Fire of the Covenant

by Gerald N. Lund

  Still coloring a little, she took his hand and pulled him forward to start walking. “President Young’s call for help was so stirring, that while all of you brethren went up to the stand to give your names, we went to the back and made a little circle so we had some privacy. Then we took off our petticoats and stockings and other things we could spare and gave them to the collection.”

  He was astonished. “Right there in the Bowery?”

  She giggled lightly at his expression. “Why not? You jumped to your feet without hesitation. Well, I can’t drive a team, and I don’t have horses to volunteer. But I was just as moved as you were, David. I wanted to do something.”

  He had stopped and she had to drag him forward again. He was still staring at her. “What?” she said, blushing even more under the directness of his stare.

  “You know what, little sister?” he asked softly.

  “What?”

  “If I could find someone just like you, maybe I’d consider getting married right away.”

  “Why, David Granger!” she exclaimed in delight. “That’s the nicest thing you have ever said to me.”

  He didn’t smile back. He was completely sober. “I mean it. I’m proud of you, Eleanor.”

  Now her face softened. “And I’m proud of you, David. Really proud. I wish I were a man and could go with you.”

  “So do I. I would be proud to ride with you.”

  Chapter Notes

  At about 5:00 P.M. on the afternoon of Saturday, 4 October, Elder Franklin D. Richards and his party of returning missionaries arrived in the Salt Lake Valley, making the eleven-hundred-mile trip from Florence in an astounding thirty-one days (an average of about thirty-five miles per day). They went immediately to the office of President (and Governor) Brigham Young and broke the news that two additional handcart companies and two independent wagon companies were still out on the plains. This must have stunned President Young. The first two handcart companies had arrived together on 26 September. The third, led by Edward Bunker and composed mainly of emigrants from Wales, had arrived on 2 October, just two days before. Assuming that there were only three companies coming that season, the wagons sent out to resupply the handcarts were already returning to the Valley for the winter (see Bartholomew and Arrington, Rescue, pp. 5–6; also see Hafen and Hafen, Handcarts to Zion, p. 119).

  Based on the minutes of the Saturday evening meeting, it seems that Elder Richards estimated that the Willie Company would be found somewhere around the crossing of the Green River, which is 130 miles east of Salt Lake City (see Bartholomew and Arrington, Rescue, p. 10). Perhaps it was the swiftness of their own journey that caused the returning party to so badly overestimate the progress of the last two companies. On 4 October, both companies were still at least five hundred miles from Salt Lake City via the Mormon Trail.

  The description of the Minute Men and how they functioned as part of Utah’s militia effort at this time is accurate as given here (see Bartholomew and Arrington, Rescue, p. 8).

  David Granger and his family are the fictional creations of the author, but the others mentioned are not. Heber P. Kimball and Brigham Young, Jr., were members of the Minute Men and did join in the effort to rescue the handcart companies (see Bartholomew and Arrington, Rescue, p. 54, n. 31).

  The current Tabernacle, with its famous dome-shaped roof, was not started until 1863, and the first conference to be held in it was in October 1867, though it was not formally dedicated until 1875 (see Encyclopedia of Mormonism, s.v. “Tabernacle,” “Salt Lake City,” and “Temple Square”). In 1851–52 the “Old” Tabernacle was built in the southwest corner of the block, where the Assembly Hall now stands. It could seat about 2,500 people. When the weather was good, however, the Bowery was used because it could seat more than twice that amount.

  The speech given here by Brigham Young on Sunday morning, 5 October, also incorporates part of what he said in a second speech given after Daniel Spencer and Franklin D. Richards spoke to the congregation. They are combined here for purposes of the novel. However, President Young’s words are taken almost verbatim from the report given of the meetings for that day (see Journal of Discourses 4:113–14, and Hafen and Hafen, Handcarts to Zion, pp. 122–23). It was one woman present that day who later reported: “The sisters stripped off their Peticoats, stockings and everything they could spare, right there in the Tabernacle [actually the Bowery]” (cited in Bartholomew and Arrington, Rescue, p. 7).

