Fire of the Covenant

by Gerald N. Lund

  “Are we taking all of the wagons from Captain Hodgett’s Company too?” someone asked.

  “Not today. We’ve still got to off-load all that freight. We’ll take just enough to move the sick and the company’s belongings over to that ravine or cove we’ve found.”

  “And how far is that?” John Jaques asked. He was one of the subcaptains. He and the other captains of hundreds were standing beside Edward Martin, listening intently.

  Brother Grant looked at Brother Burton, then looked back at the men. “If we could go straight there, no more than a mile or a mile and a half. But we’re going to have to go west along the trail for a ways to where we can cross the Sweetwater, then we’ll cut in from there to the campsite. We estimate it’s about three miles all together.”

  Good, David thought. The cold was going to be a challenge, but three miles was something they could do.

  Brother Burton turned to Edward Martin and his captains. “We wish we had enough men that we could pull those carts for you brethren, but we’ve got to have teamsters for the wagons and we’ve got to keep some men here to continue the unloading. But we have asked several of our rescue boys to come along with us to help.”

  Actually he hadn’t asked yet, so now he began pointing. “Stephen Taylor. David Kimball. David Granger. Brother Huntington.” He hesitated for a moment as he looked at his own son, then went on. “George W. Grant. Dan Jones.”

  David looked at Stephen Taylor and they nodded in satisfaction. This was what they wanted. They didn’t want to stay here unloading freight.

  “We’ll help you as much as we can,” Brother Grant concluded, “but you’re going to have to put your strongest people on those carts. The rest who are still able to walk are going to have to do so on their own.”

  “We understand,” Elder Martin said. “When do you want us ready to move?”

  Again the two leaders looked at each other; then Brother Grant answered. “Ten o’clock. You’d better roust your people out of those tents.”

  •••

  As it turned out, the cart used by Hannah McKensie, Ingrid Christensen, and Elizabeth Jackson and her children was chosen as one of those that were to be taken to the new campsite. As the men stowed the last cooking kettle in its place and pulled the canvas over the top and began to tie it down, Hannah stepped forward. She reached down and tentatively lifted up on one of the shafts. She groaned inwardly. It was significantly heavier than what it had been with only their things in it. She turned and gave Ingrid a look of dismay. How were they going to manage this?

  “I am going to help you.”

  Hannah spun around in surprise, raising one hand to ward off the sun’s glare. A man was coming towards them, all but his eyes covered with the scarf he had pulled over his face. As he reached them he pulled away the scarf. To Hannah’s pleased surprise it was David Granger.

  “Good morning.” He turned to Sister Jackson, but looked down at her son, holding out his arms. “How’s my young friend Aaron this morning?” The boy was wrapped in his blanket, but he smiled and ran immediately to David, who lifted him up.

  “Good morning, Brother Granger,” Ingrid said, obviously as pleased as Hannah was.

  “David, please. My father is Brother Granger.” He grinned that wonderful grin of his. “I’m just a boy yet.”

  Hannah came around to the back of the cart. “I thought you had to drive the wagons.”

  He turned, squinting, then waved. The man sitting on the wagon seat of the closest wagon waved back. “Brother Taylor’s going to drive ours for us.”

  Ingrid waved as well. “He’s the one who helped you give us food.”

  “Yes. His name is Stephen Taylor.”

  “And you are friends as well as fellow rescuers?” Hannah asked.

  “Yes. All of us in the Minute Men are good friends.” David frowned. “We don’t have that far to go today, but it is very cold.”

  Hannah gave him a droll smile. “Really?”

  He hooted softly. “You remind me a lot of your sister, did you know that?”

  Hannah’s smile disappeared instantly. “I hope so. I would consider that a compliment.”

  Before David could answer back to that, a shout went up to their left. Captain Grant had his hat off and was waving it in the air. “All right,” he yelled. “Let’s move out.”

