Fire of the Covenant

by Gerald N. Lund

  “And you too, Hannah,” Elizabeth Jackson said. “It’s not much, but it is delicious and—” She stopped, peering at Hannah more closely. Seeing the gravity on her face, she went to Hannah’s side, taking her by the shoulders. “It’s all right. We’ll make another cake tomorrow.”

  Hannah shook her head.

  Aaron stepped to his wife. “It’s not the cake, Elizabeth. We stopped by the Loaders’ tent.”

  Her hand came up to her mouth, her eyes suddenly wide. “Is Brother Loader—?”

  He shook his head. “No, but he’s very weak. When they got into camp tonight, he called his daughters around and apologized to them for not being able to gather firewood. He felt very bad about it.”

  “He is so conscientious about caring for his family,” Elizabeth said. “Perhaps I’d better go help Sister Loader and the girls.”

  “No, they’re all retiring for the night. We left them some wood.”

  “Then I’ll go in the morning.”

  “That would be nice.”

  “I don’t know if he’s going to make it,” Hannah whispered. Seeing Brother Loader there on his bed, gray as a rainy sky and barely aware of the conversation around him, had shaken her badly. There had been other deaths in the camp, but no one she knew personally had been among them. This brought it too close to be ignored.

  Aaron turned to her. “Perhaps not,” he said. In the deepening shadows, he looked suddenly tired and gaunt as well. “But if not, then you know what we sing. ‘And should we die before our journey’s through, happy day! All is well!’ Perhaps he will reach the Valley that much sooner than the rest of us.”

  Ingrid turned, her face twisting in puzzlement. “I do not understand. We are many miles from the Valley yet.”

  “We are many miles from the Valley of the Great Salt Lake, that is true. But why do we go to the Valley, Ingrid? Is it not to find peace and a place of safety and refuge?”

  “Ah, yah,” she said, understanding now. “There is a better Valley, yah?”

  “A much better Valley.” Now his eyes were filled with a strange light. Hannah was mesmerized as she watched him. Aaron Jackson was not a strong man either, and he too had suffered some rough days since they had left Iowa City. “And you don’t have to pull a handcart to get there,” he said wistfully.

  They stood that way for almost a full minute, the firelight flickering on their faces, their eyes hooded and filled with faraway thoughts. Even the children sensed the somberness of their mood and just stood and watched the adults curiously.

  Finally, Aaron Jackson straightened. He looked at Hannah and smiled, then walked over to the handcart. “So this is Hannah’s famous cake. I’ve heard of upside-down cake, but not inside-out cake.”

  Hannah had to smile in spite of herself. “Or inside-gone cake,” she murmured.

  “It is delicious, what’s left of it,” Elizabeth said. “Come on, try it before we go to bed.”

  Hannah took the proffered piece and began to chew on it slowly. It was good, and she wished there were more of it. She closed her eyes, wondering who the thief might be. How ironic, she thought. This person, whoever it was, very likely had left everything in his former life—or possibly hers!—in order to come to Zion. Evidently the fact that the very word Zion meant to be pure in heart had not yet made a connection in that person’s mind.

  She took another bite, then licked the crumbs from the tips of her fingers. “I think I’ll sleep outside tonight,” she said.

  “Outside?” Sister Jackson blurted. “But it may rain. And we had frost last night.”

  “I know,” Hannah said wryly, “but if I’m outside I can hear if someone starts moaning in the night with a bellyache.”

  Brother Jackson chortled, then lifted his last bite of cake as though it were a glass of champagne. “May his belly be filled with cramps until his heart turns back to the Lord.”

  Hannah joined in the mock toast by raising her own piece high. “Hear, hear!” she said.

  IV

  Saturday, 27 September 1856

  It was a brutal day. The sand hills which lined the north side of the North Platte River were no more than thirty or forty feet higher than the floodplain, but they may as well have been three hundred or four hundred for the toll they took on man and beast.

  When the Martin Handcart Company left Iowa City, many of the carts had been given a “harness” to help the emigrants pull. This was really not much more than a braided rope, the one end of which could be tied to the front crossbar or the shafts and the other end formed into a loop that went around a person’s chest or waist. It was long enough that the person in the harness would be ahead of those inside the shafts of the cart. All the way across Iowa, Hannah, Ingrid, and the Jacksons had resorted to the use of the harness on only two occasions. By pushing or pulling directly on the cart, they had made their way through without the additional help.

