The Work and the Glory

by Gerald N. Lund

  “Derek!” It was louder, sharper. And he thought he felt someone roughly shaking his shoulder. He wasn’t sure, because the ague often shook his body as a bulldog shakes a rat. This new shaking was no rougher than that. He finally managed to crack one eye open and see the face before him. For a moment he wasn’t sure if he knew who it was or not. The cheeks were deeply browned from the sun; the nose was peeled and had splotches of bright red. The lips were parched and cracked. A few strands of hair, bleached blond by the sun, poked from beneath a blue and white bonnet.

  “It’s me, Derek. It’s Rebecca. We have to go. It’s our turn for the ferry.”

  “Just rest a little.” He closed his eyes again.

  Now there was a younger voice, sharper and more piercing. “Pa. We have to go.”

  “Come on, Uncle Derek. Let me help you.”

  That roused him enough for reality to finally push its way in. He opened his eyes fully now. It was Rebecca. And there was Christopher, his eyes looking far too worried for a seven-year-old. Josh Steed, his nephew, stood beside his son, pulling on one of Derek’s arms.

  As he sat up, he saw they were beside the river. The muddy brown waters of the Missouri rolled past them in slow swirls. He tried to stand and nearly fell back again, but Josh stepped quickly behind him and helped him stand up.

  It was no wonder that he and several others were sick. In addition to that one terrible storm, it had rained hard on other nights as well. They had spent several miserable, cold nights in wet bedding sleeping on the ground.

  “Look, Derek,” Rebecca said with a forced brightness. “That’s Fort Leavenworth just across the river.”

  He turned his head a little and squinted against the afternoon sun. In the distance he could see a stockade wall with open gates. Inside, there were one or two large buildings, several small ones, and a cluster of white tents set up in neat rows. An American flag hung limp in the summer heat.

  “We’ll be there in a few minutes, Papa,” Christopher said, taking his father’s hand. “Then we can get some food and water.”

  “Come on,” Rebecca said, urging him forward. He felt Josh start to gently push him from behind.

  Now he saw that the ferry, already loaded with people he recognized, was just a few feet in front of them. Two men jumped off and hurried to them. “Come on, Brother Ingalls,” one of them said. “We’ve waited five hours for our turn. Let’s not miss it now.”

  When Derek awoke, his first awareness was of the sweltering heat. His body was bathed in perspiration. His eyes stung and burned from the sweat that ran into them. He reached up to wipe his brow with his arm, realizing as he did so that he had no shirt on.

  He half rose, not sure where he was. All was whiteness. “Becca?”

  Almost instantly a flap opened and Rebecca stepped inside the tent. She had a bowl of something in one hand. Her face showed concern, but on seeing him she immediately smiled. “Hi,” she said softly.

  He managed to get up to a sitting position, though he felt very weak. “Where are we?”

  “We are in our own tent,” she said happily. “U.S. Army issue.”

  “Tent?”

  “Yes, we received them this afternoon when we arrived at Fort Leavenworth.”

  “We’re there?”

  She laughed. “No, we’re here. And I must say that you picked a very good time to faint on me. Some of the brethren had to pitch our tent for me.”

  “I . . .” He looked around again, seeing now the canvas and the tent poles and understanding why it was so hot and why he had felt as if he were inside a cloud.

  “They issued one tent for each mess of six men,” Rebecca explained, moving over to sit beside him on the cot. “Since there are five of us, they let us have our own tent. Josh was assigned to the mess next to ours. I promised to help cook for them if they would help me with the tent and getting camp set up.”

  He let out his breath, feeling the shame. “I haven’t been much good to you, have I?”

  She waved that away, then brought up the bowl she had been holding. “I brought you something.”

  He looked down, squinting a little. It looked like milk at first, but then he saw it wasn’t liquid but solid, more like the consistency of soft butter. Then as he looked more closely, he saw that some of it did seem to be melting. “What is it?”

