull the same kind of loads as the ox teams did.”

  Heads came up as some suddenly saw where he was leading them. Their eyes mirrored their dismay.

  “We have no choice, brothers and sisters. We’re going to have to put another hundred pounds of flour back in each of the handcarts. I’m sorry.”

  No one moved. No one cried out. He was right. The mathematics were not to be denied.

  He looked like he wanted to say more, then changed his mind. He grunted softly, then nodded his head. “All right, brethren, let’s round up those cows and get them into the yokes.”

  •••

  Once their tent was rolled up and carried to the wagon and their bedding and other personal belongings loaded on the handcart, Maggie took a moment to look around. Over at the wagons the brethren were having a terrible time trying to yoke up the animals. They were at least a quarter of a hour away from being finished, maybe more.

  “Mother?”

  Mary McKensie was sitting beside Robbie, talking quietly. She turned.

  “I’m going over to see how Sister Bathgate and Sister Park are doing. I’ll be back before we are ready to go.”

  “All right. Give them our best.”

  “I will.” Maggie looked to where Sarah James was working with Emma and their father in helping the younger children get their things packed. “Would you like to go, Sarah?”

  Sarah shook her head. “We’re not quite ready, Maggie. You’d better go. Give them my love as well.”

  “I will.” It had been a little more than a week now since Sister Mary Bathgate had been bitten by a rattlesnake, and then her companion, Sister Isabella Park, was run over by the wagon. The two elderly sisters had so endeared themselves to Maggie, that she had started going over to visit them whenever she could. Sarah had joined her on the second visit and fallen in love with them as well. In addition to visiting, the two girls would help them cook meals, or fetch water for them, or see to whatever needed doing. Since Eric Pederson was also coming almost every day to make sure their recuperation was progressing properly, this provided Maggie a chance to see Eric as well, something she looked forward to more than she openly admitted to herself.

  She set off across the campground, moving toward where Elder John Chislett’s hundred was camped. Both sisters were still riding in the wagons, but each night they camped with their own tent group.

  “Good morning, dear,” Sister Bathgate called as Maggie came towards them.

  “Good morning, Sister Bathgate. Good morning, Sister Park.” When she reached them she took their hands in turn and held them for a moment. She looked down at Sister Bathgate. “And how is the leg doing?”

  “Wonderful.” She pulled up her dress enough to show Maggie the back of her ankle. The two knife cuts were still angry red welts, but the swelling in the leg was completely gone now and the scabs were off and seemed to be healing nicely. Mary Bathgate reached out and grabbed a stick that someone had whittled down smooth for her. “Watch this.” She got to her feet, took the cane, and walked around in a small circle. She still limped heavily, and she was not quite able to hide it when she winced a couple of times.

  “Are you sure you should be doing that yet?” Maggie asked, looking concerned.

  “Oh, pshaw!” she snapped. “You sound like Captain Willie now.”

  “And how about you, Sister Park? How are you doing?”

  Isabella Park pulled a sour face. “One more week. The soreness is mostly gone now. We’ve agreed to ride in the accursed wagon a little longer; then we are going to start walking again, whether Captain Willie agrees or not.”

  “Well,” Maggie said, surprised that they had agreed to that much, “we’ll see when the time comes.”

  “Yes, we will,” Mary said tartly. “Isabella and I already have our minds made up.”

  “Where is Sarah?” Isabella asked.

  “She was still helping her family pack up. She said to give you her love.”

  “What a sweet girl she is!” Mary said warmly. “And you tell her we said so.”

  “I will,” Maggie said with a smile. “They don’t come much finer than Sarah James.”

  “No.” Mary looked at Isabella. “We have got to find a young man for her.”

  Maggie swung around in surprise, but the two of them ignored her.

  “We have looked over the crop of young men in this company, my dear,” Isabella reminded her companion, “and we both agree that we’re just going to have to wait until we get to the Valley to find someone worthy of Sarah.”

  Maggie tried to look suitably shocked, even as she fought back the impulse to laugh. “And does Sarah know that you two are plotting against her like this?”

  “Of course not,” Isabella said primly. “Do you think we have no sense of decorum?”

  Now Maggie did laugh. “And what about me? How come you’re only worried ab
out Sarah?”

  “Oh,” Mary said sagely, “because you are already all taken care of.”

  “What?” Maggie nearly choked.

  “Who is all taken care of?”

  They all turned as Eric came around one of the wagons and into view.

