They had not, of course. What little cash reserves they had were used to purchase the few meager provisions still available at the trading post. There was nothing left for paying a toll. And so they had left John Richard’s bridge and come another five miles upriver to where the Mormon Ferry had once shuttled wagons and people back and forth. And now they waited for the signal to make that crossing.
Off about a quarter of a mile, Hannah could see the white tops of the Hunt Wagon Company. They would not cross yet. With more ability to carry food, they didn’t have quite the same urgency as the handcart company. She turned. Across the river to the north and about a mile west of the crossing, the wagons of the other independent wagon company could be seen. The Hodgett Company had been far enough ahead that they had already crossed and gone into camp. She shook her head. It was hard not to be envious.
The Hunt and Hodgett independent wagon companies had been traveling along somewhat in tandem with their company since they had left Florence. Sometimes they were ahead; often they were behind. Late the day before, the Hodgett Company had passed them and camped out ahead of them a mile or so. Then, as the Martin Company was preparing to roll out this morning, the Hunt Wagon Company had passed them as well. When they reached the last crossing, the Hodgett was already across and the Hunt had gone into camp.
It was discouraging to see them roll past with such ease. Better equipped and provisioned, the wagon companies had not been forced as yet to go on reduced rations or to jettison their belongings. They helped the emigrants in the handcart company when they could, sharing food and offering rides to the sick, but usually they were not traveling together, and so their ability to help was limited. Also, with five hundred people in the Martin Company, more than was in both wagon companies combined, it wasn’t possible that the wagoners could relieve even one-tenth of the suffering of their fellow emigrants.
They heard the rattle of a wagon and sat up. Brother Martin was on his horse riding alongside the company’s lead supply wagon. The other two wagons were farther behind. The supply wagons had been in the rear of the company, loaded past their capacity with the sick and the exhausted. Even from here, Hannah could see the feet and legs dangling out the back of the first wagon box. Supposedly the wagons were to be used only to carry the company’s tents and food. Instead they were now moving infirmaries. Hannah didn’t have to look to see who was there. Most would be the elderly or the young children.
Captain Martin dug his heels into the horse’s flanks and rode up to the line of people. “All right, folks,” he shouted. “We’ll take the sick across first.” He pointed to a spot where the bank had been cut down by the passage of many wagons. “We’ll go in here and then angle upstream to that spot where you can see an opening through the brush. That’s the trail.”
He waved at the lead teamster, who slapped the reins over the backs of his four mules. “H’yah,” he shouted. The animals lunged forward, and in a moment they were into the water.
Now every eye was following. The sick struggled to a sitting position and pulled their feet up as the rear wheels entered the river. Without thinking, Hannah stood up. Ingrid came up beside her. Their gaze was riveted on the wheels. This would give them the measure of the river, only they would be the “mules” and their handcart would be the wagon.
At this point the river was about five rods, or about twenty-five or thirty yards, across. Ten feet out and the hubs of the large back wheels disappeared into the water. In the front, the mules were up to their bellies. The rattle of the metal tires on the cobblestones in the riverbed sounded clearly in the cold air. The second wagon went in behind the first, and Hannah saw some of the walkers, or the footmen, move in behind it, hanging on to the sides of the wagon box so that they had some help in crossing. Another twenty feet and the mules of the lead wagon were chest deep, holding their heads high. One brayed anxiously. A woman in the back of the wagon cried out as the water reached the wagon box and began to seep through the cracks into where she and the others were sitting.
“H’yah, mules!” the teamsters yelled, cracking the whip above their heads. Hannah watched, sick at heart. The water was an inch or two deeper than the wagon box and now all of the sick were clambering to get out of the water. But it didn’t get any deeper, and in a few moments the mules were in shallower water again. They broke into a lumbering trot, and in seconds the wagon was across. The second and third followed while those pulling handcarts watched in growing dismay.
Hannah turned to Ingrid. The bottom of a wagon box came about chest high on the two of them. They had hoped that they could keep dry above the waist. Now that they saw how deep the water was, that hope was dashed to pieces.
“All right,” Captain Martin shouted. “That’s how it’s done. You’ll have to watch the handcarts. They’re a lot lighter and the current will start pushing on them. Just keep angling upstream and head for where the wagon came out.”
Up and down the line people got to their feet and moved to their carts. Others walked to the water’s edge. Just a short distance upstream from where they were, a man hoisted his wife onto his back. He turned to his two boys, both in their teens. “Wait here. I’ll be back and help you with the cart.”
Hannah shuddered. That meant he would have to cross the river three times. But he did not hesitate. The moment his wife settled herself onto his back he stepped into the water. There was an audible gasp as the water hit them. Farther on an older brother picked up his sister, a girl of about six, and moved forward. A man and a wife without children followed with their cart, the first to make the attempt.
“Not all at once,” Elder Martin shouted. “Don’t get tangled up with one another.”
Just then a voice from behind them called out. “Brother Aaron, are you all right? Can you make it?”
They turned. John Jaques and his wife, Zilpah, were approaching. John was pulling the cart; his wife was pushing. On top, their little Flora, who was two, sat perched in a place her father had made for her on top of their belongings. She held the baby that had been born the night after the Jaqueses had left Florence about seven weeks before.