  She took a spoon from the pocket of her apron and scooped out a heaping pile of the white stuff. “It’s ice cream.” She shoved it toward him and he opened his mouth. What followed so surprised him that he gave a little cry, instantly followed by a sound of delight and pleasure.

  “Isn’t that wonderful?” she gushed, then gave him another spoonful.

  “Absolute heaven,” he answered as he savored the cool sweetness in his mouth. “Where ever did you get it?”

  “The post commissary is selling it for a nickel a bowl. Christopher and Benji have already had two bowls each. I’ve had one too.” There was momentary guilt. “I’m sorry. I know it’s expensive, but I couldn’t say no. Josh bought the boys their second bowl.”

  He took another bite, this time letting it melt slowly in his mouth so as to lengthen the pleasure. In Nauvoo, they would sometimes fill a bowl with ice shavings, then put another bowl inside of it and whip a mixture of milk, cream, and sugar until it partially froze. But that had never tasted anything like this.

  “They have what they call an ice-cream machine,” Rebecca explained. “They chop ice from the icehouse and pack it all around a metal can, then crank the machine until the mixture inside the can freezes. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  He took another bite, then closed his eyes with the sheer pleasure of it. “This is enough to make me a healthy man.”

  She laughed. “If that’s the case, I’ll go buy four more bowls.”

  Derek looked more closely at his wife, studying her face. Two hundred miles and more than ten days in the summer sun had taken their toll on Rebecca’s normally clear and fair skin. But he couldn’t remember her ever looking more lovely.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked.

  “Very weak, but better.” He peered out the tent flap where he could see rows of additional tents. “Tell me what’s happening.”

  “Well, we arrived here at Fort Leavenworth about five o’clock today. The army immediately issued us tents and some limited food supplies. They say they will issue the weapons and other equipment the day after tomorrow. They have authorized each mess to purchase a baggage wagon and four mules.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “Really?”

  “Yes, isn’t that good news?”

  “Of course.” Then, after another spoonful of ice cream, he asked, “How is Josh taking to all this?”

  “Like a boy with a new drum. He’s so excited. And to think he’ll get his own musket. He’s already strutting like a peacock.”

  He laughed. That was the wonder of the young. And the blessing of them. “What about General Kearny?”

  “He left for Santa Fe a few days ago. There are only about seventy regulars left here.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “There’s a whole battalion of Missouri volunteers here as well.”

  “Missourians?” He frowned too. Mormons and Missourians didn’t make for a good mix.

  “Yes, and it looks like they’re quite raucous.” She straightened, remembering why she had come. “They have asked us to make a list for five days’ rations. I was hoping you would be awake so you can tell me what to do.”

  He leaned forward and took her hands. “This isn’t all that we expected, is it? Are you sure you still want to do this?”

  There was no hesitation. Her head immediately began to bob. “It’s been hard, Derek. Harder than I ever thought. But we’re together. I wouldn’t change that. Not in any way.”

  Chapter Notes

  The first known white men to discover San Francisco Bay were Spaniards who arrived there in 1769. In 1776 they built a fort (the Presidio), which still occupies the site. Upper California officially became par
t of Mexico in 1820. In 1835 the Mexican governor appointed a British sailor to be captain of the port of San Francisco. He erected a tent near the beach at the base of what later became known as Telegraph Hill. Soon a ramshackle village grew up on the site. It was called El Paraje de Yerba Buena(The Place of the Good Herb). Though not in great numbers, more and more Americans began arriving in California.

  A month before the Brooklynarrived, the American settlers around San Francisco Bay declared their independence from Mexico in what came to be known as the Bear Flag Revolt. When the USS Portsmoutharrived in June, the ship’s crew stood by to see what happened. Shortly thereafter they received different orders and seized Yerba Buena without any resistance. The fort on the bluffs had already been abandoned, and the cannons had been allowed to rust to the point where they were useless. The local general and most of the native residents fled southward, and the American flag was run up the pole beside the customshouse. (See “Voyage,” pp. 64–65; CS,pp. 38–39.)