  Maggie flamed instantly and gave Mary Bathgate a panicked look. She just smiled back at her, then turned to Eric. “Good morning, dear. We were afraid you were going to neglect us this morning.”

  “Never,” he said brightly. He held up a small bag. “I picked you berries from the creek last night. They are tart a little, but very good.” He turned. “Good morning, Sister Maggie.”

  She didn’t look up but pretended to be busy with the two small packs that held the belongings of the two women. “Good morning, Eric.”

  He looked back at Sister Bathgate. “So who is this all taken care of?” he asked again.

  “Maggie. She was worried that Isabella and I haven’t found her a beau yet.”

  Maggie’s head snapped up. “Sister Bathgate! That’s not what I said.”

  Sister Bathgate ignored Maggie’s withering look and smiled brightly. Eric was staring at Maggie, a little dumbfounded.

  “Do you know what the word beau means, Eric?” asked Sister Bathgate.

  He slowly nodded, and now there were spots of color in his cheeks as well. “Yah, I think so.” Suddenly his eyes were wary. Maggie shot him a warning look. Don’t ask. Please, Eric, don’t ask.

  But the words were already forming on his lips. “Who is this beau?”

  Mary Bathgate gave him a look of deep pity, as though he were daft and couldn’t do one thing about it. Sister Park just laughed merrily. She looked at Maggie. “You can see why Mary and I have to interfere in the matter.”

  Maggie stood up, not daring to meet Eric’s gaze. “I’d better get back to my family,” she stammered. She walked swiftly over to Sister Bathgate and gave her a kiss on the cheek, pretending that nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. “Now, you behave yourself and don’t walk on that foot too much.”

  She went over to Sister Park and bent down and kissed her as well. “I’ll come see you this afternoon when we’re camped again.”

  One hand shot out and grabbed Maggie’s wrist and held her in place for a moment. “It’s all right, dear,” she whispered loudly. “We’ll see that he comes around.”

  Her face burning like a hot flatiron, Maggie whirled and walked away, fighting back the temptation to break and run.

  Eric watched her in bewilderment, then turned back to the two sisters. “What was all that about?”

  “Oh, Eric. Dear, sweet Eric,” Isabella said fondly. “Don’t you know?”

  “Know what?”

  “You are the beau we have picked out for Maggie.”

  His mouth opened slightly and then almost instantly he colored deeply.

  “Not true,” Mary said slowly. “Actually, Eric is the beau that Maggie picked out for herself. You and I just heartily agree with her choice.”

  He stared at them for several seconds; then he slowly smiled, but it was strained. “You two. You are in the wagon too much now. All you do is dream up things.”

  “Dream up things?” Mary said indignantly. “Did you say, dream up things?”

  “Yes.” There was just a touch of exasperation in him now. “Maggie is different than me. She is schoolteacher. She comes from large city. I am a simple farm boy and fisherman. We had no school in our village, only what Mama taught me. All I can do is say, ‘Yah, yah,’ and . . .” He shook his head. “No. You are wrong. I am not beau.”

  Mary was looking at Isabella and smiling broadly.

  “What?” Eric demanded.

  She ignored him. “I think this is going to work out just fine, Isabella, don’t you?”

  “Indubitably,” Isabella said with an equally beatific smile.

  Chapter Notes

  Ironically, the official journal entry for the Willie Company for 4 September does not mention the buffalo stampede, only that “30 head of cattle strayed away, (most probably a stampede) during the night” (in Turner, Emigrating Journals, p. 25). John Chislett, who later wrote an extensive narrative about the Willie Company, said this: “About this time we reached Wood River (a few miles above Grand Island, Nebraska). The whole country was alive with buffaloes, and one night—or, rather, evening—our cattle stampeded. Men went in pursuit and collected what they supposed to be the herd; but, on corralling them for yoking next morning, thirty head were missing” (in Hafen and Hafen, Handcarts to Zion, p. 100).

  It is from Emma James, a member of the Willie Company, that we get the most graphic details: “One evening as we prepared to stop for the night, a large herd of buffalo came thundering toward us. It sounded like thunder at first, then the big black animals came straight for our carts. We were so scared that we were rooted to the ground. One of the captains, seeing what was going on, ran for the carts which were still coming in, jerked out some of the carts to make a path for the steady stream of animals and let them go through. They went passed us like a train roaring along. I’m sure that but for the quick thinking of these men, many of us would have been trampled to death. The animals acted as if they were crazy the way they ran. We hoped that we wouldn’t meet such a large herd soon again. After they had gone somebody called out that the cattle had gone with them. This was our only supply of meat, so the men started right out after them” (in Carol Cornwall Madsen, Journey to Zion, pp. 626–27).