  David was still holding young Aaron, and so he walked around to the back of the heavily laden cart. He reached out with one hand and felt until he found a soft spot, and then he plopped the boy into it. “There you go, young man.” He took Aaron’s blanket and tucked it around his legs. “You just hang on.”

  He turned back to the others. “I’ll take the first turn at pulling.”

  Ingrid nodded quickly. “It is Hannah’s turn to pull too. I push. Sister Jackson, you can walk with the girls.”

  Hannah gave Ingrid a sharp look, which she blandly ignored and which caused David to chuckle softly. He went forward and lifted the shafts and slipped under them. He motioned for Hannah to join him. “Shall we?” he asked.

  •••

  “Oh!” It came out as a soft cry of dismay and brought David’s head around to look at her. Hannah looked away, not wanting him to see the fear in her eyes.

  David nodded grimly, taking in the scene before them. They were standing on the banks of the Sweetwater River about two miles south of Devil’s Gate. The river had been on their right hand all the way from Devil’s Gate, meandering in and out in sinuous curves, most of the time between steep banks three or four feet above the water. Here there was a gentle slope down to the riverbank, whether man-made or not, David could not tell. About forty feet farther east, or downstream, there was another cut in the bank on the far side. This was the ford that Captain Grant had talked about.

  On the other side of their cart, the Roper family, who shared the tent with the Jacksons and Hannah and Ingrid, stared at the river without speaking. There was a movement behind David and he turned to see Stephen Taylor join them. His wagon was stopped a few rods back from where the handcarts were starting to collect before crossing. David’s friend took one look and let out a soft exclamation. “Uh-oh!” he said. “This isn’t going to be easy.”

  David nodded. The sight was daunting, to say the least. Compared to other river crossings, this would not have been worthy of comment under other circumstances. The Green, the North Platte—now, those were rivers and usually required ferrying. This was no more than two feet deep and maybe thirty or forty feet across. The current was not terribly swift but enough that you would have to steady yourself against it. The water was clear, and through it he could see that the creek’s bottom was sandy, not rocky. That was good in one way. It would not be as slippery as rocks. But it was bad in another. The sand would be soft and the wheels would be more likely to bog down in it.

  But none of that was what made him sick to his stomach. It was everything else. The current in the center of the channel was swift enough that it had prevented the water from freezing, but both banks were lined with ice two or three feet out on both sides. Where it met the open water, the ice, two or three inches thick at the banks, tapered off to where the current had formed a knife-sharp edge. Chunks of the ice had broken off and were floating downstream. David made a mental note to watch those and the edges of the ice. Either would be capable of cutting bare flesh, he guessed.

  If it had even been straight across, it might not have been so bad. But now as they watched, Captain Grant and Robert Burton were taking the first two carts across. They went down into the water, then turned right and headed downstream. You could see the wheels of the heavily loaded carts sink into the soft sand, roiling the water. They really had to lean into the carts to keep them moving. They moved about forty feet downstream before they turned left again and went out the far side. That downstream turn made the actual crossing more like eighty or ninety feet across and doubled or tripled the time one had to stay in the water.

  As she saw the first to cross turn
toward the granite mountains, Hannah had to look away. Memories of their experience at the last crossing of the North Platte suddenly overwhelmed her and she shuddered involuntarily. “I can’t,” she whispered.

  David turned to her. To her surprise, he laid a hand on hers. “Yes, Hannah, you can. I’ll take the cart.”

  She shrank back, staring at the water, then closed her eyes.

  “Oh, dear mercy!”

  David turned and Hannah opened her eyes again. Coming up alongside them was John Jaques and his wife, Zilpah. Zilpah carried their baby—the one who had been born at Florence—in her arms. Their daughter, Flora, just two, was perched atop their cart. With them was Brother Jaques’s mother-in-law, Amy Loader, and her two daughters, Patience and Tamar. Brother Jaques lowered the cart slowly and took a step forward, peering down at the river. “Heaven have mercy,” he whispered. “How are we to cross that?”