  Chapter 22

  Great Salt Lake City to South Pass

  I

  Tuesday, 7 October 1856

  It did not occur to David Granger until it was almost sundown Tuesday afternoon that his wish to see the mountains in their fall colors had been granted. He was standing near the fire beside Heber P. Kimball, heartily putting away a dish of beef and barley stew. Then his eyes lifted to the mountain that towered above them to the northeast. They were camped at the foot of Big Mountain, which now, in the late afternoon light, was awash with color. Tomorrow they would have to go up and over the top—one of the longest steep inclines of the whole eleven hundred miles from Salt Lake to Winter Quarters—before dropping into East Canyon and turning north toward Henefer and the mouth of Echo Canyon. But today, here he was. Was it really only three days before that he and Eleanor paused during hauling hay to wish for the chance to be up in these canyons?

  He shook his head. It had been a frantic three days. On Sunday morning President Young had issued the call to action. The rest of that day and all of Monday were spent in urgent preparations—digging out his winter clothing; packing what little personal gear he could carry in his bedroll and saddlebags; checking his saddle and other tacking to make sure they were in excellent condition. Last night he had gone to President Young’s office along with the other Minute Men and their leaders to receive a blessing and a final charge from their prophet. Now here they were, on their way.

  He had only two regrets, and both of those centered around who was not here with him. He would have been very proud to be in the same company as his father. That had been settled quickly. He and Heber P. were likewise disappointed when Brigham Young, Jr., had also been asked to stay behind and help organize the rescue effort from the Valley side of things. That had been a bitter blow to their friend, but someone had to stay behind and see that the supplies kept coming in. And while he felt guilty about it, David was very glad that it was Brig who had drawn that straw and not him.

  “Brethren, can we have you gather round here?”

  David turned. It was Brother Robert T. Burton, or rather, Major Robert T. Burton. As one of the commanders of the Salt Lake City cavalry, a unit of the Nauvoo Legion, Burton was David’s direct line commander in the Minute Men. David gulped the last bite of his stew, followed it down with a long drink of cold creek water, then started moving along with the others to where Major Burton and George D. Grant were standing.

  “I think we’re about to get our marching instructions,” Heber P. said out of the corner of his mouth.

  “I hope so. I’m sure ready.”

  As they gathered into a tight circle, David noticed that a few flakes of snow came floating down in the still air. He looked up and sniffed the air. It shouldn’t amount to much, if anything. The overcast didn’t seem that thick, and there was not the smell of snow in the air. But it was a silent warning of things to come. Good, he thought. It would only lend wings to their feet.

  He turned to look at the company and counted swiftly. There were twenty-seven men, counting himself. With the second group camped about ten miles back on the east side of Little Mountain, that made about fifty of them all together. Brigham had called for forty. That was very good. And they were just the first, the ones who had been most eager to answer the call. Hundreds more would be coming over the next while.

  But it was not just the numbers that gave him satisfaction; it was also the faces that he recognized. By his own personal knowledge he was aware that at least five or six of these brethren had made the n
ow-famous thousand-mile march to California with the Mormon Battalion. Most had come through the Missouri War and the expulsion from Nauvoo. And, of course, there was no one who hadn’t crossed the North American continent to get here.

  Here was Charles Decker, who would serve as one of their scouts. Decker was Brigham Young’s son-in-law, having married one of the Church leader’s daughters back in Winter Quarters in 1847. He and Ephraim Hanks held the contract for carrying mail between Salt Lake City and St. Joseph, Missouri. At last night’s meeting, David had heard one of the brethren ask Brother Decker how many times he had been across the trail. He quietly admitted that this would be number fifty for him. That was about as good a qualification for being scout as David could imagine.

