“Five pounds!” David shouted. “Are you daft?”
“Noow, dun’t be gittin’ radgyn on me, Davee boy. This be b’tween me an’ yur pa.”
John was sitting calmly, watching Tom as he spoke. Without looking at David, he asked, “Awl but five poonds, eh? Tell me, David, what wud that mek Tom’s salary, considerin’ ’e be oot ’ere fur nigh onto a month noow?”
David figured quickly. “Sixty pounds for four weeks would be fifteen pounds per week.”
“An’ ya mek ’ow mooch a week as constable, Tom? Five shillin’s? Eight shillin’s?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Them’s purty rich wages, Tom.”
“If’n Ah tek ya back, ya both be facin’ leg irons. Ya know that shure as thare be black lung in the coal mines.”
“And ’ow mooch of that wud ya ’ave to pay Bart Wiggins an’ the other fellas?”
“Whaddya mean? Why pay ’em anythin’?”
John Draper got slowly to his feet. “’Cuz that be what it tek ta bring us back.” He still spoke easily, almost lazily, as if he were contemplating things very carefully. But the threat in his demeanor was unmistakable. “Thare be two of us, Tom, an’ as ya can see, me boy ’ere, ’e be gittin’ ta be a reet strappin’ lad. Taller than me noow. ’Ow far da ya think ya’d get, tekin’ us over thare by yurself?”
Tom got up quickly, his hand resting on the pistol butt. His eyes were nervous, darting back and forth between them. “It be only three days back ta Cawthorne.”
“Can ya go three days wit’out sleep, Tom?”
“Ya be bluffin’, John,” he said, licking his lips. “Ya naw be that kind of a man.”
“Ah ain’t never bin pushed so hard inta a corner b’fur.”
For a long time they both stood there, eyes locked. Then John spoke again. “Maybe thare be anuther option, Tom.”
“What?”
“As long as Davee an’ me be in England, we be in danger frum Rhodes. We be checkin’ fares fur passage. That’s what we be doin’ this mornin’. Best we found so far be wit the Black Ball Line. But the fare be ten poonds each. Ya tek awl but five poonds, we be stuck ’ere. An’ ’ow do we know ya dunna be tellin’ Rhodes ya found us, soon as ya git back, so maybe ’e pay ya after awl, eh?”
He let Tom digest that a minute. “We gotta ’ave twenty poonds fur passage, Tom. And five poonds for expenses.”
“Ten pounds,” David blurted, seeing now where his father was going with this.
“Just twenty-five poonds, Tom.” He flicked a glance in David’s direction. “’Ow mooch that be leavin’ ’im, David?”
David gritted his teeth. “Forty pounds.”
“That still be the best wages ya ever made in yur life, Tom.”
The constable licked his lips once more, then nodded. “Take oot twenty poonds, but nothin’ more. Ya can work fur yur expense muney. An’ Ah give ya me word that Ah’ll naw be sayin’ a word ta Rhodes aboot ya.”
“No, Dahd,” David cried. “We can’t. It’s not enough.”
His father walked to the bed, lifted the mattress, and extracted a small leather purse. He tossed it to David. “Count out twenty poonds, Son. No more. No less. An’ then Tom will be on ’is way.”
David followed the constable down to the river. He turned east there, and David followed him for another mile. When he returned, his father had their belongings back in the sack and his cap on. As soon as David entered the room, he pointed to the window that led onto the roof. An hour later, they found a deserted warehouse by the wharf and had a place for the night.
They ate a simple meal in silence, still contemplating what had befallen them. After much internal debate, David cleared his throat. “You know what we have to do now, Dahd, don’t you.”
John’s head was in his hands and he was staring at the floor.
“There’s no choice. We can’t spend all our money on tickets and leave ourselves with no expense money. And if we wait here until we earn more, Rhodes could be back.”
“Ah dunna think Tom will tell ’im.” It was spoken to the floor. His voice was devoid of life.
“This is stupid, Dahd. This time, you are wrong. This is what Mum lived for. This is what kept her alive for the last seven years. Who cares if we become Mormons or not. Certainly not Mum.”
