Fire of the Covenant

by Gerald N. Lund

  The story of Harvey Cluff’s putting up the signboard is one of the remarkable events of the rescue. Cluff, who was just twenty years of age when he accompanied the first rescue party, later wrote a detailed account of his experience. Referring to that day, he said: “For protection of ourselves and animals, the company moved down the river to where the willows were dense enough to make a good protection against the raging storm from the north. The express team . . . had been dispatched ahead as rapidly as possible to reach and give encouragement to the faltering emigrants, by letting them know that help was near at hand. Quietly resting in the seclusion of the willow copse, three miles from the road I volunteered to take a sign board and place it at a conspicuous place at the main road. This was designed to direct the express party who were expected to return about this time. So they would not miss us. In facing the northern blast up hill I found it quite difficult to keep from freezing. I had only been back to camp a short time when two men road up from Willie’s handcart company. The signboard had done the work of salvation. . . . The handcart company was then 25 miles from our camp, and as they [Willie and Elder] had travelled that distance without food for themselves or horses and no bedding, they must have perished. I have always regarded this act of mine as the means of their salvation. And why not? An act of that importance is worthy of record and hence I give a place here” (in Remember, p. 51).

  By then the conditions in the handcart camp at the Sixth Crossing were critical. John Chislett wrote:

  The scanty allowance of hard bread and poor beef, distributed as described, was mostly consumed the first day by the hungry, ravenous, famished souls.

  We killed more cattle and issued the meat; but, eating it without bread, did not satisfy hunger, and to those who were suffering from dysentery it did more harm than good. This terrible disease increased rapidly amongst us during these three days, and several died from exhaustion. Before we renewed our journey the camp became so offensive and filthy that words would fail to describe its condition, and even common decency forbids the attempt. Suffice it to say that all the disgusting scenes which the reader might imagine would certainly not equal the terrible reality. It was enough to make the heavens weep. The recollection of it unmans me even now—those three days! During that time I visited the sick, the widows whose husbands died in serving them, and the aged who could not help themselves, to know for myself where to dispense the few articles that had been placed in my charge for distribution. Such craving hunger I never saw before, and may God in his mercy spare me the sight again. (In Remember, p. 8)

  As for the day the rescuers arrived, the eyewitness accounts that follow speak for themselves.

  John Chislett, of the Willie Company, wrote: “On the evening of the third day [actually it was the second day] after Captain Willie’s departure, just as the sun was sinking beautifully behind the distant hills, on an eminence immediately west of our camp several covered wagons, each drawn by four horses, were seen coming towards us. The news ran through the camp like wildfire, and all who were able to leave their beds turned out enmasse to see them. A few minutes brought them sufficiently near to reveal our faithful captain slightly in advance of the train. Shouts of joy rent the air; strong men wept till tears ran freely down their furrowed and sun-burnt cheeks, and little children partook of the joy which some of them hardly understood, and fairly danced around with gladness. Restraint was set aside in the general rejoicing, and as the brethren entered our camp the sisters fell upon them and deluged them with kisses. The brethren were so overcome that they could not for sometime utter a word, but in choking silence repressed all demonstration of those emotions that evidently mastered them. Soon, however, feeling was somewhat abated, and such a shaking of hands, such words of welcome, and such invocation of God’s blessing have seldom been witnessed. . . . That evening, for the first time in quite a period, the songs of Zion were to be heard in the camp, and peals of laughter issued from the little knots of people as they chatted around the fires. The change seemed almost miraculous, so sudden was it from grave to gay, from sorrow to gladness, from mourning to rejoicing. With the cravings of hunger satisfied, and with hearts filled with gratitude to God and our good brethren, we all united in prayer, and then retired to rest” (in Remember, p. 9).