  But not on this day.

  By ten o’clock, as they reached the first of the rolling hills, the sun was blazing down on them from a perfectly clear sky. Chewed up by four previous companies, the deep sand was soft and provided no solid footing for traction. All up and down the train, the older children were called in. Every hand and every pair of feet would be necessary. Little Aaron Jackson was placed on top of the bedding in the cart and told to hang on tightly. Hannah and Ingrid got in the harnesses, one tied to each shaft. Brother and Sister Jackson got inside the shafts. Martha Ann and Mary Elizabeth, though only five and seven, went to the back to push.

  They crossed one hill, then a second. By then their lungs were on fire and their legs were trembling uncontrollably. Even the most callused of hands were getting blisters. Shirts and dresses were stained dark with sweat. The third hill was the longest and steepest. Inch by brutal inch they pulled and pushed and heaved. The wheels were buried several inches in the bottomless sand, and loads of two and three hundred pounds felt like a thousand or more.

  Ten yards short of the top, Aaron Jackson went down. His feet were digging deep in the sand and slipped right out from under him. There was a soft cry as he dragged his wife down with him. The rope harnesses snapped back so violently that both Hannah and Ingrid were jerked off their feet and crashed to the ground.

  They lay there for several seconds, panting for breath in great heaves, sweat pouring into their eyes, their hands and clothing covered with the fine sand. After a few moments Aaron pushed to his knees. He wiped at his eyes with his sleeve. “Sorry,” he mumbled. He stood and helped Elizabeth to her feet. Wearily they lifted the crossbar until the shafts were level again.

  Hannah and Ingrid got up slowly, then turned to the front again, adjusting the ropes over their shoulders and around their bodies. Ingrid took the shoes which were ever present around her neck and slid them around so that they fell down her back and didn’t interfere with the harness.

  “Ready?” Brother Jackson gasped. “Go!”

  For a moment nothing happened, except that feet dug into the sand, muscles bulged, veins stood out on their foreheads. And then, ever so slowly, the cart began to inch forward again.

  “Keep going!”

  Grunting, wheezing, throwing every ounce of strength against the terrible inertia, they moved forward—a yard, two yards, five yards. Suddenly the cart rolled forward as they reached the top and gravity no longer dragged against it. They pulled off the trail and went another twenty yards so as to be out of the way. With a deep groan, Aaron and Elizabeth lowered the cart and stepped out of the shafts. Ingrid and Hannah removed the harnesses and let them drop. They stood there for a few seconds, their chests heaving, and then one by one they slowly sank to the ground. Ingrid reached up and slowly removed the shoes from around her neck. Then she lay out flat in the sand and closed her eyes.

  •••

  Five minutes later, Edward Martin rode forward on his horse. On the rounded top of the hill there were now about two dozen handcarts. Like the Jacksons, people were sitting in a half stupor. Water jugs were pa
ssed around, and the warm, stale liquid was eagerly consumed.

  Heads turned as their captain rode up. He reined in and removed his hat. Lines of sweat etched the dust which covered his face. The brim of his hat was dark with the wetness. The horse’s flanks were flecked with foam.

  “We’ll stop here until everyone is up,” he announced. “It’s probably going to take us until dark. Some of the oxen have already given out. Any help you could give to the others would be appreciated.” He started to rein around, then stopped. “By the way. Keep an eye out for rattlesnakes. This place is known for having quite a few.”

  People shrunk back and looked around anxiously as he went back down the hill. For a long moment no one moved, and then Aaron Jackson took another long drink from the water jug and got to his feet. Elizabeth started to move but he laid a hand on her shoulder. Her face was bright red and splotchy. “No,” he said quickly. “You need to rest for a time. I’ll go.”

  As her husband stepped back, Elizabeth looked up. “Aaron, see if you can find the Loaders and Brother Jaques. They are going to need help.”