He moved about the large room, kicking at the debris as he passed. Finally, he sat down in one corner, putting his back against the wall. He lowered his head and began to massage his temples with his fingertips.
Almost ten minutes passed; then his father slowly got up. David raised his head to watch. But his father didn’t look his way at all. He went to the bag and began rummaging around in it.
“What are you looking for, Dahd?” he said wearily. “There’s no more food.”
John shook his head, looking more forlorn than he had even on the night they had discovered the break-in and the missing box.
“What do you need?” David asked again.
“Do you have the directions to the meetin’ Mr. Miller told us aboot?”
David leaped up, reaching in his shirt pocket. “I have them right here.” He felt light-headed. Dizzy with elation. His mind was racing. “We’ll have to be careful, Dahd. We’ve got to convince them that we aren’t just doing this to get passage. We’re gonna have to act really sincere. Can you do that?”
“Can ya?” he shot right back.
“I can.” He grinned. “In fact, I feel religion coming on right now.”
His father whirled on him. “What did ya say?” His eyes were twin points of fire.
“I . . . sorry, Dahd. I know that this is difficult for you.”
For a long, long time his father’s eyes searched his. Then he shook his head. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and filled with sadness. “Wud ya know what be the most difficult thing fur me in awl this?”
“What?”
“That me own son be naw the slightest bit bothered by the terrible thing we be aboot ta do.”
That hit him like a physical blow. “But Dahd, I . . .”
“Yur mum an’ me dinna raise ya ta ’ave calluses on yur soul.” He started to turn away, then swung back. Now his eyes were full of shame. “May God ’ave mercy on our souls fur this.”
Notes
^1. The Guion Shipping Line became the line of choice for the Latter-day Saint emigration efforts from Europe. Its ships transported more members of the Church to America than any other line. The figures on crossing times and fares come from an actual advertisement printed about 1886 (see Bloxham, Moss, and Porter, Truth Will Prevail, 187).
^2. Conditions among dishonest and irresponsible shipping agents became so bad in the latter half of the nineteenth century that Parliament initiated investigations. Since the LDS Church—also known as the Mormons—was a major shipping agency, they too were investigated. An article in a Scottish newspaper summarized the committee’s findings:
“It is the conclusion of the House Committee that no ships under the provisions of the ‘Passengers Act’ can be depended upon for comfort and security to the same degree as those under the administration of the Mormons. . . . The Mormon ship is a family under strong and accepted discipline, with every provision for comfort, decorum, and internal peace.”
Thereafter, the British press reported that members of that House Committee expressed the opinion that Christian ship owners could learn much from the Latter-day Saints about “how to send poor people decently, cheaply, and healthfully across the Atlantic” (ibid., 178).
^m.To broddle means to poke around, dig out information.
^n. Bad–tempered.
Chapter 14
Thursday, July 22, 1869
Brother Daniel Miller’s estimate of how long it would take the Drapers to travel to Utah was off by one week, but that was not his fault in any way. The S.S. Wisconsin left Liverpool on Monday, June twenty-first, and arrived in Boston six days, twenty-two hours, and sixteen minutes later. Another Mormon shipping agent met them as they disembarked. He h
ad all of the necessary paperwork and marched them through U.S. Immigration Services in one day. Since each of the Drapers carried only one small case of personal belongings, almost all of which was clothing, the Customs Office cleared them in two days and sent them on for health inspections.
It was there that they hit the snag—or, more accurately, stepped off a cliff. When the officials learned that both John and David had worked in the coal mines, they were slapped into quarantine for black lung disease. When his father argued long and loud that the doctors in Yorkshire said that the disease was not contagious, the answer to that was a condescending, “Of course, that’s what everyone says.” When local doctors agreed that it was not, the officials quickly adjusted: The weakening of the lungs from the coal dust made one more susceptible to diphtheria, which was highly contagious and a deadly killer. Therefore, the Drapers had to stay in quarantine.