  From behind him there was a strangled sob. Hannah turned. It was Patience. She was pale as death, and tears were streaming down her face. Then Hannah remembered that last night Sister Jackson had come back to their tent and reported that Patience and Sister Loader were not feeling well. Brother Jaques had inquired if they might ride with the sick today, but the wagons were already loaded.

  Patience looked up and saw David and Stephen Taylor looking at her. She turned away in shame, pulling her bonnet down over her face so that they couldn’t see her tears. Hannah looked away too, afraid that in a moment she might have to do the same.

  Suddenly Stephen Taylor left David’s side and went over to stand in front of Patience. He reached out and touched her softly on the shoulder. “Ma’am?”

  She looked up slowly, blinking back the tears. “Yes?”

  “If you’re not averse to riding on my back, I’d be happy to take you across the river.”

  She stared at him for a moment. He nodded, smiling his encouragement, then turned around and went down to a crouch. Patience turned and looked at her mother, then to her brother-in-law. John Jaques nodded. “Go,” he whispered. In a moment, Sister Loader nodded as well. Sniffing and wiping at her eyes, Patience gingerly climbed on the young man’s back. Stephen Taylor was not particularly tall, but he had a stout build and like most farm boys was in excellent physical strength. “Hang on,” he said, and without hesitation he walked down the bank and into the river. David heard him gasp as he stepped into the water.

  “Stay here,” David said to Hannah, lowering the cart and stepping out of it. As he walked toward the Jaqueses’ cart, he spoke to Ingrid and Sister Jackson. “Wait here. I’ll come back.”

  He went straight to the older woman beside the Jaqueses’ cart. “Sister Loader?”

  She was staring at her daughter and the young man staggering downstream amidst the floating ice. She turned in surprise.

  “I would consider it an honor to take you across as well,” David said. He dropped to one knee. She hesitated only a moment, then nodded.

  Amy Loader was a thin and frail woman, but David still was shocked by how much she weighed. He tried not to grunt as he stood up, then started for the water.

  “Be careful, David!”

  He turned and flashed Hannah a smile. “I’ll be back.”

  The wagons had crossed first to break through the ice and make an opening in the ford. As David stepped off into the water, he heard himself cry out, barely aware that it was his voice as the stunning shock of the water hit his legs and feet. It was as if someone had slammed them with a hammer, then slammed them again and again. Then gratefully, as he got to the center of the river and the water reached his knees, they began to numb. Now he was aware that they were sinking into the soft sand. Fighting to keep his balance, he fought his way downstream. Just as he reached the place where he turned right to go up the far bank, Stephen Taylor strode into the water again. He was breathing hard and pounding his gloved hands together. “I’ll go get another one,” he said between breaths. “Watch out for the ice,” he warned. “It’s got sharp edges.”

  David carried Sister Loader up to where her daughter was waiting, then let her slip to the ground. “There you go.”

  The woman was weeping and reached out and clung to his hands. “Thank you, young man. Thank you.”

  He squeezed her hands back. “I’ll go get your other daughter.”

  “The other young man already has her,” Patience said, pointing.

  David turned and saw that Stephen Taylor was coming across with Tamar on his back. And behind him, Allen Huntington was just swinging Sister Jaques and her baby up into his arms. Back in David went, passing the others with a grim nod. He went back across the river, then straight to Hannah, Ingrid, and Sister Jackson and her girls. He pointed to Martha Ann. “You’re next,” he said with a forced grin. His feet ached terribly and he could feel the water squishing around in his boots. He took the seven-year-old on his back and started away. Seeing a movement out of his eye, he turned. Hannah was following behind him. “No,” he said sharply. “You wait.”

  “I can do it,” she said. “You can’t keep going back and forth. Your feet will freeze.”

  “Not if I keep moving,” he said, brooking no argument. “Now, you stay here.”

  He didn’t wait for her response. Back into the river he went, grateful for the lighter weight this time.