  Abel Garr stood on the other side of Brother Burton. A young man of twenty-two years, Garr also had served as a scout for the Saints, and currently he and his brothers helped watch over the Church cattle in northern Utah’s Cache Valley. For about five or six years prior to that, the Garr family had tended the Church herds out on Antelope Island, a lonely and sometimes dangerous job.

  Brother Burton was part of the militia company that became heroes during the “Provo River Battle” of 1850 with the Ute Indians. Three years later he had led the troops in the Indian troubles out west in Tooele County. One time, so the stories went, he and his unit had been caught out there on the desert in the dead of winter without shelter or bedding and still came back victorious. He had proven himself to be not only personally courageous but an inspiring leader as well.

  And then there was George D. Grant. David turned and let his eyes stop on Brother Grant, who was speaking quietly with Brother Burton. This was the most remarkable thing of all to David. George D. Grant had been a Church agent in Iowa City and Florence, Nebraska. He had come across the trail with the Franklin D. Richards party, arriving home just three days before. The fact that he would turn around after only three days and hit the trail again was astonishing in and of itself. But what was absolutely astounding was that he was returning from a mission in Europe. So were five others that were with them tonight, including William Kimball, Heber P.’s older brother, and Joseph A. Young, Brig’s older brother.

  Some of those missionaries had left in 1852, more than four years ago now. Others had gone in 1854. So at the very least they had been away for two years. Others had not seen home for four full years. And when they finally returned after that long absence, they were immediately turning around and leaving again.

  Last night, at the meeting with President Young where he had given the rescue group blessings, some had suggested to Brother Grant that no one expected him or the other returnees to leave again. David had been so impressed when Brother Grant shook his head without hesitation. “We encouraged those good people to come on,” he said quietly. “How can we turn our backs on them now?”

  “All right, brethren,” Brother Burton said. “As you know, President Young did not designate an organization for this company but left that in our hands. I would propose that we elect our captain tonight so that we know clearly who leads us.”

  There were heads nodding all around the circle.

  “I would like to propose that the man who is best fit for that job, and who has proven worthy of it by the fact that he stands with us now, is Brother George D. Grant.”

  Brother Grant ducked his head a little as the group responded to that. “Hear! Hear!” William H. Kimball shouted. “Amen,” someone else called out.

  Brother Burton nodded. “All in favor?” Every hand came up. “Motion carries.” He turned to Brother Grant. “Captain Grant, we turn to you for instruction.”

  “Thank you.” He looked around for a moment. “I am greatly pleased to be with you brethren. I couldn’t ask for a better outfit and a group better suited to the task at hand. It is an honor to ride with you and to call you brethren.”

  He paused for just a moment. “The first order of business is to complete our organization. I would therefore like to propose that we select Brothers Robert T. Burton and William H. Kimball as my assistants, Brother Cyrus Wheelock as our chaplain, and Brother Charles Decker as our guide. All in favor?”

  Again the vote was not only unanimous but instantaneous.

  “All right, brethren. Thank you for your support. As you know, President Young asked all of those who could be ready to leave today to rendezvous somewhere between Big and Little Mountain. As you also know, we have received word that another group of about this same size is camped at the bottom of Little Mountain, about ten miles behind us under the command of Reddick Allred. They will join with us sometime tomorrow and we shall then travel together. Between us we will have twenty-two wagons loaded to capacity with flour, other foodstuffs, clothing, and bedding. More will follow, but we will not wait for them. We all feel a great sense of urgency to go out and find those companies as quickly as possible.”

  He stopped and looked up at the sky, then reached out and let one of the snowflakes land on his hand. It was still snowing, but very lightly. “Here we are in heavy coats and warm boots and thick gloves, and I still see some of you stamping your feet up and down to keep yourselves warm. If we, who are strong and well fed and rested, find the nights severe, picture if you will the plight of old men, young toddlers, and women who are poorly prepared for such weather. And in addition, they will be short of food as they are forced to pull their handcarts along.