  Many of the crew of the Portsmouthhad heard about the Mormons, and there was considerable suspicion about them, but Brannan assured Commander Montgomery that they came in peace. Brannan also offered to put his men under Montgomery’s command. This provided a welcome addition to Montgomery’s meager forces, and he agreed that the Mormons could stay at Yerba Buena and unload their goods without any customs charges.

  An interesting fact is that if the Brooklynhad not gone to the Sandwich (later Hawaiian) Islands first to discharge a load of cargo, they would have arrived at least a month earlier and found Yerba Buena still part of Mexico. Under those circumstances, customs charges of about twenty thousand dollars would have been required, and that would have greatly strained their ability to survive as a new colony.

  The voyage of the Brooklynthus came to an end after nearly six full months at sea. It was a historic voyage in many respects. Writers Richard O. Cowan and William E. Homer note: “As far as we have ascertained, the BrooklynSaints were the first colony of home-seekers with women and children to sail around Cape Horn, the first group of Anglo settlers to come to California by water, and the first group of colonists to arrive after United States forces took California” (CS,p. 39). Yerba Buena also became the first city in what would become the western United States to be colonized by Mormons. The island they saw as they entered the bay is now Alcatraz Island.

  Chapter 20

  The Brooklyn sailed through the Golden Gate and into San Francisco Bay on the morning of July thirty-first. That was a Friday. Though a few of the men were allowed to go ashore that day, most of the passengers were asked to stay on board.

  Saturday morning brought high tide, and the ship moved right in close to the beach. In an atmosphere more like that found at a country fair, the approximately two hundred and forty passengers lined up for their turn at the large rowboat that would take them to shore. With them went anything that was light enough to carry. Quickly the beach was filled with valises, large shoulder bags, boxes, crates, chickens in their pens. Even the two surviving milk cows, now both veteran seafarers, were soon on solid ground. Children shrieked as they ran up and down the beach, energized as much by the knowledge that this was the last stop as by the room to run.

  As the tide began to recede, the Brooklynhad to back away and move a little farther west to another spot, but the unloading continued all through the day. By nightfall everyone but the crew was off the boat and looking for a place to bed down. The fog had come in again during the night, and the breeze was brisk and considerably chilling. Most of the passengers trooped a short distance up the hill to the Casa Grande,or “Grand House,” to get out of the wind. The largest structure in Yerba Buena, the long adobe building that had previously been a barracks now served as post office for the tiny community. Its American owner was so pleased to have a whole shipload of his countrymen join the community that he offered sleeping space—room on the floor to roll out their blankets—to nine families. In typical fashion, Sam Brannan volunteered himself to take advantage of these accommodations. Commander Montgomery had turned the newest building, the Mexican customshouse, into a barracks for his men, but he had them move back to the Portsmouthand opened places for more families there. One or two other places were opened up by the locals, but the company of Saints was far too large for the little community and many ended up pitching tents on the beach or nearby.

  Will and Alice—thanks more to Alice’s advanced condition than Will’s position as a leader—were given a place in the customshouse. Their tiny living spaces were divided by hanging blankets or similarly flimsy partitions across the room. But they had at least some small degree of privacy, something which they had seen little of on board ship. And even though the night grew quite cold, the thick adobe walls kept them comfortable without a fire. To her surprise, however, Alice had difficulty sleeping that first night, since there was no gentle rolling motion to lull her to sleep.

  On Sunday morning Commander Montgomery sent an invitation to Sam Brannan asking if the Mormons wanted to join his men on board the Portsmouthfor worship services. Pleased, and wanting to continue the favorable relationship they had with the genial ship’s commander, Brannan agreed and they started rowing out to the naval vessel shortly before noon. It was a pleasant surprise. The commander had set up chairs under an awning on the quarterdeck, and they learned from some of the crew that Montgomery was a deeply religious man who read a printed Episcopalian sermon to his sailors each Sabbath.