“Aaron is going to go over on his own,” Elizabeth answered quickly, before her husband could respond. “The girls and I will take the handcart across.”
“I can come back,” Jaques volunteered.
Aaron Jackson shook his head. He was pale and drawn now. The very sight of the people entering the water and the cries and gasps that were sounding all up and down the line had shaken him deeply. “You have two little ones to care for, Brother John. I’ll be all right.”
“Thank you for offering,” Elizabeth said. “Zilpah, where is the rest of your family?”
Zilpah turned and pointed. “They’re coming. Mother has met someone in the Hunt Company they knew in New York. He is going to help her and my sisters.”
“Wonderful,” Elizabeth said.
There was a sudden cry that spun them around. Another father had a little girl about five or six on his back and had just reached midriver. As the full force of the current caught him, his feet slipped on the rocky bottom. The little girl screamed as he twisted and went down, disappearing into the icy water. In a moment there was a flash of white and another scream. The little girl was flailing wildly as she bobbed to the surface. Then the man’s head came up. “Betsy! Betsy!”
Captain Martin shouted something and spurred his horse. The first man to attempt the crossing, the one who had carried his wife over, had just reached the other side. He set his wife down, whirled and saw what was happening, then spurted forward. He ran about ten yards along the bank, then gave a mighty leap out into the water. In a moment Captain Martin reached the floundering father and grabbed him by the hand. He looked around, but the other man had reached the girl and had her in his arms. She was still screaming hysterically. A cry of relief went up as father and daughter were taken safely to the opposite bank.
“Thank heavens,” Elizabeth Jackson said, still shaking with the thoug
hts of that little girl drowning. Then she made up her mind. She reached down, picked up young Aaron, and hoisted him up onto the canvas that covered their belongings in the cart. “Hold on, Aaron. Hold on tight!”
Her husband came forward, nearly stumbling as he tried to grab her arm. “Elizabeth, I’m not going to let you take that over alone.”
She took his hands and held them tightly, peering into his eyes. “You know you can’t do it, Aaron. We’ll be all right. Wait here. If I can’t find someone to help you, I’ll come back.”
“No,” he began, but he could barely croak it out. And in that instant he knew that it didn’t really matter what the heart wanted to do. If the body was not capable of answering, there was nothing to be done. He let go of his wife and stepped back, lowering his eyes and looking away.
Hannah and Ingrid had come over now. “We’ll help, Brother Jackson. It will be all right.” Hannah took Mary Elizabeth and swung her up beside her brother. “Hold onto Aaron. Close your eyes if you get frightened.”
She started to cry. “I’m scared, Hannah.”
Hannah smiled and reached up and squeezed her hand. “My brave little Mary Elizabeth? Frightened? I can’t believe that.”
The trembling lip steadied and the five-year-old wiped quickly at her eyes. “All right,” she said.
“Martha Ann,” Sister Jackson said to her older daughter, “you hold on to the back of the cart. If it gets too deep for you to touch bottom, then just float, but don’t let go.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“Elizabeth, I—”
She turned to her husband and hugged him tightly. “It will be all right, Aaron. Just wait here.” She kissed him, then hurried to where Hannah and Ingrid were already getting into the pulling box.
“I think you should be at the back, Sister Jackson,” Hannah said, “in case Martha Ann needs help.”
“Yah, yah,” Ingrid said. “Hannah and I will pull.”
“All right.” Sister Jackson moved around to the back to stand beside her daughter. As she did so, Hannah looked up. What had been an occasional snowflake had suddenly become a swirl, coming in almost horizontally on the gusting wind. To the west, the sky was almost black, promising worse yet to come. It seemed like the wind had become in an instant even more bitterly cold. She grabbed the crossbar, gritting her teeth. “Let’s go,” she muttered.
Hannah steeled herself, knowing that the water would be an enormous shock to her body, but as she stepped into the river and sank to her knees a cry was torn from her lips. The last four or five creeks had been terribly cold, but this was ten times worse. The cold gripped her with such ferocity that for a moment it felt like her legs had been amputated. She heard Ingrid gasp beside her. “Pull!” she cried. “Pull!”
As the water reached her waist and then her chest, Hannah was breathing in and out so rapidly, trying to cushion the numbing shock that engulfed her, that suddenly she felt light-headed. The current was more powerful than she had expected, and she felt her body start to lift. She drove her legs downward, trying to get some grip on the bottom, but the rocks were like rounded pieces of ice. The skirt of her dress was acting like a sail in the water and dragging her feet along with the current. She was slipping and sliding like a drunken man.
Suddenly the back end of the handcart started to swing around behind them. “Keep going!” Elizabeth screamed. “Don’t stop.”
Martha Ann was sobbing now and that started Mary Elizabeth. “Mama! Mama!” she wailed.
“Hold on to Aaron!” Elizabeth blurted. “It’s all right.”