  Under the date of 7 September 1856, the Willie Company journal states that “President Willie and Captain Atwood and Siler [a captain of the four independent wagons traveling with the Willie Company at this time], with other brethren, yoked up many of the cows, which was an arduous task” (in Turner, Emigrating Journals, p. 28).

  Writing of the effects of the loss of the cattle, John Chislett said:

  We had only about enough oxen left to put one yoke to each wagon; but as they were each loaded with about three thousand pounds of flour, the teams could not of course move them. We then yoked up our beef cattle, milch cows, and, in fact, everything that could bear a yoke—even two-year-old heifers. The stock was wild and could pull but little, and we were unable, with all our stock, to move our loads. As a last resort, we again loaded a sack of flour on each cart. . . .

  It was really hard for the folks to lose the use of their milch cows, have beef rations stopped, and haul one hundred pounds more on their carts. Every man and woman, however, worked to their utmost to put forward towards the goal of their hopes. (In Hafen and Hafen, Handcarts to Zion, p. 100)

  Chapter 16

  Loup Fork, Nebraska Territory

  To

  Bluff Creek, Nebraska Territory

  I

  Sunday, 7 September 1856

  It was Sunday evening and worship services were through. The Saints in the Edward Martin Handcart Company had sung their songs, listened to their leaders, and offered their prayers of thanks. They were back at their campsites preparing to start their suppers, when a cry went up. To the east, perhaps five or six hundred yards away, the trail they had crossed earlier dropped down from one of the many rolling hills and was clearly visible from the camp. There, coming toward them at a brisk pace, a small column had appeared. It was made up of two light wagons and three covered carriages—each drawn by four horses or mules. Immediately they knew it was Elder Franklin D. Richards.

  Elder Richards had promised that once he got all the companies off, he and his party—made up of missionaries returning with him from England and the Church agents who had helped them in Iowa City and in Florence—would start by swift conveyance for Salt Lake City. They would not be traveling with the handcart companies. If the truth were known, Elder Richards was deeply worried. The agents in Iowa City had not gotten his letters telling them that two more shiploads were on their way to America. If that was true, what if Salt Lake City did not know either? It was customary to send supply wagons to meet the companies on the plain
s. It was also customary that as soon as the last company reached the Valley, those supply wagons were called back for the winter. What Elder Richards could not get out of his worry bucket was the nagging fear that President Brigham Young did not know there were two more companies still coming.

  At the cry of the people, Hannah McKensie and Ingrid Christensen burst out of their tent to see what was happening. With the rest of the camp they cried out and waved as the small column rolled past them. Then suddenly Hannah grabbed Ingrid’s arm. “Do you know what this means?”

  Ingrid shook her head.

  “In a few days Elder Richards will overtake the Willie Company. He could take a letter to the family for us.”

  Ingrid looked startled, then pleased. “That is true.”

  “Come on, Ingrid. I’ll write to my family. You write to Emma and hers.”

  II

  Friday, 12 September 1856

  The two wagons and three carriages of the Franklin D. Richards party reached North Bluff Creek just before dusk on the night of September twelfth. It had taken the Willie Company twenty-six days to cover the 320 miles from Florence to this spot. The Richards company, their light conveyances pulled in each case by four horses or mules, covered the same distance in eight and half days.

  A great hurrah went up in the camp as the emigrants recognized who it was. In addition to Elder Richards and some returning missionaries from England, there were several of the Church agents with whom the emigrants had worked both at Iowa City and at Florence. One of the missionaries, much to the great excitement of the company, was Joseph A. Young, son of Brigham Young. With Brother William H. Kimball being the son of Heber C. Kimball, that meant the emigrants now had an Apostle, the son of the President of the Church, and the son of the First Counselor in the First Presidency all with them in camp.

  As soon as supper was completed, the company gathered together beneath a grove of trees near the creek. Elder Willie briefly introduced Elder Richards, and then gave the meeting into his hands to be led by him as the Holy Ghost might dictate.

  Elder Richards called on Brother William C. Dunbar, another of the missionaries traveling in his party, to sing one of the songs of Zion, which he did. He had a rich, deep voice, and as he sang, the only other sound to be heard was the soft rushing of the water and the lowing of the cattle some distance away. Eric felt a deep spirit of reverence and gratitude come over him. When it was done, President Richards stood again to address the Saints.