  The Saints were greatly amused by the curiosity they aroused, especially with regard to the women. Some of the navy men had heard enough about this strange sect—including the notion that the Mormons grew horns like the devil—that they watched with considerable interest as the first of the Saints came on board. One of the men was overheard to say, with obvious disappointment, “Derned if they don’t look just like other women.” But with that settled, it turned out to be a pleasant experience for Mormon and sailor alike. After the services, Commander Montgomery served lunch to all and then had his men conduct tours of his ship.

  But that was yesterday. Today they had the task of unloading the heavier cargo on the ship. Though Will encouraged Alice to stay and sleep in, she insisted on being with him and came down to watch the operation. Once again, to their surprise, Commander Montgomery extended a warm hand of welcome. No sooner had they arrived at the landing sight and gotten the gangplank down than a detachment from the Portsmouthshowed up with orders from the commander to help get the ship unloaded. They set to it with a will, the men of the navy and the men of the Mormons, and soon a great pile began to accumulate onshore.

  Alice could scarcely believe it as she watched the cargo come out—and she thought she had known roughly what they had brought with them. To the sailors it was unbelievable. Agricultural tools of every conceivable type were piled in one place. Mechanical and manufacturing devices formed a huge stack a short distance higher up on the beach. There were groceries, dry goods, hardware, lamps, a five-ton printing press—which really astounded the sailors. Not sure what to do with it, Brannan finally secured a place on the second floor of an old gristmill. Alice had to close her eyes as Will and about ten others wrestled the monster up the rickety outside stairs and secured it in its place.

  By one o’clock the task was done, and the crew of the Brooklynraised the sails and began backing her away from the beach. The men from the naval ship stood around in easy camaraderie and watched until she was heading for her anchorage, which was not far from their own ship. Then they shook hands all around, and with many calls of thanks ringing in their ears they returned to the Portsmouth.One by one, the members of the company moved off. Finally Will and Alice stood alone on the beach. Tonight there would be guards posted to watch their goods, but for now the beach was theirs.

  Will’s eyes were on the Brooklyn,now almost a mile away from them. “It seems strange, doesn’t it?”

  Alice turned to look at her husband. “What?”

  “After almost six months she’s no l
onger our home.”

  “Does it make you sad?”

  “In a way. You know me and the sea.”

  “Yes.” She took his hand.

  Now he looked down at her. “And how does it make you feel to know you’ll not ever spend another night on board her.”

  She managed to keep her face expressionless. “I have mixed emotions,” she admitted.

  He looked a little surprised. “Really?”

  “Yes. I’m torn between deep joy and pure elation,” she said dryly.

  Joshua Steed sat astride his horse just off to the side of the muddy road, watching the scene before him. And it was a scene to behold. Below him, winding lazily for as far as the eye could see in either direction, was the Missouri River valley. A hundred different shades of green met the eye—the green of the cottonwood trees, the paler foliage of Russian olives, the almost black-green of the underbrush, the upper prairies already turning yellow in the summer sun, and the beautiful emerald green of small grassy meadows along the bottoms. And through it all ran the meandering brown line of the Missouri River.

  But what drew Joshua’s eye was the scene that had been imposed upon this once pristine landscape. Two months before, when they arrived at Council Bluffs, which was almost directly across from him now, there had been the Indian trading post at Traders Point, a few scattered Indian villages, and nothing more. Now everywhere the eye fell—on the opposite bluffs, along the heights where he now was, lining the river bottoms, along the creeks, in the trees and meadows—there were wagons and teams, tents, makeshift willow shelters, droves of cattle, roads and pathways that had not been there just a few weeks before. Across the river, well more than a mile away, he could see that Redemption Hill and Mosquito Creek, two of the more visible landmarks, were lined almost solid with splotches of white from wagons and tents. On this side of the river, not far from where he sat, he could see the Cold Spring Camp, where Brigham Young and other leaders were now staying. They were clustered around the springs that gushed pure and wonderfully cold water in seemingly inexhaustible amounts.