Hannah felt terror now, and it was even more numbing than the water. What if she went down as that man had done? What if she couldn’t hold on? She felt the cart swing around so that they were no longer angling across the river but were pointed directly upstream. It was as if it were floating now and no longer under her control. They were not moving forward at all but being carried downstream by the current. Beside her, Ingrid was crying out something frantically. Dimly, Hannah realized she was crying out in Danish.
“Here! Take hold!”
Hannah looked up. One of the men from the wagons had waded out into the river from the far side. He had a lariat curled in one hand. He tossed an end and it hit Hannah in the face. She let go of the crossbar with one hand and clutched at it wildly. Catching it, she yanked it toward her with a sob of relief.
“Wrap it around you!”
Fumbling wildly, she pulled the rope around behind her, then fed it to Ingrid. Ingrid put it around her waist as well, then handed the end back to Hannah. She gripped it with both hands, using only her body now to push against the crossbar. Another man and an older boy splashed out to grab the rope as well. There was a powerful tug as they began pulling it toward them hand over hand.
Hannah cried out with joy. They were moving forward. The cart swung back around now, and through the clouds of snow she could see they were once again headed for the bank where the other carts were coming out. In a moment, the water was only to her waist, then to her knees.
“We made it!” Ingrid said, half sobbing. “We made it.”
Once they were on solid ground, Elizabeth came around and she and Ingrid and Hannah fell into each other’s arms. Only then did the cold come slamming back at them. Hannah was wet from the neck down, and she could already feel her dress stiffening in the freezing wind. Her body began to shake violently. The snow was coming hard now and she felt the sting of something against her cheeks. Her heart sank as she realized what it was. It was sleet. Mixed with the snow there was a freezing rain.
“We’ve got to get dry clothes,” Ingrid cried.
The problem was, they didn’t have a full set of dry clothes now, not after they had lightened their loads by feeding the bonfires day before yesterday. Hannah had an extra petticoat, but that was all.
“Get the blankets,” Sister Jackson commanded. “We’ve got to get warm.”
With their teeth chattering and their hands shaking so violently that they could barely grasp the lashing, they pawed at their load. Hannah helped Mary Elizabeth down and then little Aaron. Both were sobbing quietly. Hannah was not the only one who had experienced terror in that crossing.
Holding the blankets up to provide some small amount of privacy, Hannah and Ingrid watched as Elizabeth helped Martha Ann strip down to her underclothing and put on a dry petticoat and then a sweater. They wrung out her dress as best they could and then she put it back on over what she wore. Then Sister Jackson held the blanket for Hannah and Ingrid. Hannah tried to protest that Sister Jackson should change first, but she refused. If she had to go back for Aaron, there was no sense changing yet.
When they finished they wrapped blankets around themselves and now turned to look across the river. In the twenty minutes that had passed since they had arrived on the south bank, the storm had hit with a fury. It was nearly a blizzard now. The wind was tearing at their clothing, making it difficult to stand. The snow and sleet was coming so thick that it often obscured their view for more than a few yards. The ground was already white, showing the footprints and tracks where the people were coming out of the river.
It took a moment for them to spot Brother Jackson. He was standing by a small tree, half hunched over, steadying himself as best he could. Sister Jackson shouted and waved. His head came up, but in the swirling snow he didn’t seem to be able to see her. Hannah and Ingrid started waving too. “Brother Jackson! We’re over here.”
Now he saw them. With an effort he straightened.
“Wait, Aaron, I’m coming to help.”
“No!” He waved his hands back and forth. “I’m coming. You stay there.”
He stepped to the water’s edge, hesitated for only a moment, then walked into the river. They saw him stiffen as the shock of the cold hit him. He came another few feet until he was in the water to his knees, then he slipped on the rocky bottom and went down. Elizabeth lunged forward, crying out. “Keep coming, Aaron! Keep walking.”
He looked a
round, dazed and bewildered, then slowly staggered up again. His head swung back and forth slowly. A short distance away, the water was split by a sandbar about a foot wide and three or four feet long. It was barely out of the water. He turned, stumbling towards it, then collapsed into a heap when he reached it.
“Aaron!” Sister Jackson’s cry rent the air. She started forward, hands reaching for him as though she were already to him.
Hannah sprang forward and caught her dress. “No, Sister Jackson. You stay here. I’ll get him.”
“I’ll help you,” Ingrid said, running forward with her.
Without hesitation, they leaped into the water again, then pushed forward as swiftly as they could. This time they had two things in their favor. Their bodies were already numbed and half-frozen and the shock was not as great. Also, they were angling downstream now and the current was pushing partially against them. In less than a minute they had crossed to the sandbar and reached Aaron Jackson.
As they got under each arm and lifted him up, Hannah saw Elder Martin crossing the river on his horse. She waved frantically, but he had already seen them and was turning towards them. When he reached them he bent over in the saddle. “Brother Jackson, are you all right?”
Aaron looked up. His lips were blue and his whole body was shaking. “Too weak,” he mumbled. “Can’t make it.”
“Help me get him up on the horse,” their captain commanded. He held out his hand. With him pulling and Ingrid and Hannah pushing, they got Aaron up behind the saddle. Hannah actually had to reach up and put one of Brother Jackson’s arms around Captain Martin so he could hold on.
Fire of the Covenant Page 49