And so for the next two weeks they underwent tests, endured examinations, filled out a hundred forms, answered ten thousand questions—many of them the same ones over and over, and most of them totally unrelated to anything to do with the Drapers. And they waited.
To David’s astonishment, the Mormon shipping agent in Boston didn’t abandon them. Ten days following their arrival, all their fellow passengers on the ship were gone, on their way to Utah, but someone from the Church came two or three times a week. Even though these agents were not allowed into the quarantine center, they always left notes, reading material, and small baskets of fruit, breads, cheeses, and sweetmeats.
Finally, on July sixteenth, John and David were given their clearance papers and released. Two days later, the agent had them on the train headed west.
Thus it was that six days later, the evening of July twenty-second, 1869, two months and five days after fleeing Cawthorne, John Dickinson Draper and David Dickinson Draper stepped off the train at Union Station, Ogden City, Utah Territory. Black with smoke and soot, stiff and sore from sitting and sleeping on hard wooden benches, stomachs aching with hunger, and tired beyond imagination, they stood on the platform, heads turning right and left to take in their surroundings. Then father looked at son, weary grins split their grimy faces, and they fell on each other’s shoulders and began pounding each other on the back.
“Excuse me.”
They turned, embarrassed to have been caught in their exuberance. A young man in cowboy boots, denim pants, and with his cowboy hat in his hand was standing just behind them on the platform. “Are you Brother Draper and his boy?”
“Yah. We be them,” John said, straightening and removing his cap.
“I’m Brother Walter Griffeths, Jr.—but everyone calls me Walt. Me and my father and some others have been sent up by Brigham Young to bring emigrants down to Salt Lake City. We got a telegram earlier today saying you two would be coming in on the late train, and that we should take you with us as well. If it’s all right with you, we have a place for you to stay tonight. Then we’ll leave in the morning.”
His father turned to David, trying to suppress a smile, but then he chortled aloud. “What d’ya think, Son? Wud that be awl reet wit us?”
David grinned at Walter Griffeths, Jr. “I think it would.”
Friday, July 23, 1869
Next morning, when they arrived at the train station, their designated gathering place, it was 5:00 a.m. The sun was not yet above what looked like a great black wall to the east of them. Outside the station, there were four covered wagons and three long carriages parked side by side. Each was pulled by three span of mules. The men with the wagons had already loaded all but a few pieces of the personal belongings of the emigrants when David and his father arrived. Walt was not there, but they met his father, Walter Griffeths, Sr. He was a large, jovial man with thick, muttonchop whiskers and a flat Bostonian accent.
There were twelve or fourteen others already there—families, mostly—and others kept streaming in until there were nearly three dozen in all. There were too many for the carriages, so those with families were assigned there, and those without children, like the Drapers, were assigned to ride with the wagons.
The senior Griffeths waved for everyone to gather around him. “All right, folks. We know you’re anxious to get this journey over with, so let’s get you loaded up and on your way. It’s about thirty-five miles to Salt Lake City, and, barring any breakdowns, we hope to be there by sundown. On your arrival, there will be a committee to meet you. All of you will be staying with families in Salt Lake for the next few days, while the Church gets things arranged for you. Most of you, as you know, will not be staying in Salt Lake, but will be going out to the settlements. Normally, you should be on your way by about next Tuesday or Wednesday.”
There was a murmur of excitement at that news. John looked at David. “Ah dinna think we be able ta be settled quite that fast. That be wonderful.”
“We welcome you to Utah,” Griffeths continued. “We know that many of you have come a great distance, even across the ocean in some cases, to join with the Saints. Actually, you have arrived at a very special time. Today is July twenty-third.” Murmurs of acknowledgment and even a few exclamations were heard from among the group. David and his father exchanged looks, not sure what they had just missed. There was still so much they had to learn.
“That means that you will be in Salt Lake City tomorrow for what we call Pioneer Day. It was twenty-two years ago tomorrow that Brigham Young looked out over the Salt Lake Valley and declared, ‘This is the right place. Drive on.’ That was the beginning of finally finding our home in the Valley. It’s a big celebration—a parade, speeches, potluck dinners, fireworks—and you’ll be privileged to be part of it. Very few get that opportunity on their first day in the Valley.”