  Harvey Cluff, of the rescue company, recalled: “It was about sun set when we came in sight of the camp; which greatly resembled an Esqumeax Village fully one mile away. The snow being a foot deep and paths having been made from tent to tent gave the camp that appearance. As we reached an eminance overlooking the camp, which was located on a sagebrush plain near the river a mile away. When the people of the camp sighted us approaching, they set up such a shout as to echo through the hills. Arriving within the confines of this emigrant camp a most thrilling and touching scene was enacted, melting to tears the stoutest hearts. Young maidens and feable old ladies, threw off all restraint and freely embraced their deliverers expressing in a flow of kisses, the gratitude which their tongues failed to utter. This was certainly the most timely arrival of a relief party recorded in history” (in Hafen and Hafen, Handcarts to Zion, p. 233).

  Chapter 25

  Sixth Crossing to Rocky Ridge

  I

  Wednesday, 22 October 1856

  “Brother Granger?”

  David was at the back of the wagon, tying the reins of the horse onto the tailgate. He gave a final tug to make sure it was securely tied, then stepped around his horse. To his surprise, it was the young couple he had met yesterday. They stood hand in hand, but it was the woman who had spoken.

  He smiled and came forward. “Maggie, if I remember?” he asked.

  “Yes, Maggie McKensie.”

  “And Eric?”

  “Yah.” He shook that off. “Yes. I am Eric Pederson.”

  “From Denmark?”

  “Norway. Most of the others are from Denmark.” Then there was a bit of a mischievous smile. “Was it the ‘yah’ that gave me away?”

  David saw Maggie nudge him a little as though to reprove him. David smiled. “Actually, your English is very good.”

  “I have very good teacher,” Eric replied.

  Maggie sobered. “Brother Granger, I—”

  “Please, just David. If you’ve come to thank me, that’s not necessary.”

  “We did not.”

  He flinched a little, taken aback by her forthrightness. He suddenly realized that beneath the sunburned cheeks and peeled nose and the pallor from having too little food, this was a very pretty young woman. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to presume.”

  She shook her head. “It is not possible to thank you. But we pray that you may know for the rest of your life what you have done for us.”

  “I . . .” He finally just bowed his head. “I will. I will never forget this.”

  Maggie stepped forward, her eyes suddenly earnest. “I have a favor to ask of you, Bro—” She corrected herself quickly. “David.”

  “A favor? What?”

  “We understand that you are going on with Captain Grant.”

  “Yes, that’s right. My friend Heber—you met him yesterday—he’ll be going back with your group. Brother William Kimball and he are brothers.”

  “I wondered,” Eric said. “So he too is President Kimball’s son?”

  “Yes, but he doesn’t like people to make a big thing of it.” Then he turned back to Maggie. “What can I do for you?”

  “I have a sister traveling with the Martin Company.”

  That caught him completely off guard. “You do?”

  “Yes. She and a good friend, Ingrid Christensen, were asked to stay back and help with that group.”

  “I see. Is there something you would like me to take to her?”

  “Yes.” For a moment she hesitated, glancing at Eric. He nodded and she stepped forward and gave David a quick hug. She stepped back, her eyes lowered in embarrassment. “Will you take that to her and tell her that we are all okay?”

  He nodded, touc
hed by her concern. “I will. You have my word.”

  “And will you tell her about Eric and me? She doesn’t know we plan to be married. We left a letter for her back on the trail, but with the storm I’m sure she’ll never see it.”

  “I’ll do that too.”

  “I was going to write her a letter for you to take, but there was no time. And we have no paper.”

  “I’ll tell her. And I’ll make sure she is all right.”

  “Would it be too much to ask you to bring her back safely to us?”

  Now it was David who hesitated. If the Martin Company was in the same condition as the Willie group, who was to say whether or not she was even alive by now? For that matter, they had no guarantee they would even find them. He began to nod, planning to say, “I’ll try.” Instead, what came out surprised him. “I will. You have my word on that too.”

  “Thank you.”

  A few feet away, in the next wagon, the driver called over to them. “David, I think we’re about ready to roll.”