  Now there were several other members of the rescue party shuttling women and children across. David went back and got Mary Elizabeth, who was four. She was light enough that he took little Aaron in his arms and took both across. On the next trip he took Sister Jackson. Halfway through the downstream portion he felt something strike the back of his legs with a sharp blow. His knees nearly buckled and he had to stumble forward quickly to recover his balance. He caught himself and looked down as a chunk of ice two feet wide and twice that long spun slowly out and around him and continued downstream.

  When he came back to the cart, Hannah and Ingrid were bouncing up and down on the balls of their feet trying to keep themselves warm. Then Hannah stepped forward, watching him closely. “You’re limping,” she said.

  He nodded. “A piece of ice struck me in the leg. It’s—”

  Suddenly Ingrid took a sharp breath, pointing. “It’s bleeding.”

  Surprised, he extended his leg out behind him and looked down. Just below the knee there was a jagged tear in his trouser leg and a three-inch gash in the flesh. It was still streaming blood, which was being diluted as it hit the dripping cloth of his trousers.

  “Oh, David,” Hannah cried.

  He shook his head. “It’s all right. The cold water will stop the bleeding. Which one of you is next?”

  “Take Ingrid,” Hannah said.

  Ingrid started to protest, but David turned and knelt down again. “Hurry. We’ve got to get out of the cold.”

  As Ingrid climbed on his back and David stood again, he half turned. The stragglers in the column were still approaching the crossing and another handcart was just coming up beside them. It was pulled by two men and there were three women at the back of it helping push.

  As David started to turn to the river, he heard one of the men cry out. He turned back again and saw the nearest man looking at the river in horror. “Do we have to go across that?” he cried.

  David nodded. It was a fairly obvious answer. Carts were moving through the water, and now a long string of those who had crossed was moving toward the mountain. The men of the rescue company were still shuttling the women and children across on their backs.

  “Yes, you do, sir.”

  David turned. Stephen Taylor had just returned for another person. He was looking at the man who had spoken. “It’s terribly cold,” Taylor admitted, “but it’s not that far across.”

  To David’s surprise, the man dropped his head into his hands and his shoulders began to shake. “I can’t go through that,” he exclaimed. “I can’t.” He was sobbing convulsively now.

  One of the women came around quickly from the back of the cart. She stepped to th
e man’s side and put an arm around his shoulder. “It’s all right, Jimmy,” she said soothingly. “Don’t cry. I’ll pull the cart for you.”

  The man’s head came up and now he was frantic. His eyes fixed on David, who still had Ingrid on his back. Then he jerked to look at Stephen Taylor. “Can you carry me across?”

  Taylor turned and looked at David quickly. Then he turned back. “We’re trying to get the women and children across first, sir. If you could wait—”

  “No! I can’t make it.” It was obvious that the man was on the verge of hysteria. “Please!”

  The woman turned, beseeching Stephen Taylor with her eyes. “I can make it on my own,” she said.

  “Do it,” David said softly to his friend. “I don’t think he can make it.”

  Stephen Taylor nodded and went forward. The man almost leaped upon his back, and Stephen turned and went into the river. David let him go first, then went in behind him. As they reached the center of the current and turned downstream, David slowed. The man was jerking his legs up high, trying to keep them out of the water, and it was throwing Stephen Taylor off balance.

  “Please, brother,” Stephen cried over his shoulder. “Hold still.”

  Just at that moment, one of Stephen’s boots sunk in the sand and did not pull out as easily as the other. He leaned forward, trying to pull it free. The man on his back yelped in fright and began clawing at Taylor’s neck.

  Unfortunately the man threw his weight to the left just as Taylor leaned that way to pull his boot free. Down they went with a tremendous splash.

  David leaped forward. “Hang on,” he said to Ingrid as he reached down and grabbed the man’s hand. Spluttering and flailing wildly, the man got to his feet, almost retching as he drew in huge breaths of air in his panic.

  “It’s all right,” David said. “We’ve got you. The water isn’t that deep.” Then he helped Stephen Taylor get to his feet.