“How many are there in the Valley now?” a man called out.
“Twelve thousand in Salt Lake City alone, probably another couple of thousand scattered around the Salt Lake Valley. But about seventy thousand of us have come to Zion in those twenty-two years. And there are about twenty thousand more still back in their home states or countries, many waiting to come to the west just as you have.”
That stunned David. Ninety thousand! He had been picturing the Church as a little sect with a few thousand members at best. David raised a hand. “So how many settlements are there, and are they all right around Salt Lake City?”
That brought a rich chuckle from Griffeths and the other drivers. “Not quite, my boy,” came the answer. “There are about three hundred settlements now, branching out in all directions, some as far away as four hundred miles. Anywhere there’s water and good farm or grazing land, you’ll find a settlement of Mormons.”
Now there was much excitement in the group. It appeared that most, like David and his father, knew they wouldn’t be staying in Salt Lake—but four hundred miles? This was a shock.
“Well, that’s enough for now. Let’s have a prayer and get under way. Once again, brothers and sisters, welcome to Utah. We hope that very soon you will feel like this is home.”
When the brief prayer was concluded, John and David turned, not sure where they should go. Then they heard a voice call out, “Mornin’.”
They turned. Walt, Jr., was coming toward them. “You’re riding with me, if that’s all right.”
“Tup of the mornin’ ta ya, Tommy me boy,” John said, adding a touch of Irish to his already broad Yorkshire accent. “We’d be reet capped ta be goin’ on doon the road wit ya.”
Walt just looked at him, a bewildered expression on his face. David laughed. “My father says we would be delighted to ride with you.”
It was the mountains that were the most astonishing thing to the Drapers. For three days they had traveled across the Great Plains—so flat that, as one of the train’s conductors had quipped, you could see a rabbit coming three days in advance. Yesterday, they had come across from Laramie, Wyoming. Except for some mountains in the distance, the land on both sides of the tracks was flat, barren, and desolate, stretching off in every direction for
as far as the eye could see. About the time when they had finally reached the mountains yesterday evening, it had been dark and they had seen nothing but looming shapes rushing by.
Now, in the full sunshine of a hot summer morning, both David and his father were astounded. To their left, stretching north and south as far as they could see, was a wall of mountains. They seemed almost to leap from the valley floor. Skirted around the bottom by golden-brown foothills, those quickly gave way to steep, green-clad slopes and towering peaks. Against the backdrop of a crystal clear, brilliantly blue sky, it was a majestic sight.
Young Walt clearly enjoyed their reaction. “We call ’em the Wasatch Mountains. Name comes from a Ute Indian word meaning ‘mountain pass.’ They stretch about a hundred and fifty miles from north to south, and some of them top twelve thousand feet in elevation.”
David just shook his head. Unbelievable. But then, North America was unbelievable. For example, they had traveled two thousand miles without ever seeing the ocean. Yesterday, they had traveled for hours without seeing a single human settlement. It was quite the land. Here, the valley floor along which they were traveling was over four thousand feet high, according to Walt, who was very much enjoying the role of tour guide. When David remembered that the highest point in all of England was a peak just over three thousand feet in elevation, it boggled his mind.
His father stirred beside him. “Ah be reet speechless, young Walt. Ah heard thare be mountains like this in the wurld, but Ah never dreamed Ah’d ever git ta see ’em.”
Friday, July 30, 1869
As it turned out, David and his father not only got to see this magnifi-cent range of mountains, they got to live right in the heart of them.
It took them about twelve hours to get to Salt Lake that first day, and then began a whirlwind of activities. They were housed with a family from South Wales who had been in the Valley for ten years now. The next day, Pioneer Day, turned out to be everything Walt Griffeths had promised and more—a parade that made David feel like a little boy again, fireworks, picnics.
The Undaunted Page 15