  There was a brief nod as he started off. To that point, Hannah had not moved. Her body was still trembling; her hands were raw. Now, with the greatest of effort, she hauled herself up. She looked down at Ingrid, who had rolled over and was getting up too. “Let’s take our harnesses.”

  What had gotten her to her feet was the image of James Loader. This morning he had been near death. According to John Jaques, he had spoken only one sentence to his wife. “You know I love my children,” was all he said. Captain Martin offered to place him in one of the wagons, but the family opted to make a bed for him in one of their handcarts so that they could be at his side at all times. Before they had started up the first sand hill, Elizabeth Jackson had received word that Brother Loader was still alive but evidently had lapsed into a coma.

  Yes, Hannah thought. As tired as she was, she would go down and help the Loaders. She called after Brother Jackson. “Hold on. We’re coming too.”

  •••

  By midafternoon there was no longer any question. Brother James Loader was dying. Through all that morning, through the terrible pull up the sand hills, in the midst of the shouting of men and the bawling of cattle, he had never once opened his eyes or spoken another word. His children spoke to him often, calling to him to see if he would respond. There was nothing.

  Now, while the last members of the company clawed their way up the hill, up on top the Loaders placed their father beneath a canvas shelter to spare him from the blistering sun. A group were gathered around him to offer solace to the family in this hour of sorrow. Hannah and Ingrid were there with the Jacksons. After they had been instrumental in helping the family bring their carts up the hill, Sister Loader had asked them to stay.

  Hannah watched as two of the subcaptains brought forth the olive oil. After conversing quietly for a moment with Brother Jaques and Sister Loader, one of them put some of the oil on his finger and rubbed it on the parched lips of the dying man. After a moment, Brother Loader’s tongue came out and he licked off the oil. There was a momentary smile, but he did not speak.

  With Elder Martin acting as lead, they next anointed his head with oil. Several brethren, including Brother James and Brother Jaques, came forward to stand around him. As the blessing began, all bowed their heads, fighting back the tears.

  “Brother Loader,” Captain Martin said with great solemnity, “in the name of our Savior and Redeemer, even Jesus Christ, we seal you up to the Lord at this time, for He alone is worthy to accept you. You have done your work. You have been a faithful servant in the Church, and we, the servants of God, seal you up unto our Father. And this we do in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”

  To everyone’s surprise, as the brethren stepped back, Brother Loader spoke in a clear, firm voice. “Amen,” he said.

  •••

  It took most of the day to get everyone over the last sand hill. Finally at six o’clock the last wagon crested the hill. Weary beyond words, Captain Edward Martin gave the signal to move on. They had to find a place with water and wood to camp. At ten o’clock at night the signal finally came back. “We camp here.”

  Many people simply rolled out their tents flat on the ground, then put their bedrolls on top of the canvas. Though it was going to be another cold night, it was a clear night and there was no threat of rain. Supper was forgotten. Evening prayers were short, though fervent.

  As soon as they reached camp Brother and Sister Jackson left to see if they could help the Loaders any further. Hannah and Ingrid got the children some bread and butter and water from the creek, then put them to bed. When the children were finally asleep, the two friends stretched out on their bedroll, too exhausted to stand any longer and yet also too exhausted for sleep to come.

  It was half past eleven when they heard the Jacksons making their way toward them and sat up. “We’re still awake,” Hannah whispered as they reached them. “How is Brother Loader?”

  There was a muffled sob from Sister Jackson. Brother Jackson moved over beside the two girls’ bedroll and reached out in the darkness until he found their hands. “Brother Loader finally reached the Valley tonight. About fifteen minutes ago.” He bowed his head in the darkness. “May he sleep in peace until the trump shall sound and the resurrection shall bring him forth in glory, immortality, and eternal life.”

  Chapter Notes

  Both the Willie Company and Martin Company had some problems with petty theft and pilfering in the camps, something which sometimes brought forth stern calls for repentance from the captains. For example, in the Willie Company journal, part of the entry for 7 September reads: “President Atwood [Elder Millen Atwood, captain of the first hundred] urged the pilferers to come forward and openly confess their faults before their brethren, who would then extend to them the friendly hand of forgiveness” (in Turner, Emigrating Journals, p. 27).