  Maggie and Eric moved back as he put a foot on the spokes of the front wheel and vaulted up into the wagon seat. He took the reins, got them adjusted in his hands, and then looked down at the two of them again. Before he could say anything more, a shout from up ahead rang out. Brother George Grant, driving the lead wagon, cracked his whip over the head of his four mules. His wagon lurched forward. The second and third fell in line behind him and then it was David’s turn. As he snapped the reins and his four animals started forward, he tipped his hat to Maggie. Then suddenly he thought of something. “Hey! What’s her name?”

  “Hannah,” Maggie called. “Hannah McKensie.”

  “And how old is she? How will I know her?”

  “She’s sixteen. Almost seventeen. Just ask for her.”

  He pulled in the animals, keeping them to a walk for a moment. He was grinning as he looked down at her. “Does she look like you?” he asked.

  “Much prettier,” Maggie said with a laugh.

  “Just as pretty,” Eric corrected her gallantly.

  “Then it will be my pleasure,” David called. And with that, he snapped the reins sharply. “Giddap, mules. Let’s go.”

  II

  Thursday, 23 October 1856

  Not quite twenty-four hours later, Maggie McKensie leaned heavily against her handcart, holding the blanket tightly around her body, one corner of it covering her mouth to keep the cold air from searing her lungs and bringing on the terrible coughing again. She stared at the gray sky, barely seeing the light snowfall whipping past her face in the wind. When she lowered her eyes again, it was to look at the ground and not the rolling hills that loomed over them to the west. She had looked there once already this morning and the sight had nearly disheartened her. Here, they were in a small, narrow valley and the northwest wind was somewhat restrained, though the cold was cutting through her in spite of her new coat and the blanket. Above them, row after row of hills and ridges could be seen. Up there snow boiled in swirling clouds, pouring over the ridges like water sloshing over the top of a kettle. Each ridge wore a long crown of brilliant white, drifts that were six to eight feet deep and a hundred feet or more in length.

  She closed her eyes, unable to even bear the sight of the scattered flakes coming down from the sky now. All around her the Willie Handcart Company was preparing to move. Hardly anyone spoke, and then only in short sentences or soft murmurs of assent. Captain Willie and Brother William Kimball and the other rescuers from the Valley moved among the group like grim-faced angels, checking the loads, assessing the condition of each individual. The sickest and the weakest were led off to the wagons. Even with the addition of the six wagons from the Valley, there wasn’t going to be enough room to take all of those who needed help.

  Yesterday, after Captain Grant took eight of the wagons and continued eastward in search of the Martin Company, William Kimball and his smaller group got the Willie Company ready to move. Maggie remembered with shame the bitter debate that had erupted. Some of the brethren, mostly those with family members who were in terrible shape, had gathered around Captain Willie and Brother Kimball and had begun firing questions at them. Maggie wasn’t filled with a critical spirit as a few of them were, but she had listened closely, having the same questions.

  Why did they have to move on when they were in such terrible condition? Why couldn’t they just wait there at the Sixth Crossing for the rescue wagons to come to them?

  Brother Kimball had gone through it carefully. The men under the direction of Reddick Allred who were waiting with rescue wagons at South Pass had no idea that Captain Grant had finally found the first company. They were not coming forward. They were waiting in place until they received word.

  All right. So why not just send riders back to South Pass to take word to Reddick Allred and wait until he could come to them?

  Again he answered with great patience. South Pass was a good three days away. If they waited for a rider to go back and then for the wagons to come all the way forward, it would be six days. Even with the deaths, the Willie Company roster still stood at about four hundred people. The arrival of the rescue wagons had been a godsend, but in that one burst of need they had nearly exhausted the supply that William Kimball’s six wagons carried. They dared not take more from Brother Grant. The Martin Company was larger than their own. And they would have farther to come to reach South Pass. So the hard reality was this: They had food for one more day, maybe two if they stretched it to the limits, but not six. “If we leave you here,” Kimball concluded grimly, “there won’t be many of you left to save. We have to keep moving west and meet the wagons partway.”