  “Our teams—two span per wagon—are strong and fresh. Fortunately, thus far the trail is still dry. The roads are packed hard and easily traveled. Therefore, we shall push on as vigorously as possible. We will not stop and camp at sundown but will go on each day until late in the evening. We will take turns at driving the wagons so that we do not have to stop long to rest. If you get tired, sleep in the back of your wagon, but do not stop.”

  He looked around the circle, and now his face was lined with worry. “Brethren, we do not know how far we will have to go to find these brothers and sisters. If all goes well, we shall find them in a matter of a few days and return quickly to the Valley. We can all pray for such good fortune.”

  There was one last pause, and then his jaw set in complete determination. “We promised the Saints we would come. Our prophet has charged us to go out and find them and bring them in, or else our religion is in vain. So find them we will. We shall not rest until they are safely home in the Valley.”

  II

  Monday, 13 October 1856

  “Someone’s coming!”

  The shout passed down the line from wagon to wagon, and with the hearing of it, each teamster pulled his teams up and came to a halt. David Granger and Heber P. Kimball were in the ninth wagon back, taking their turn driving. Heber P. actually had the reins at the moment and pulled them sharply. “Whoa, mules,” he called.

  David stood up, then stepped up on the driver’s seat so he could see better. In a moment Heber P. climbed up beside him. A rider on horseback galloped past them going toward the front of the train. David saw that it was Major Burton, their commanding officer. Grabbing on to the front bow of the wagon, he leaned out so he could see around the wagon in front of them.

  “Hey!” he exclaimed in surprise. “It’s a wagon train coming.”

  “Really?” Their own column had come to a complete stop now, so Heber wrapped the reins around the brake handle and hopped down. He went around the back of the wagon and came up on David’s side so he could see what David was seeing.

  It was late afternoon, and though the overcast of the last several days was still with them, the light was behind them and thus good for seeing to the east. They were moving along the Black’s Fork River, about twenty miles north of Fort Bridger. The land here was gently rolling, sagebrush covered hills, one after the other as far as the eye could see in every direction. Half a mile ahead, a line of wagons was coming one by one over the ridge and down the trail towards them. There were already thirty or so wagons visible, with additional ones coming into view every ten or fifteen seconds.
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  “That must be Abraham Smoot’s train,” Heber P. said. “It’s a big one.”

  “Abraham Smoot?”

  “Yeah. Oh, that’s right. You didn’t hear that. My brother was telling us that when he was with Elder Richards’s party, they were making such excellent time that they passed several companies of Saints along the trail. Brother Smoot’s was the largest of those. He’s bringing a train of some fifty or so wagons.”

  “I see. At first I couldn’t figure how Brother Smoot had beat us out here.”

  “He’s headed for the Valley.”

  “I see that now.” David was still peering at the oncoming train. Several riders from their own company, including Major Burton, were now going out to meet them.

  “Maybe they’ll know where the handcart companies are,” David suggested.

  “I sure hope so. You could tell that Elder Grant was not happy last night when no one at Fort Bridger had heard anything of them.”

  David nodded. No one had really expected to find the Willie Company as far west as Fort Bridger, but they had serious hopes that there would be at least word of them. Fort Bridger, a Church outpost since Brigham Young had bought it from Jim Bridger, was a major way station for the trains coming and going along the Mormon Trail. It was about a hundred miles east of the Valley. Surely someone there would have knowledge of the whereabouts of the companies. There was none.

  Captain Grant’s concerns deepened. Cold now gripped the high plains. Fort Bridger was at an elevation of about six thousand feet. It was mid-October, so some cold was to be expected. But when they were waking to ice on the water buckets and finding that the slabs of bacon that hung in the backs of the wagons were frozen through, it didn’t bode well for the handcart companies who were out in it. Wanting to press ahead with even more speed than they had been making, Captain Grant ordered some of the flour and other goods cached at the fort so that they could move forward with even greater speed. They would need a supply of food on the way back anyway.