  In a later recollection, Brother John Jaques noted that the Martin Company also had that problem: “In some of the pinching times there would be a little petty pilfering going on in camp occasionally. The pilferings were usually of bread to eat. The bread was baked in the form of cakes in frying pans, or of biscuits in skillets and bake kettles. In one family there were several grown-up girls, and one of them attended much to the cooking. One evening she had made and baked a very nice cake before going to prayers, and she set it up on edge against the tent while she went to prayer meeting. When she got back to her tent she went for the cake. On picking it up it seemed diminished marvelously in weight. Presently she exclaimed with tears in her eyes, ‘Oh! Mother, somebody has been and taken every bit of crumb out of my cake and left the crust.’ Some sharper, who either had not been to prayers, or who had loiteringly delayed his going, or had got through them in singularly swift dispatch for his own ulterior purposes, had discovered the girl’s cake, taken fancy to it, pulled it in two, eaten the soft, warm inside, put the two crusts together again, and reared them carefully against the tent as they were” (in Bell, Life History and Writings of John Jaques, p. 136).

  Moving swiftly westward, the company led by Elder Franklin D. Richards overtook the Willie Handcart Company late in the day on 12 September. In the Martin Company journal, those traveling with Elder Richards are listed and thirteen are named (see Turner, Emigrating Journals, p. 109).

  Elder Richards spoke to the Willie Company the evening after his party arrived and again the next morning. Most of the speech presented here, including his stirring promise given in the name of the Lord, comes from the company journal account (see Turner, Emigrating Journals, pp. 30–32) or from a report written by Elder Richards and Daniel Spencer after their arrival in Salt Lake City (see Hafen and Hafen, Handcarts to Zion, pp. 218–20).

  Though the emigrants were not yet into any kind of severe weather and were still on full rations at this time, the rigors of the trail began taking a toll on the weak and the elderly in both companies. Note the following excerpts from the
Willie Company journal:

  14 Sept 1856, Sunday: William Haley was buried this morning on our yesterday’s campground.

  21 Sept 1856, Sunday: . . . W. N. Leason . . . died at 11:30 p.m., of canker in the stomach. He was born on 7 Nov 1854.

  22 Sept 1856, Monday: W. N. Leason was buried this morning at 7 o’clock. . . . Brother Jesse Empy . . . died from Scrofula [tuberculosis of the lymph glands], aged 31.

  26 Sept 1856, Friday: . . . Sister Ann Bryant, aged 69 . . . , died this afternoon of general decay of constitution. [Levi Savage’s entry for this same day reads: “Sister Ann Briant, 70, found dead in the wagon. She was sitting up, appearing asleep.”]

  1 Oct 1856, Wednesday: . . . Brother David Reeder died, aged 54. . . . William Read died coming into camp in a wagon. He was . . . aged 63.

  3 Oct 1856, Friday: . . . Peter Larson, aged 43 . . . , died during the day.

  4 Oct 1856, Saturday: . . . Benjamin Culley, aged 61 . . . , died; also, George Ingra, aged 68 . . . , died; Daniel Gadd, aged 2 . . . , died. (In Turner, Emigrating Journals, pp. 33, 36, 37, 38, 39)

  Though the Martin Company records are not as complete, during a similar period, at least six deaths are recorded. Hannah’s reference to the man who “fell down dead” refers to the death of William Edwards. Josiah Rogerson, Sr., gives this account, which was published in the Salt Lake Tribune in 1914. The incident appears to have occurred about 13 September 1856:

  Two bachelors named Luke Carter . . . and William Edwards . . . , each about 50 to 55 years of age, had pulled a covered cart together from Iowa City, Ia., to this point. They slept in the same tent, cooked and bunked together; but for several days previous unpleasant and cross words had passed between them.

  Edwards was a tall, loosely built and tender man physically, and Carter more stocky and sturdy. He had favored Edwards by letting the latter pull only what he could in the shafts for some time. This morning he grumbled and complained, still traveling, about being tired, and that he couldn’t go any further. Carter retorted: “Come on. Come on. You’ll be all right again when we get a bit of dinner at noon.” But Edwards kept on begging for him to stop the cart and let him lie down and “dee” (die), Carter replying, “Well, get out and die, then.”