  Then why not just move forward to the base of Rocky Ridge and wait there? Brother Kimball and Elder Willie had both answered that. They talked about the difficulties of crossing this part of the trail. Actually Rocky Ridge was a misnomer. Rocky Ridges was a better description. This was not a single ridge that had to be crossed but a series of rolling hills, steep gullies, and rocky escarpments that stretched on for about five miles. The Sweetwater came out of a narrow canyon about two miles behind where the company was now. The canyon was too difficult for wagons or carts to traverse, so there was no choice. They had to go up and over the top of Rocky Ridge and cut straight across to where the trail met the river again. It was considered the most difficult stretch of trail thus far. More axles were broken, more wheels shattered, more animals ruined on this stretch than anywhere else before the trail reached the mountains around Salt Lake City. Thereafter it was mostly level the rest of the way into Rock Creek.

  So why not move forward to the base of Rocky Ridge and then wait? was the next question.

  By now, Brother Kimball was getting a little impatient. These people didn’t know the trail. They had no idea of the distances or the problems. Maggie could see it in his eyes. Why can’t you trust us? Why can’t you believe that we have taken all of this into consideration? But he said none of that. He had carefully explained that it was only ten miles from Sixth Crossing to the base of Rocky Ridge. They would take that in one day and then would stop there for the night. But this was not a place to settle in for an extended time. It was two or three miles from the river. There was no wood and no water except for melted snow. And going only ten miles and then stopping wouldn’t help enough in solving the problem of meeting the supply wagons farther west.

  And so here they were. The ten miles they had come yesterday had been terrible enough. And Brother Kimball’s assessment of their campsite had been exactly correct. No wood. No water. The ground had been so hard that many of the emigrants had simply rolled their bedrolls out on the snow last night and huddled in them until morning rather than pitch their tents.

  The very sickest and weakest were once again loaded into the wagons. Even with six more wagons added to their own three, it was not sufficient. Jane James had gone to Brother Willie and asked if her husband might be accommodated in one of the wagons. The answer was a reluctant no. If William could
walk at all, he would have to do the best he could. The wagons were already so filled that there was fear some might be smothered. Instead, the two captains had another suggestion. The Jameses had two carts. Why not lighten the second cart to the bare essentials? Then Brother James and Reuben could pull that one while the girls and Sister James took the heavier one. So they had divided and redistributed the load. The lead cart, pulled by Sister James, Sarah, and Emma, kept most of their belongings. The second cart, which carried only a few things—probably less than fifty pounds—was then given to Brother James and Reuben to pull together.

  It had worked. Though they had fallen behind, father and son made the ten miles on their own. And to Maggie’s astonishment, this morning, when a call had been issued for men to help bury the two who had died during the night, William James had gotten a shovel and accompanied Reuben, Eric, and Olaf to go help. He was determined that he would carry his part of the load, no matter how he was feeling at the moment.

  But today wouldn’t be the same. They had sixteen miles to go today. And the first five miles would be over the dreaded Rocky Ridge.

  Maggie stared woodenly at the ground. Did this company have another day in them, especially if that day involved crossing Rocky Ridge? What about William James? How would he do today? Even with the lighter cart, could he and Reuben make it? For that matter, how would she do? She knew that similar questions were on everyone’s mind this morning.

  Maggie hunched over as a spasm of coughing hit her, sending the pain stabbing through her upper body and the fire shooting down into her chest again. When it passed and she straightened again, she saw that her mother was watching her.

  “I’m all right,” Maggie whispered.

  Her mother nodded, but the sorrow in her eyes told Maggie just how terrible she must look right now.

  They heard voices and turned. Several men were coming in a group towards them, returning from the burial detail. Maggie’s eyes picked out Jens Nielson first. At six feet two inches, he was the tallest man in the group. Then she saw Eric and Olaf beside him. William James and his son Reuben were coming a few feet behind them. Brother James moved with labored and careful steps. As they drew closer, Maggie noted that Captain Willie and Brother Kimball were beside Eric, speaking earnestly as they walked. She saw Eric nod, then nod again.